Midnight Hike

Imagine:

First, you hear the water.  The stream rests in the foreground of your setting, so it strikes you first.  It catches the ears more so than the eyes; first, because there are enough pines to block it from view so you only hear its laughing, delectable presence pattering against your eardrums and, second, because dusk is fading rather quickly and dark is seizing supremacy.  Of course, the bubbling of the brook is only the first sensation to roll over your senses.  The scent of nature, predominantly that of pine needles, clings gently to the air as you breath it in.  Your eyes have already discovered a feast of sights too vast to consume all at once: the mighty mines, the fading rays of sunlight dancing over the water, and the mountain peaks towering over everything before and behind you.  A New Mexico canyon camping ground has far exceeded your expectations.  Your excitement has already reached a peak, since you already watched the greyish blue shapes on the horizon forming into real towers of rock, earth, and trees for hours as you drove closer to them across the flat, desert-like terrain of Oklahoma.  The blood in your veins pulses a little faster than usual, quickened by a number of joyous anticipations.

Then you hear the ominous words “midnight hike.”

That particular phrase only raises the already high spirits of your traveling companions, but it dampens yours slightly.  You have never hiked in the dark before, and certainly never on a mountain trail in the dark.  You don’t even know where that scraggly little dirt path goes, or if it goes anywhere at all.  Being someone who admits to a slight fear of the dark and having a great deal more terror for the darkness than you care to confess, you aren’t too keen on the whole idea.  These traveling companion—your sister and father—share a wild, adventurous steak which often causes you to not entirely trust them, though you always believe in them.  However, they will go with or without you, and  it would probably be better to go and die with them than be left in a tent waiting for those who might never return.

So, you go.

The result pleasantly surprises you.  Granted, you get an anxious certainty that you’re about to run into danger now and then—the sort of feeling that stirs a queasiness in the deepest pit of your gut and makes every hair on your body bristle.  However, you keep enough bravery from your fearless company to reason that not every twig in the dark can be a rattlesnake and none of the rustling bushes you note are large enough to conceal a bear.  Once you rationalize that, you actually start to enjoy yourself.  The path winds along the stream, so you keep the soothing benefit of its sound and never have to climb higher than the canyon floor.  Of course, you can’t really see your way at all, but there’s a sort of thrill in learning the knack of staying on the path by the contrast in sound and feel of dry grass under your feet instead of the little dirt road.  And what you can see of the nature around you possesses a strange, resounding sort of enchantment in the dark—something that almost feels endless.

And then you reach it.

The pines suddenly form a doorway that opens into a little glade, where the stream gets broader beside you and runs quieter: slow and still.    Everything almost seems to let out a long breath: silent and serene.  You look up and there hangs the waning moon, slipping through a gap in the clouds that seems custom cut to allow the silvery light to bathe the landscape.  Everything from the mountain tops to the stream at their base is suddenly luminescent—brilliant in twilight beauty  that practically sings out a melody of praise to its creator.  And then, in the very moment you think only the clouds stand in the way of a perfect scene, the overcast curtain suddenly rolls back.  Starlight twinkles down on the night you once found frightening, and you know all fear has been conquered.  In its place is a bottomless thirst  for Beauty which the endless glory about you will never fail to satiate.  Then, for that Eternal Moment,

You feel Infinite.

The Seed

Sunlight.

It glistened playfully over the ripples, like so many dancers swaying along the movements of a gentle melody.  The light glimmered over the dew-laden bristles of a nearby thorn bush.  Just to the right of the prickly foliage, a spring bubbled out from the green earth, spilling into a little pool and winding brook that traveled deeper into the forest.  There at the pool, however, the trees left an almost circular glade, occupied solely by the rippling pool.  A pile of red sandstone at the mouth of the spring tinted the water slightly crimson where it came out of the earth.  Over the pool, the trees’ branches stretched and met in a sort of emerald, blossoming canopy—full of spring’s promises for life and rebirth.  The sunlight slipped through this dome of nature’s cathedral and lit up the glade in a heavenly glow that danced over grass, flowers, and water.  No sound breached that beauty past a tender, whispering breeze, until a sudden panting interrupted the quiet.

The disturbance originated from a form sitting on the bank of the pool.  It was a young woman, at an age nearing the threshold of adulthood.  She sat stooped forward, with her feet dangling limply in the water and her trembling hands rested firmly on either side of her as if to prevent her toppling headfirst into the pool.  In fact, the drenched state of her pale golden hair and simple dress suggested she had already.  Given the weight of her panting, she had nearly drowned. 

In fact, Lily had drowned.  Hadn’t she?

She blinked.  Her wide eyes stared into the rippling water with confusion.  The light’s brilliance on the waters shrunk her pupils considerably, making the emerald rim of her irises bold and vivid.    A slight wrinkle formed between her eyebrows as she stared into the water, puzzling.  Something of great significance had occurred in the moments before, when  all the beauty and ferocity of the pool closed in and consumed her.  Looking back on it, Lily could not quite tell whether it had been a death or a birth—an end or a beginning.  Both, perhaps?  Either way, she felt certain she must never forget it.  Lily stared at her quivering hands.  With some effort, she straightened and turned her right palm upward.  Just as she thought, something had changed.  She felt altered all over, with her skin stinging as if rubbed raw.  The sensation encircled and revolved around her right hand, however, and she felt certain the most crucial change had occurred there.  A glance confirmed her suspicion.

There, in the flesh of her right palm, rested a small, fragile seed.

Lily could not tell if she held it or if it were part of her.  It seemed embedded, somehow, and when she tipped her hand over the kernel would not fall.  She blinked, studied it a little more, and resolved the change was permanent.  Not that she minded.  Lily felt quite certain she had been altered for the better.  She smiled, gathered her strength, and rose to her feet.  The pale green dress that hung to her knees remained plastered to her skin with water.  No matter.  She best get on her way.

Without another thought beyond a gentle, thrumming warmth in her chest, Lily started to follow the winding stream into the forest.  She hardly knew where she went or why, but the little Voice inside assured her that it was the path worth taking.  Swinging her hands at her sides carelessly, she trotted out of the glade and down her curious road.

Thunder.

It gave a great clap above her, and on its cue the heavens released a downpour.  The rain came so suddenly and without warning that Lily gave a startled cry and hesitated.  She would never get dry at this rate.  The trees parted enough along the brook to ensure a continuous drenching.  Perhaps following it was not for the best.  Trekking under the shadow and shelter of the trees to the left or right would certainly prove easier.  Lily sighed, looked at her options, and continued down her chosen route, intending to trust the Voice completely.  Still, the creek bank grew muddy, and the filth splatted across her bare feet and ankles.  Lily tried to ignore it, certain she had chosen right.

“Better find a more civilized road, dear.”

Lily stopped, startled, and looked up.  A woman stood across the stream to her right, kept safely dry under the trees and her own lacy umbrella.  She was no doubt kept warm from the chill, stormy air by all the refinement of the ladylike dress that covered her from neck to toe.  Lily found herself somewhat in awe by the sight, able only to stare dumbly at the woman’s neat, dark hair and fine appearance.  The woman’s violet eyes narrowed disapprovingly, taking in Lily’s dress and appearance, which seemed suddenly shabby in comparison to her luxurious apparel. 

“A new seed, by the looks of it,” the woman gave a distasteful sniff while taking a little glass perfume bottle from a delicate pouch at her wrist, “Take my advice and give up now.  The seed life will lead you to the most dirty and unpleasant places.  Stay clean and safe.  That’s the way to really live.”

Lily frowned, puzzled.  Her eyes wandered over the woman, trying to determine her trustworthiness.  She had assumed there were others like her—with seeds.  Following the Voice and taking care of her seed were instincts since her rebirth that she accepted, without considering other options.  The woman’s fine dress and obviously clean hands certainly looked more appealing than the rain and mud she embraced at present.  Lily observed as the woman sprayed the perfume on her throat and wrists delicately, then rubbed in the fragrance subtly.  While the scent struck Lily as something appealing, the motion drew her attention to something that stirred the her very core with revulsion.  When the woman rubbed her wrists together, Lily spotted a blackened, withered flower on her right palm, suffocated by the woman’s perfume.  Lily only saw it for a moment, but it was more than enough for her to clasp her own right palm protectively and continue down the bank.  The woman called after her with word about fine living, but they had lacked all their previous charm.  Anything that could ravage a budding seed was something Lily wanted no part in.  Another moment and the woman’s scent and words had faded into the rain forever, beyond enticement.

Lightning flashed.

She jumped, looked up at the clouded sky, but kept on her way.  Thunder, rain, or lightning, Lily entertained no intention of stopping.  The fine woman had assured her that taking shelter in the trees was not the path meant for her.  There was a reason the Voice urged her toward the brook, and she must give heed to that.  No sooner had Lily thus resolved, however, than the rain poured harder, the mud grew deeper, and a frigid gust of air beat at her.  Within a matter of minutes she began sinking up to her calves in the muck.  The stretch of drier ground just under the trees began to look more and more appealing.  She could walk there and still keep eyes on the water, surely.  Lily mused until her left foot slipped in the mud and she fell to one knee, dirtying her hands and the hem of her dress.  She shook her head distastefully as she rose. A fresh burst of wind settled her doubts instantly, and she stepped under the trees, careful to keep her eyes on the brook.  She could manage well enough that way.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all muddy?”

Lily jumped slightly, glancing toward the voice.  Deeper in the trees, a tall man stood smiling at her.  He seemed to have dark skin, which shimmered slightly when the light caught it.  The trees’ shadows kept her from making him out clearly, but his voice held a soft, comforting tone.

“Come further in, silly.  It’s drier back here.  I’ll walk with you for a while, if we’re heading in the same direction.”

His voice held such an enchanting sound that Lily found herself stepping closer to him without thinking.  He seemed to be walking the same direction, generally, so she met his stride with only a glance toward the brook.  They shared their names and fell quickly into a comfortable conversation.  His name was Nutsedge, and he was a wandering sort of fellow.  Lily hardly noticed it, but his merry conversation brought her ever closer to him and farther from the brook.  By the time she thought to look, she could no longer spot the creek at all.  Her breath caught in her throat frightfully.

“I say, Nutsedge, I can’t see the water at all!  Are you sure we’re headed in the same direction?”

“To be sure,” he laughed, putting an arm about her shoulders reassuringly, “there’s a little stretch where the brook gets too small to see, but we’ll be past that presently.”

His arm felt warm, safe.  For a moment she believed him.  Then a rare glimmer of sunlight lit the place where they stood.  Nutsedge released her and drew back sharply, but Lily had already seen him.  The light revealed the source of his warm, shimmering skin.  Warm, dark mud caked Nutsedge from head to toe—too much filth to ever allow a seed to grow.  She cried out sharply, disgusted.  Upon realizing she had spotted him, his comforting smile and tone vanished completely.  He stepped forward, with hands outstretched and a dangerous glint in his eyes. 

Lily screamed and fled.

For a moment she thought she might not escape fast enough or ever find the river.  Just as soon as she recognized such fear, however, the brook seemed to find her.  Nutsedge cried out with disappointment and was lost in the rain that soaked her once more.  Now, however, she had the revolting feel and stench his dark mud across her back and shoulders, and the rain did not seem able to wash it away, despite its definite increase.  Lily found herself trekking through the muck again, more miserable than ever.  Again and again she slipped in the mud, streaking her hands and arms with the stuff in her attempts to catch herself. 

Finally, she fell and ceased her attempts to stand.

For a long while she sat there and looked down at her own soiled self.  The fine woman’s talk of cleanliness started to feel more appealing, when confronted with such filth.  Lily sighed, studying her muddy hands.  She could not even see the seed anymore, beneath the muck.  Her throat tightened, and her eyes grew hot.  Lily took in a deep breath, trying to hold it in.  No good.  Tears and sobs escaped her without her permission.  Soon she wept shamelessly, crying aloud all her frustration at the seed that had offered nothing but trial and suffering.

“Well, that’s the best kind, isn’t it?”

Lily’s head snapped up, startled.  A small, wiry woman stood in the creek to her right, smiling down on her.  First Lily noted her pale green dress, and then the brilliant emerald eyes that watched her.  She also noticed a bit of mud splotching the woman’s hands and arms.  However, the oddity Lily spotted afterward removed every previous impression.  Vines.  They wound up the woman’s right arm, over her throat, and wove themselves through the crimson curls that tumbled down her back.  The foliage seemed part of her, branching out here and there with delicate, purple flowers.  Lily found she could only stare at the beauty, awed.

“What?”

The woman smiled sweetly.  “Seeds that lead you to hard places are the best, I said. Then you get wet and dirty, just as you ought.”

Lily struggled to hide her growing confusion, and the woman obviously recognized it.  She laughed brightly, stooping down to put her dirty hands in the rippling waters.  “Dirt and water nurture the seed, and when you refresh yourself in the river… everything becomes clear.”

With the last words, the woman straightened, letting Lily look at her hands once more.  There, where the dirt had streaked her arms, were fresh sprouts of vines.  The woman then took a step closer and offered her right hand to help Lily back to her feet.  At that moment, Lily realized that the woman’s vines all sprouted from a seed in her right palm.

“Now come on,” the woman crooned, “let the water restore you.”

Gently, the woman led her into the water, where they both scrubbed the filth from her.  Some of it was so caked and hardened she rubbed her skin raw removing it.  It hurt a little, much like the cracking of a seed’s outer shell to allow growth.  And beneath her filth lay growth indeed.  The rain ceased in that moment, allowing a glimmer to slip through the clouds and illuminate the miracle before her.  Fed by the soil of her struggle and protected by the purity of her efforts, a little green plant began to wind itself around her wrist, where one branch opened up into a little, white flower.

“Water Lily,” the woman laughed, “that’s your full name.  Mine’s Morning Glory.  Happy to struggle alongside you, Lily… nothing else is more worth it, in the end.” 

Lily might have doubted such a statement before, but she fully believed it when she gazed down at the little blossom on her wrist.  A little grain of reassurance sowed itself in her, sprouting a warmth in her chest.  In the end, she had chosen right.  The path was hard, surely, but that made it worth it.  After all, seeds could not grow without a little dirt, rain, and effort.

Finding Hope

     The breeze stopped. Songs of birds, that had been, ceased. For a moment nature herself seemed to hold her breath. He looked at the hand reaching down to him, holding out a piece of rolled up parchment. The hand was rough and hard worked, and the man it belonged to was the same. At first glance he would have been thought an ordinary man, with his plain tunic and a sack resting over his shoulder. The smile twisting his mouth and the scroll in his hand could be seen at closer observation though, and made him very different.
     “Are you ready, David?”
David looked at the scroll. Inside his soul he felt the same joy that characterized the man before him: the joy of the good news that had been offered to him through this very man. However, a seed of doubt remained buried in his heart.
     “How can I teach what I’ve only just learned myself?” he asked hesitantly.
     “Age and experience are nothing. If you want to do this, then you are ready.”
     He wanted to so much that it hurt. How could he not want to share such joy? He had only wanted a little reassurance. Now he had that.
     “I’m ready.” He grasped the scroll, but the man did not let it go.
     “It will be hard, David, but follow orders and don’t ask why.”
     “What orders?” David frowned. He had received no orders.
     “Hope will guide your steps.”
     The man spoke in riddles that made no sense, but he was not to question. He had one more thing he wanted to know.
     “Who do I give it to?”
     “When the time comes, you will know.”
     The man released the scroll to him. David held it close, fingering the red cord that tied it shut. It was so small, yet such a precious thing. He would guard it with his life. He wore a bag over his shoulder that held his map and other things. He had a sword at his belt and a shield over his back. They were tools he had used often in his old life of wandering. Now they had a purpose, as he did. David stood stall, readjusted the cloak on his shoulders, and turned to go.
     He stopped for a moment. With a smile he looked over his shoulder to think the man, but he was already disappearing over the crest of a hill. Then again, no expression of gratitude would do. Sometimes silence could be the best option. David started on his way again, promising to never forget what had happened to him moments before. His feet thudded on the path in a steady rhythm. For a moment he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him making a great harmony that soothed his soul.
     Turn right
     David stopped dead in his tracks. The voice had come suddenly, quietly, but crystal clear in his mind. He looked to his right, and saw a narrow path leading deeper into the forest. The small dirt rood looked anything but welcoming. He pulled the map out of his bag.
     Turn right
     “It’s not on the map.”
     Did I give you that map? It is nothing but a piece of paper.
     David opened his mouth to protest, but closed it. Doubt and confusion clouded his heart, but clear memory spoke to his soul. He must follow orders without question. The order was clear and obvious. Would he follow it? Hope will guide your steps. This was not what he had imagined. An unseen voice unnerved him. Quiet and gentle as it was, the fact that he could see no speaker chilled him to the bones.
     Turn right
     After another moments pause, he stepped onto the narrow path. The branches hung so low he had to stoop to avoid them. Cobwebs caught him as he trudged by and stuck, as if to stop him. He swatted at them irritably and walked on. The wind stirred and whispered in a haunting voice of doom. He had gone the wrong way already. He would never make it now. Fear tightened his throat, but he kept walking.
     “Dear God, save me!”
     David stiffened. The cry for help made his blood run cold. He heard no orders, but felt an urge he could not deny. He sprinted toward the sound without hesitation. No pleading soul should ever go denied. He had learned that much in his years as a man asking questions. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade. He burst through a wall of brush and into a glade, panting.
     Before him towered a large dragon, clutching a small bundle in its claws. The bundle squirmed, revealing little arms and legs. It had a head of golden curls that twinkled in the sunlight. David caught sight of two flashing blue eyes that were wide with fear. The child opened her mouth and screamed for help again. The dragon brought her close to its head and licked its bloody lips hungrily. David tore his blade from its scabbard and surged forward with a bellow. The beast looked at him as it he was a buzzing fly. It flicked its tail in his direction. David swung his sword into the scaly flesh. The dragon roared angrily and pulled its tail back, taking the weapon with it. David stared at his empty hands for a moment, dumfounded. One of its claws slammed into his side and knocked him off his feet. He rolled across the ground and came up on his knees. To his left he could see the child, which still struggled in the monster’s clutch. David snatched the shield from his back and threw it. It collided with the arm that held her, cutting a deep gash. David dove, barely managing to catch her before she hit the ground. Then he set her down gently.
     “Run!” he yelled. The child turned to obey without protest. David turned to see the tail come down on him. The impact shoved him facedown into the dirt. He tasted blood in his mouth. The tail held him down and kept him helpless as death’s breath grew hot on the back of his neck. This was it – his end.
     Tiny fingers pulled on his sleeve.
     “Get up!”
     He opened his eyes. The girl knelt by him, holding his sword out to him. When he simply stared she shoved it into his hand and stood. She put both hands on the tail holding him down and pushed with a groan. The dragon turned flashing eyes on her. The hold on David loosened. He clutched his sword and slipped out of his captor’s grasp. The he stood, slowly. The child ran to his side. David put a hand on her and pulled her close in a protective embrace. The dragon lunged at them, but David ducked beneath the
snapping jaws and drove his blade into the beast’s chest. It sunk in to the hilt. The monster raise it head with a final cry and fell.
     The child stared at the bloody corpse, trembling. David sheathed his sword, retrieved his shield, and looked at her. A small tear trickled down her dirty cheek. Her right arm was coated in blood. He knelt by her and put a hand over her eyes.
     “Don’t look at it,” he crooned softly. “It’s alright now.”
     She shook. More tears slipped out from under his hand. A whimper escaped her throat. Without warning she threw her arms around his neck and wept into his shoulder. He held her against him and stood. He carried her away from the tainted glade and onto the narrow path. Once they had gone a distance he found a small spring along the road. He knelt beside it and let her sit down. Using his sword, he cut a strip from his cloak. He soaked it in water and grabbed her right hand. She did not protest, but simply sat still and sniffled. David washed away the blood and found a sat of teeth marks in her upped arm. He rinsed the blood out of the cloth and used it to bind the wound.
     He looked into her piercing blue eyes, “What’s your name?”
     “Alyiah.”
     “Do you have any parents?”
     “I live with mommy in the forest,”
     He frowned, “Can you find you’re way home?”
     She nodded.
     Take her home
     David blinked. The come came again, quietly ordering. He frowned. The child could get home herself, certainly. He had a duty that did not include any obligations to her. However, his orders had been spoken.
     “I’ll make sure you get home safely.”
     She looked up at him as he stood. A smiled of gratitude twisted her lips ever so slightly. They turned and walked down the path hand in hand. Alyiah skipped along to keep up with his long stride. Her eyes fell on the scroll in his belt with a curious twinkle.
     “What’s that?”
     He followed her gaze and smiled, “Good news.”
     “For who?”
     “I’m not sure,” he shrugged.
     “Then how do you know where to go?”
     He thought for a moment, “A voice keeps speaking to me. Hope… I think.” He paused. “Do you believe in God, Alyiah?”
     She looked up with wide eyes, “God?”
     “You called for Him earlier.”
     Alyiah’s gaze turned to an expression of calm wonder. “Did I?” she asked in a manner that did not demand answer. They both fell silent after that; uncertain of what should be said. A cool breeze brought a shiver from them. David stopped very suddenly. Alyiah looked up at him and opened her mouth to speak, but he spoke first.
     “Which way, Alyiah?”
     His face was little pale as he spoke. Alyiah turned and saw that the path before them branched off in two directions. Her heart fluttered in a moment of fear.
     “I…” she swallowed, “I’ve never seen this place before.” Somehow he knew she would say that. The air had an unnatural feel to it. He felt very certain this place had not been here before, and was no more than a creation of the whispering wind and cobwebs that ever tried to stop him along his path. Doubt hovered over him like a lingering shadow, but Alyiah turned to him with confidence.
     “What does Hope say?” she inquired.
     He hesitated, listening, “Left.”
     Without another word she started toward the left path, pulling him after her. David let himself be led for a few steps before stopping again. His eyes found something on the right path that caught his attention. A figure in white stood there, holding its arm out to him. Alyiah must have seen it too, for she let out a little gasp. The figure smiled welcomingly and beckoned.
     “Come this way.”
     David stared in confusion, “Who are you?”
     “Hope.” It seemed to shine as it spoke in a kind voice. A much quieter voice spoke to his soul.
     Go left, David.
     “Come this way,” the figure beckoned again. This was the Hope he had imagined: something he could see clearly. It made a great deal more sense than an unseen voice. It was easy to take in. He stepped toward it.
     Go left
     He pushed the voice aside and took another step.
     “Stop!” A child’s hand grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged. Alyiah implored him with blue eyes. “Hope said left, right?”
     “What if…” David spoke wistfully and tried to continue, but Alyiah held his arm tightly to stop him from getting closer to the figure.
     “Didn’t hope lead you the right way before?” Alyiah demanded.
     David looked down and took in her scowling face. It took time to realize what she had said. His head felt heavy, as if he were waking from a dream. Where had she gotten such faith? He nodded.
     “Then it will lead you the right way this time!” She pulled him towards the left path.
     “Come this way,” the white figure called.
     Left, David
     Yes. Why had he not seen before? The figure was just another whispering wind or cobweb pulling him away. Silently, he thanked God for Alyiah’s faith. The child let go of his hand and started to run.
     “Mother!”
     He looked up. Alyiah ran through a small gate and up the steps of a small house, where a woman waited with open arms. The sight of the two embracing made David’s heart stop, bringing a sort of pain to his chest. He heard the voice, very clear. This was it. He slipped through the gate and up the steps of the house.
     The woman looked up at him, “How can I thank you?”
     David smiled down at her. He extended his hand, which held the scroll he treasured so dearly. “Read this.”
     “What is it?”
     “Good news.”
     She opened it. Her eyes grew wide, taking in the beauty of its contents. Alyiah looked over her mother’s shoulders with curiosity. David watched as the woman began to cry quietly. The scene made him relive the moment he had read the parchment only hours before. Did she feel the same he had? Such joy could not be described with words. He put a hand on her shaking shoulders. Alyiah began to weep as well. They gave out long sobs of happiness while holding each other tightly. The woman looked up, wiping tears from her eyes.
     “Who else knows?” she asked quietly.
     “Many,” he smiled, “but not enough. We must all continue to tell them.” He bent down and picked up the parchment that had fallen to the ground. Rolling it up, he stood. David held it out to her, “Are you ready?”
     “But… I’ve only just learned.”
     Doubt–they all head it. It took the faith of a child to fight it. “Age and experience are nothing. If you want to do this, then you are ready.” It was a matter of trust, not work. It was not easy thing to be sure, but if one could lean on Hope then it would lead the way and make the burden lighter.
Alyiah grinned, “I’m ready!” Her mother nodded. They put their hands on the scroll, but David held on to it.
“It will be hard, Alyiah, but follow orders and do not ask why.” The child would tell many, no doubt. Her faith would shine like no other. He could hardly wait to tell others like her.
     “Orders?” Alyiah looked confused.
     “Hope will guide your steps.”
     Her mother looked up, “Who do we give it to?”
     David smiled, “When the time comes, you will know.”

“But hope that is seen is no hope at all.”

~Romans 8:24b (NIV)

Offensive Love

Love.  For not understanding it humans tend to use the word a great deal.  We like to think of our fluttering fancies and our craving desires as something fitting of the it.  We tend to dream of the knight saving his lady from danger and give great sighs of "how romantic" in our petty ideas of what love might be.  As Christians, in particular, we have endless ideas of what love is and how we feel it and relish in it.  However, the closer one looks into the God that inspires love, the more they will realize how little they know of it all.

Love is beyond human comprehension. 

Of course, we can all picture a man in armor rushing to the aid of a woman he fancies with the assurance that she fancies him and, at that moment, needs him.  That is simple enough.  But what of a knight going to save a whore, inclined by all past evidence not to return his love, from the pit her own destructive passions?  The very sentence makes the mind recoil from all its warm feelings.  We innocents will whisper to ourselves "don't use that sort of language" and pass over the notion with disgust.  As much as we might want to think otherwise, we all would have that reaction if we were honest.  To put our fairytale into such a context is scandalous.  Who would dare?

God would.

The Creator of love cries out that scandalous tale in His own Holy Book.  Over and over He speaks through kings and prophets of the Love that makes us uncomfortable.  Through Ezekiel He told us, "...I passed by you and saw you wallowing in your blood, [and] I said to you in your blood, ‘Live!’ I said to you in your blood, ‘Live!’ I made you flourish like a plant of the field. And you grew up and became tall and arrived at full adornment. Your breasts were formed, and your hair had grown; yet you were naked and bare. 
^"When I passed by you again and saw you, behold, you were at the age for love, and I spread the corner of my garment over you and covered your nakedness; I made my vow to you and entered into a covenant with you, declares the Lord God, and you became mine" (16:6-8, ESV).

We see these words of filth and bareness and shift in our seats, disgruntled. Is so much talk of nakedness and blood truly necessary? God thinks so. He paints clearly the state we were found in, when He came to us with the chance to live and be loved. The Love that takes a filthy, broken thing and raises it to an age and state "for love"... that is the Love He offers. But it doesn't stop their either. God's Love continues even when, as Ezekiel describes, "you trusted in your beauty and played the whore because of your renown and lavished your whorings on any passerby; your beauty became his. You took some of your garments and made for yourself colorful shrines, and on them played the whore" (16:15-16a, ESV).  His Love is the kind that will continue even in such atrocities.  Without qualm or hesitation, He will save His bride from the very bed of her adultery.  We might feel embarrassed at such pages and the Love they imply, but it is those pages of Love, that make us blush or feel uncomfortable, which we need to study and comprehend most if we ever want to understand the love our Creator made.  To hear our hero Rahab was a prostitute and our model David an adulterer offends us, but God still put it in front of us clearly, daring us to be offended.

That is Love.  Intruding, offensive, and unashamed.

The Doubting Christian

In the world today, unspoken implications accompany every statement.  Insinuation lies under everything, especially in the realm of teaching.  The Christian Church is heavily guilty of such unstated teachings, and more than one sorely needs addressing.  One that stands above others, however, is the unspoken belief on doubt.  Pastors and speakers preach on God’s omnipotent and omniscient nature, which are both long words that young Christians often interpret as, “God has control of everything, so He is never to be doubted.”  While Christian teachers instruct the message unintentionally, it still does its work.  In the church-going person’s mind, a “doubting Christian” becomes interchangeable with “a Christian whose salvation is doubtful.”  That interchangeableness may seem true and harmless, but it leads to Christians that refuse to doubt anything that comes from God, which is unbiblical and damaging.  When Christians refuse to accept doubt, they do not rid themselves of it; instead, they give it opportunity to injure more and pass over a chance for deepened faith in God.

When Christians suppress doubt in God, they do not rid themselves of it.  Christianity is not simple, because God never intended it to be.  Eventually, life will turn a corner that gives qualm.  That change may present itself in a person, situation, or even a page in the Bible itself, but inevitably something about God, whether His teachings or His deeds, will run in opposition to a Christian.  The challenge may vary, but it comes to all, because all are humans, lacking God’s divine mindset.  The mortal shells in which Christians are contained cannot avoid some deviation with the immortal God.  Doubt will inevitably come.  When that voice of questioning whispers inside, a church-goer’s natural reaction stifles it, due to the implied teachings of his or her life.  Christians correlate doubt with sin and, therefore, force it down.  Without outlet, a seed of doubt will sprout roots of fear and bitterness.  Denying doubt will not erase its existence.  Once conceived, question cannot be unasked.  Stifling doubt only keeps it inside, where it does the most damage. 

By containing doubt, Christians often ravage their faith.  Refusing to question God directly makes doubt fester in false secrecy—a place where Christians convince themselves an all-knowing God does not know what they are thinking.  In that location the doubt will frighten Christians and embitter them toward the God who “refuses” to answer a question he or she never dared to ask.  Believers will keep doubt unvoiced to God and other believers in order to avoid appearing ungodly to the church that ever insinuates the “sin of doubting.”  In such a fashion doubt takes on the façade of invincibility.  Christians fear to speak of their doubt not only because God is omnipotent, but because failing to ask the questions stirred by doubt makes them certain everyone will fail to answer.  They fear voicing it will only spread their uncertainty to others.  Doubt becomes a plague, which seems able to contaminate others by mere utterance.  Thus, Christians fail not only to share their doubts with God, but with other Christians as well.  In such a way the stifled, inward doubt roots itself deeply and ravages a Christian’s faith.

If Christians honestly release doubt into God’s care, He will use it to motivate Christians to faith based upon more than emotion.  Once believers admit their doubt to themselves and God, it gains a much different power.  In God’s care, doubt gains the ability to strengthen rather than injure.  In the end, God is omniscient, which does not mean Christians should refuse to doubt, but rather, that He can answer every doubt Christians have to offer.  Rather than condemning doubt as a tool of the devil, which molds it into just that, Christians should consider that doubt is first a tool of God.  Learning occurs fastest when the learners ask questions.  Is it not probable, then, that God should allow doubts in Christians so they might ask and therefore learn about Himself?  If His followers will but have the faith to offer Him their doubts in confidence, He will doubtless put all uncertainties to rest.  As an all-knowing God, He holds all the answers.  Granted, not all divine solutions will suit just what the imperfect nature of humanity desires, but the answers are there.  More doubts, questions, and time of honesty in God’s presence will eventually lead Christians to a place of submission to His will.  Only then, after doubts have served their purpose, can God’s followers sit in trust at His feet.

By stifling doubt, Christians often damage their faith rather than accepting the uncertainty and the deeper faith it can develop.  God will answer all His followers’ questions, in time, if they will but ask them.  If Christians force themselves to remain unquestioning of the omniscient God, they will never experience the wisdom He has to offer.  God has never turned aside a doubtful mind.  From Moses to Paul, He has, in His timing, answered the questions offered about Himself.  Without the use of doubt, His tools for maturity grow limited.  With that truth in mind, the Church’s implied teaching turns on its head.  A “doubting Christian” is not “a Christian whose salvation is doubtful.”  Rather, a doubting Christian in the hands of a God known for His ability and desire to put doubt to rest is a Christian set on the assured path of salvation.