Dne eht

I love how God waited until less than 24 hours after I wrote the words "The end." I love how God waited until I decided I was done for good, that there was no way I was ever going back. I love how God managed to break in and turn my life completely around in a matter of hours.

I am taking a hiatus from the blog for awhile. Thank you to all of you who have been praying for me and e-mailing me and caring for me. Without going into much detail, I will say that God has been faithful to answer those prayers, despite my best attempts to resist.

I've got a lot of recovering and a lot of work to do. I appreciate your continued prayers in the weeks to come. You all know how to reach me if you'd like to talk.

What He Needed to Know

As Soren looked upon that river, the decision became clear to him: as clear as though a voice had spoken the final word for his ears alone. It was a voice speaking words that could not be gainsaid. He did not let his eyes linger for another moment, but turned away for the last time. His steps were as the steps he had first taken away from that chasm, long ago it now seemed. Indeed the similarity was nearly complete. And so it ended even as it began: with a single step, followed by another, and another, and another, until the river, and the chasm, and the voices are but a distant and painful memory, and even the pain one day will begin to fade. He kept walking.

The end.

A Choice

Hours passed and Soren’s mind provided him only one conclusion: he had to make a decision. He had to decide whether he should continue traveling alongside the river, or if he should turn away and leave it behind him forever. He knew now what danger it held for him, but he would be directionless without it, wandering once again in the wasteland. Desiring to put off the decision for a little while longer, he walked the short distance back to the riverside. He stood, looking carefully at the river, and for the first time he perceived that it was beautiful. The dark and muddied water which he had drank upon first encountering the stream was here a vibrant and clear blue. Amidst the drab landscape in which the river ran, the blue appeared itself luminous, casting a soft glow on the sparse vegetation which grew along the banks. Small tufts of pearl-white foam curled gently above the surface before sinking back down with the water’s flow. As he continued to look he became aware of the tender roar of the rapids, a hushed murmur that sang unceasingly to his wearied soul. It was the only sound of nature he had heard in this forsaken place. He recalled the ripple of the stream that had first brought him the chance of survival. The river was no longer a river to him; it was hope, and rest, and comfort. But alongside this peace existed the anguish of what lay on the other side. The painful irony of his circumstances struck him anew. A single tear began to make its way down his face, one sacred bridge between the emotional and the physical, between his heart and reality: a single tear and not another forthcoming. There were none left to shed; he was void. He stood rooted to that spot by the river. He could not make the decision… not yet.

Worlds Apart

The stream became a river. He didn’t know how many miles he had walked, but the water to his right had grown wider as he went and it now churned with foaming white rapids. He could only guess at how deep it was, but to cross now would be impossible unless he came upon a bridge or ford of some sort. He was content, though. He had no reason to want to cross. As he walked, he was suddenly aware of a man standing on the opposite bank, looking directly at him. He knew him. Before he had time to turn away, or say anything, the man on the other side of the river called out to him,
“Soren.” At the sound of his name Soren’s breath caught. He immediately threw up the defenses of his mind, knowing that the man now addressing him had the power to break him.
“How did you get to this place?”
“It’s different over here.”
“It looks the same to me.”
“It may look the same but it’s not where you are. When you’re here you can see just how different it is. You can’t see it from there. Trust me. I know who you are, Soren. I know your name. I love you.” Soren looked across the river. It was so close, but he knew that the crossing was not possible. He would drown long before he reached the other side. He took a moment to regain control of his voice, and then replied,
“I told it to you. Long ago, I told you my name.”
“Because you trusted me. Trust me still. Come back.”
“I trust you, but you ask me to do what I cannot. You do not know what pain you cause by asking me to do this thing which I so desire to do. Can you not see that the return would kill me?”
“There is another way.”
“I have destroyed all other ways.”
“No, no you haven’t. Let me show you.”
“I have to leave you now. I know I can’t expect to see you again. Thank you for what once was. I love you too.” With tears in his eyes, Soren turned away from the river. He did not go far, but when he was hidden from sight he collapsed to the ground and let his heart and mind run their course.

At the Edge of Hope

He was exhausted. His sleep, though plagued by dreams, had brought him some new strength but he knew it would not last. He was growing weaker. He began walking again, ever toward the great shadow on the horizon, ever further into the unknown. His rests became more frequent, and he soon lost the will to continue. But what then? He could not survive if he remained, but he could not go much longer without nourishment. He closed his eyes and stilled his breathing. The air hung thick about him. Gently, gradually, as if slowly making its way toward him, a sound like a rustling whisper reached his ears. He hesitated, not daring to hope, but yes, it must be… the soft trickle of water. He could not run but he moved as quickly as he might in the direction of the sound. As he went the trickle became more distinguished; the image of a flowing stream lodged itself in his mind. The hope of a destination, a goal, brought him strength as he did not believe yet remained in him. And now it was there before him. In the dim light the water appeared a murky grey but he paid no heed. He rushed forward to the bank and plunged his head downward, drinking greedily, relieving his parched mouth. The stream appeared to be only a few inches deep at its edge, perhaps a foot in the middle, but it was water. He would survive. After a long rest at the water’s edge he resumed his journey, now traveling upstream alongside the water. Farther up, where the water was deeper, the man stripped off his clothes and washed them as best he could. The blood had been a constant reminder of what had happened and he was glad to be rid of the memory. He put his clothes back on and continued leisurely onward. He was wet, and the clothes weighed on him, but he was alive. He was going to make it.

In Light of Your Misleading

The only thing he was aware of was the blinding light shining at him. Lifting his arm in front of his face to shield his eyes, he turned to escape but the light followed, or else there were many lights surrounding him. Every direction he turned the same painful blaze burned at his weary eyes. He squinted, trying to make out shapes behind the lights. There were people. The longer he looked, the taller they seemed to be, towering ominously over the lights which they bore.
“Do you not see where you have brought yourself?” said one of the light-bearers in an ethereal voice that at once chilled and calmed him. The man waited for a moment, wary of these strange newcomers, and then replied coolly,
“Do you? You ask me, but do you know the answer yourself?” Silence. Then, the voice returned,
“You could come back…”
“I cannot. I have destroyed the way back.”
“There are other ways. Let us tell you.”
“If there were indeed other ways I would have found them by now. I have longed for a way back more than I have longed for anything else. Do not increase my pain by offering me that which is not available to me. There is no way, don’t you see? THERE IS NO WAY!” The man stopped abruptly, realizing that he had been yelling. Some of the lights began to move away. For a moment, he thought he had won. He thought he had finally made them see. But the lights that remained grew closer. They became brighter. The pain was unbearable. He closed his eyes but the light seared through. He threw himself down, face to the ground, and still the light would not relent. In complete desperation he let out an agonized yell and suddenly woke up. He sat up and looked around him. The barren wasteland cloaked in twilight remained unchanged. He was alone. This was reality.