The young man knelt by his bed, hands folded as for prayer, but there were no nice words, no fancy liturgy. Just a cry he could not stop.
He was not young, not a boy, but not a man, with a father who loved him little (or so he thought) and...a mother who lay in a coffin. A coffin he tried to forget. A coffin that marked when his childhood ended.
Oh, it wasn't as though she had died. No, death was not the right word. Death implied a peaceful passing. No. Not death. Ripped away might be better. Murdered, perhaps, better still. Of course, he couldn't prove the last, no one could, but the strange circumstances surrounding the accident...he wondered. Oh, he wondered.
And where had God been? Where was he? "Where were you, God?" he cried aloud to the empty air. To the ceiling, for all he felt God heard.
He remembered the childhood songs he sang in Sunday School. The phrases he had whispered in simple awe. He also remembered the fear and terror of witchdoctors chanting in the dead of night. The pain of sickness and strange foods and sweat. The loneliness of always saying goodbye and the agony of being misunderstood by others, even bullied. His parents did God's work, and he was left behind (or so he thought). But he and his mom had always been close. If nothing else, he knew she loved him. She was a bright spirit in his life, a candle snuffed out too soon.
And God had not heard. Oh, his friends and teachers tried to tell him God cared, but weighed against the empty, sightless eyes of the one who had borne him, the platitudes were empty. There was an empty space nothing could fill. Not man nor books nor even music, which he loved.
No, it was over. His mother had died to him, and so had God. Yet he wanted to believe. He wanted to see the One his parents served. He wanted for the worship and prayers to mean something. Something in his heart could still be tugged by praise.
Well, he would see God face to face soon enough, and find out if it was all true. He had a knife. And if the knife didn't work...maybe the bottle of ibuprofen in his grandparent's medicine cabinet would work. Everyone but him was gone, and he was left alone. Alone to carry out his plan. Of course, he had always been alone. Ever since he had been born (or so he thought).
He knew about heaven...for he loved prophecy and the thought of no more tears. He wondered why he had to wait...he didn't want to wait.
Almost of its own accord, his hand reached for the radio dial. He had found a local radio station, and it seemed to soothe him. The four part harmonies of four southern women seemed to help the most. The name of their group...it helped. Their lyrics, speaking of God's love...he could feel the love in their words.
"Hear the clock strike two am
Another sleepless night for you
Oh I have been there too
But there is healing in the hand of God
He will cover every burden
He'll even touch someone like you"
Like him? He knew he wasn't perfect. Far from it. Yet...someone like him?
All at once, it seemed to make sense. His mind didn't like it...but his heart latched on and would not let go.
"I have a plan for you…"
He hadn't heard the car come back. So who was speaking?
"I have a plan for you…"
He was imagining things.
"I have a plan for you."
Through his mind flashed an image- an image of him standing before a crowd, sharing the wonders of God's love. Of him speaking, where before he hated the thought. He saw it, clear as though he was actually there, and knew that it would come true.
And after that, he experienced something that cannot be explained. In the sort of knowing that has no words, he knew God was..God is.. love, and that he was loved. He knew, and that knowledge flooded his spirit.
And the knife fell from his hand. And he believed.
And that was, and it is, enough.
A/N: The song is a real song, as it the group that sings it. I'm dating myself, but they were big news when they were...big news. I certainly enjoyed them, in the day.
Some will ask who this story belongs to. It is a story of redemption, and that is all that matters. The face of the teenager could be any struggling Christian in the grip of depression and despair, though I have left clues for smarter readers.
The vision did come true. He did speak on many occasions, and still speaks today.
I wanted to do the thief on the cross, but someone else has already done it better. Go to youtube, if you are inclined, and look up the song Thief by Third Day. It's quite powerful.
And so ends this series of stories. I have enjoyed writing them, and I hope you have enjoyed reading them, more, that you see Jesus in a different light than you may have imagined. Thank you to Jesus Freak Blue for some of the ideas...and for all who have reviewed. It's been an honor.