There is a room, wherein blood stains the walls, and a man lays with open wounds; his side torn through, his hands and feet pierced, his forehead a scarred mass, and shards of glass embedded deep within back. He is still; his tears a silent cascade upon his cheek. There is a Father kneeling by his side, his grief unspeakable; sorrow pouring out from the depth of His heart. I can see Him trembling as He tenderly holds His son’s hand. His heart is crying, His love growing; the very gravest of moments met.
They are there; in that room, and I am here. I am standing here on this little world, in my own little room, and I am thinking those little thoughts that Satan so delights in. I can feel the anger; unrighteous, impure. I allow those feelings of self-pity and pride to overtake my heart. The anger grows, and the pride overwhelms me.
In that moment, I see a door, and a hand beckons to me. A voice sweet as honey rises within the place, calling me; telling me of all the wonderful things I will feel, all the riches I will gain in the world, and all the befits I can have should I go with them. My heart bounds and flutters. The then voice speaks of the anger; it tells me that I am not wrong, that these emotions are justly felt. I am convinced that I error in no way, I am convinced upon my actions. I feel no repentance, no guilt. I feel not even the pain I inflicted upon that person. For the voice so sweetly sings of my innocence.
I begin to walk towards the voice, for it is enchanting, the door ever growing nearer, that voice ever sweeter. A serenade plays for me, and all around me I see wonderful things dancing in the sweet bliss of innocence. With every step, the anger I feel- however unjust- makes me feel wonderful inside. The long and slender fingers of her soft hands reached forth beyond the door to lead me within. Hesitantly I approach, but I can sense that something isn't as it seems. For I can feel something pulling at my heart from somewhere behind me. A sudden rush of panic strikes me, I look back, and I see them; the broken, bleeding Man and His Father. The Father is crying, He is calling to me!
In that moment I feel my heart beat just a little faster. I suddenly have the urge to run to them. For a reason which I can't explain, I feel like I need to be there with them. As if they are important in some magnificent way. I turn to go back, and anger begins to dissolve away like dust in the wind.
I run, my heart feeling the urgency, the necessity to run as far away from that door, the woman’s sweet song, and outstretched hand and to the Father and His Son. My legs ache, my sides burn, and I can barley breathe, but I keep running. My tears blind me. I don’t know why I cry, but the tears keep falling. I can’t see the rocks, on the road, my feet continue to stumble upon, and I fall. The road beneath me is rough and stoney, but I am too tired to rise.
A sweet voice fills my ears yet again, it is pleasing and refreshing. It is as if a sweet spring washes over and quenches the thirst which I my body so craves. I close my eyes and listen. It beckons me again, but this time it speaks of the place where I can sleep, where I can rest and focus on myself and my needs, for what would I have with a Father and a Son who is dying? What connection do we have? Why should I go to a place where there is suffering when I can rest in peace here; a place I need not run too, for it is already before me.
I look around and I see another door. It is open and laughter echoes forth. I hear the people, and I can almost see the life within. I stand; my legs barley holding me, and I walk a little closer; looking to see if the sounds were the picture I thought was within. I reach to open the door a little more. It was cold, like stone, and I drew my hand away, but a hand came forth and grasped my wrist like an iron clasp. I pulled away, but it drew me nearer; the voice grew deep and raspy, the woman’s hand-a claw- griped me and dugs her nails into my arm. Her laughter cold and evil filled my ears, and knew I had been deceived.
I felt my heart give, my legs fell from beneath me. Fear strangled my heart, I couldn't speak. I tried to pull away; I clawed at the ground, but the grip only tightened. The monster began to drag me within the room. But then I saw Him again. He was calling me. I could see Him, He left His son’s side and was calling me. His tears flooded the room, His Son bleeding more; His blood puddling about Him in pools. The claw continued to drag me, farther and farther from His calling.
I screamed, I cried out for Him to save me, to rescue me. This beast I followed was nothing but an empty dark spirit, come to drag me away with it. I felt the iron clasp ever tightening. “Help me.” I cried. I felt panic and exhaustion overwhelm me. My eyes grew laden, my cries fainter. I saw His Son again, His body writhing in pain. The voice came again, her raspy laughter filling the air with putrid evil, “Look at us, and what we have done to the fool” she laughed.
My heart lurched within me, horror wrenching my insides. I did that to Him? He was bleeding and dying because of me? My soul trembled. A multitude of voiced hissed about my head, little black shadows surrounded me, their laughter knotting my insides. Little claws clung to my arms, and legs. ‘I’m pride.’ One shadow hissed into my ear.
‘I am unforgivness.’
‘My name is sloth.’ the horrid voices filled the pit of my heart with terror. Shivers raced up my spine. I felt my heart die within me. More names filled my ears, the hissing and laughter every more audible. Had I truly befriended these beasts by listening to those voices who spoke of rest and my innocence?
Sorrow overwhelmed me. Was my sin the cause of this Sons misery? Then why was His Father calling me? Look at what I did.
In a frantic burst of energy I began to scream. I knew that I couldn’t die before He knew my heart. “I’m sorry!” I cried. I tried to get up again, and run towards Him one last time, but the claws pulled me back. The little shadows clung to me pulling me to the ground again. All around the sky turned black, everything disappeared into the empty dark. I couldn’t see anything, not even His face. I could only hear the horrid laughter of the witch in my ears, and the hissing of the shadows. It echoed throughout me, haunting my every thought. “Get off of me!” I screamed while frantically struggling under their steadfast grip.
Too tired to move; to tired to cry out; too exhausted to struggle, I laid still. My silent sobs shook me, and my body trembled. “I’m sorry,” my heart cried “I have let these voices drive me from you, even as I knew I needed to be with you. Please take me away from here...I need You”
Then I felt it; a hand upon my head. I looked up in a start, and I saw His eyes. He was looking down at me, His tears falling drop by drop on the ground in front of me. The monsters behind me screamed and writhed. She grasped at me, dragging me away from the Father again, the little shadows overcame me. I cried out. The Father stood strait and light began to fill the dark. Everything around us began glow, my eyes burned, and I was forced to close them; the light so pure and bright. Then He spoke; His voice powerful and deep. “You no longer have the right to hold onto this Child. She is Mine and I am here to claim her. Release her now and begone you beast.”
My breast quavered within me, and my heart leapt at the sound of His voice. He was here to claim me, even as His Son was dying because of me and sin I chose?! All at one the steadfast grip loosened, and I felt strong arms lift me. The light had dimmed, and I was able to look again. I was in His arms, and He was carrying me away. I looked up at His face, afraid for a moment; this powerful being whose Son I just aided in wounding, was carrying me some place; but when He found my eyes, I saw through His swelling tears a love that engulfed me. I felt sorrow rise up within me again. How could He love me after this? Why did He save me?
He set me down beside His Son and began to weep again. Through my own tears I look down upon Him. The blood and cuts covering His precious face. His eyes were shut. And I knew He was gone. I felt sobs catch in my throat, a moan filled the room. The Son was dead.
“No!” I cried as I laid my hand tenderly upon His beaten and bruised breast. My tears began to fall upon His wounds, and run off His sides. For three days and three nights the Father and I wept.
On the third night I looked again at His face, so beaten and scared, I searched for some sign of life, when His eyes opened. He looked at me, I felt my Spirit quaver. His eyes were bright, and full of life. I blinked, not believing what I saw. But He continued to gaze upon my face, and then He smiled. “You’re safe now,” He quietly whispered. “They won’t ever take you away from me again.”
I looked up at His Father, “Why?”
“Because I Love You. Because You’re mine.”
