One of my favorite Hymns. This is the Christ, a deep, meditative melody that reaches into some of the deepest recesses of all this earthly turmoil and whispers the sweet assurances that everything is in hand. During this Christmas time, with all of its fast paced commercialism and heartfelt gift-giving and shopping, it is so easy to lose sight of the wonderful blessing that is ours, and indeed the very reason that we celebrate this time of year when the days are shorter and the nights colder.
The Babe of Bethlehem, the Son of Man, the Child of Mary, it is at this time of year that we celebrate the life, and more specifically the birth, of the most powerful and wonderful being to walk this earth. “He who ransoms us with love divine” sings the sacred strains of the holy music. At this time of year, may we be lead to exclaim as this song does: “I feel his love, the price he paid…” for it is at this time of year, more than any other, that we should stop and look at the wonderful blessings that currently surround us. At this time of year when our families draw closer to us, our hearts tend to open wider, and our faith in humanity is restored somewhat as we see the charity and hope extended to those downtrodden throughout the rest of the year. Eyes darkened with sadness lighten as unspoken acts of kindness bring the bright rays of excitement to an otherwise dark and despondent world.
I believe that Christmas is a time of year that Satan’s host truly despises, and indeed, works harder to thwart the Great plan than any other time of the year. Such can be seen in the lack of spirituality and a focus on Santa Clause and gifts. Children’s eyes are generally cast down to the base of the tree in anticipation of presents wrapped in jolly blues, and greens, and very little red, rather than lifting up to fixate on the star adorning the top of the tree. Parents focus on giving their children and friends more than they received, in a generous but misguided feeling of charity. Perhaps the Christmases that have meant the most, or been the most beneficial have been those that have had little under the tree. In those seasons of trial we are forced to learn the true reason for our celebrations.
While I may not be considered a wise man, I’m still following His star, and it has brought me peace, stability, and hope throughout my tumultuous trials. I love this time of year, when nostalgia and a child-like excitement awakens within me, and carols ring out in the cold winter air. I urge you that beneath the silver bells and choruses of Rudolph to make room for the Christ Child in your celebrations. If you are struggling with questions of faith, matters of a more physical nature, or weaknesses of carnal or spiritual nature, remember the gift of this Holy Birth and find peace and hope in its implications. It is at this time of year that we are bidden to forget our burdens, open our hearts and do as the shepherds were bidden to come and see the Christ Child.
Heavenly Father has given us so much in this life, our family, our friends, our homes, and most importantly, our agency through the ultimate gift of His son, Jesus Christ. All of our celebrations, our joys, even our very existences would be nullified without that first Christmas. Without the birth of the Christ child, our lives would have been rendered meaningless, for no matter what one achieves in this life, if there were no sacrifice made, no Ultimate Gift given, then when our lives had finished our achievements would linger on past our lives and then they too would dwindle and die. Now, with the blessings of the Atonement upon our lives we are made eternal creatures of Celestial worth, and all those things in our lives that are truly of worth have been made to endure forever as well. We have so much more for us to celebrate this time of year than the blinking lights and wrapped packages! While we hear this so often that it has become somewhat cliché, it is one of the greatest presents that we have ever received or will ever receive. A Christmas without Christ will always be hollow and cheapened, whereas the presence of our Savior’s memory in our homes will always keep alive the true spirit of the season.
I love all who read these words, and wish you a Merry Christmas filled with the loving Spirit of our Heavenly Father to bless your homes with peace and happiness throughout the coming year. I urge all who are struggling to feel the sacred nature of this time of year to seek diligently, so that you too can testify “This is the Christ” that He may be the Healer of your soul as He has been, and still is of mine. I give you a promise that as you seek to truly feel the real spirit of Christmas, that quiet glow that accompanied this festive season in your childhood will again return, indeed it will be magnified as you see the reflection of the joy and the warmth of our Savior’s love spilling over and reflecting in the eyes of those around you who will be uplifted by your presence. Celebrate His birth at this time and look forward to that time when He shall come again, and the Angels shall sing as they did before:
“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” Let us begin our pilgrimage to find the babe in the manger anew for the coming year. Let us seek our “wonderful counselor, the mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace” and receive the blessings inherent to serving such a being. This is my humble Christmas prayer, Merry Christmas everyone.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Atonement of Hope
The Atonement is the most singularly amazing event that has ever occurred in the history of mankind. All other accomplishments that came before or would follow after would be meaningless in its absence. Christ’s sufferings in the Garden, his perfect sacrifice of his life, are so grand in scope that we sometimes lose sight on how personal the Atonement truly is, and we forget one of the greatest gifts that the Atonement has ever given us: Hope.
The Lord’s sacrifice opened up the way for us to return to His presence, gave way to the realization of eternal families, and made our very existences relevant and purposeful. He unlocked the way for us to become like him. There is no measurement in our comprehension that can define all the different ways that He has saved us. It is because of Him that we even have reason to hope. However, just like any other good gift, there is an opposition that we must overcome in order to fully enjoy its blessings. President Faust teaches, “The evil influence of Satan would destroy any hope we have in overcoming our mistakes. He would have us feel that we are lost and that there is no hope.”
Perhaps one of the greatest lies that the Great Deceiver has ever convinced us to believe is that hope is for others, and not for ourselves, or that we are unworthy of that hope. During a hard point in my life, when everything seemed to be going wrong, and I felt as if I had been tossed to the sea without hope of rescue. I felt to cry as the disciples of old “Master, carest thou not that [I] perish?” I received my answer to that question in a most welcome manner. I later recorded my thoughts in a short journal entry, which I shared with you in the previous entry that I posted.
Isaiah cried, “Surely he hath born our griefs, and carried our sorrows.” Elder Holland expounded further by stating, “Brothers and sisters, one of the great consolations of this Easter season is that because Jesus walked such a long, lonely path utterly alone, we do not have to do so”. Christ loved us so much that he “tread the winepress alone” with no other help. He offered up himself as a sacrifice, and took upon us all of our sins, pains, and anguishes, in which he fulfilled the teachings of Alma “that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities”(Alma 7:11) He has suffered everything that we have ever gone through or will go through in order to give us hope of more beautiful days and loving embraces.
When we stumble, and when we fall, Christ is there to pick us back up. I am firmly convinced that the greater sin is not in falling down, but rather in not getting back up once fallen. As Lucy Maud Montgomery penned “isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” I know that I am not the only one who has suffered, in reality I count myself blessed for the amount of support and patience I have been shown with my trials. Everyone will be confronted with such times when our hope seems too heavy to carry, and we will be tempted to throw it aside. In such times, let us remember the words of Ether: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place on the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.” (Ether 12:4)
Remember the Lord’s promise that “if [we] humble ourselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.” (Ether 12:27, emphasis added) My emphasis in that sentence was intentional to draw to our attention where the action of transforming weak things into strong ones originates. Our duty is to have faith in the Lord, which faith is a principle of action that guides us to better ourselves. If our hearts are in the right place, the Lord will work a mighty miracle in us.
A poem that I have posted earlier in my blog describes the beautiful hope that the Atonement brings:
The wind speaks softly through the trees
A quiet prayer for me to hear
Beneath the emerald canopy of trees
The voice grows quiet as it draws near
It speaks to me of Love’s soft hand
That beckons from a distant land
It whispers silent assurances sweet
Given by one with pierced hands and feet
To feel the raw emotion of passion sinned
And the weight of worthiness thinned
The pain of discouragement and lost hope
When dreams and loves vanish in smoke
One is there who helps to raise up fallen arms
An eternal hope to sustain us through harsh storms
A beacon that guides us with light to come
Over rocks and stones, to bring us safely home.
This is the greatest hope of all, that after all the trials and tribulations, the frivolous mistakes and constant, ongoing repentance, we will be allowed to come back home and be enveloped in that loving embrace that we all yearn for. We have the hope that this life is not the end. John Donne wrote of the end of this life, describing it as “one short sleep past, we wake eternally, and death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.” How closely this mirrors Paul’s exclamation: “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” What blessings we have in this Gospel to know of the Hope brought to us by the glad tidings of our Lord’s sacrifice! May we allow that knowledge to draw us closer to our Savior in His love. As Elder Holland said: “This Easter week and always, may we stand by Jesus Christ “at all times and in all things, and in all places that [we] may be in, even until death,” for surely that is how He stood by us when it was unto death and when He had to stand entirely and utterly alone”
The Lord’s sacrifice opened up the way for us to return to His presence, gave way to the realization of eternal families, and made our very existences relevant and purposeful. He unlocked the way for us to become like him. There is no measurement in our comprehension that can define all the different ways that He has saved us. It is because of Him that we even have reason to hope. However, just like any other good gift, there is an opposition that we must overcome in order to fully enjoy its blessings. President Faust teaches, “The evil influence of Satan would destroy any hope we have in overcoming our mistakes. He would have us feel that we are lost and that there is no hope.”
Perhaps one of the greatest lies that the Great Deceiver has ever convinced us to believe is that hope is for others, and not for ourselves, or that we are unworthy of that hope. During a hard point in my life, when everything seemed to be going wrong, and I felt as if I had been tossed to the sea without hope of rescue. I felt to cry as the disciples of old “Master, carest thou not that [I] perish?” I received my answer to that question in a most welcome manner. I later recorded my thoughts in a short journal entry, which I shared with you in the previous entry that I posted.
Isaiah cried, “Surely he hath born our griefs, and carried our sorrows.” Elder Holland expounded further by stating, “Brothers and sisters, one of the great consolations of this Easter season is that because Jesus walked such a long, lonely path utterly alone, we do not have to do so”. Christ loved us so much that he “tread the winepress alone” with no other help. He offered up himself as a sacrifice, and took upon us all of our sins, pains, and anguishes, in which he fulfilled the teachings of Alma “that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities”(Alma 7:11) He has suffered everything that we have ever gone through or will go through in order to give us hope of more beautiful days and loving embraces.
When we stumble, and when we fall, Christ is there to pick us back up. I am firmly convinced that the greater sin is not in falling down, but rather in not getting back up once fallen. As Lucy Maud Montgomery penned “isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” I know that I am not the only one who has suffered, in reality I count myself blessed for the amount of support and patience I have been shown with my trials. Everyone will be confronted with such times when our hope seems too heavy to carry, and we will be tempted to throw it aside. In such times, let us remember the words of Ether: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place on the right hand of God, which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God.” (Ether 12:4)
Remember the Lord’s promise that “if [we] humble ourselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.” (Ether 12:27, emphasis added) My emphasis in that sentence was intentional to draw to our attention where the action of transforming weak things into strong ones originates. Our duty is to have faith in the Lord, which faith is a principle of action that guides us to better ourselves. If our hearts are in the right place, the Lord will work a mighty miracle in us.
A poem that I have posted earlier in my blog describes the beautiful hope that the Atonement brings:
The wind speaks softly through the trees
A quiet prayer for me to hear
Beneath the emerald canopy of trees
The voice grows quiet as it draws near
It speaks to me of Love’s soft hand
That beckons from a distant land
It whispers silent assurances sweet
Given by one with pierced hands and feet
To feel the raw emotion of passion sinned
And the weight of worthiness thinned
The pain of discouragement and lost hope
When dreams and loves vanish in smoke
One is there who helps to raise up fallen arms
An eternal hope to sustain us through harsh storms
A beacon that guides us with light to come
Over rocks and stones, to bring us safely home.
This is the greatest hope of all, that after all the trials and tribulations, the frivolous mistakes and constant, ongoing repentance, we will be allowed to come back home and be enveloped in that loving embrace that we all yearn for. We have the hope that this life is not the end. John Donne wrote of the end of this life, describing it as “one short sleep past, we wake eternally, and death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.” How closely this mirrors Paul’s exclamation: “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” What blessings we have in this Gospel to know of the Hope brought to us by the glad tidings of our Lord’s sacrifice! May we allow that knowledge to draw us closer to our Savior in His love. As Elder Holland said: “This Easter week and always, may we stand by Jesus Christ “at all times and in all things, and in all places that [we] may be in, even until death,” for surely that is how He stood by us when it was unto death and when He had to stand entirely and utterly alone”
Friday, November 12, 2010
That Frail Thing Called Hope...
I know that I've already posted this one on my facebook, but I thought it was good enough to deserve a re-post here, where it can reach a wider audience. I wrote this about a two years ago, so the events in it area little dated, but I think that it's applicable to a lot in life.
Now then, before I begin this writing, I'll let you all know that I'm feeling particularly verbose, so be prepared. Some of this rests on cliche's but I want to send a message out to everyone who's ever felt that the night is too long, or that the road is too rocky.
Sometimes in this life we have a tendency to see the dark pit that is our life as we see it and despair. We fear that we aren't good enough for the trials that we face and we feel as though there is no hope for the future and what it holds. We see tomorrow as only a prolonged painful experience that we will never fully conquer. We see the happiness of those around us and wonder why we are so lost and what we are doing wrong. I am talking about those nights where an evil presence is our closest companion and it seems that we can't seem to get out of the black stupor that has come upon us. I've been there, many many times.
Over the course of this last year I've been met with a lot, my whole family has, in fact these past few years have been something close to disastrous. First we have the situation of that angelic presence known as Whitney and her disabling disease. That sweet little girl that did nothing to deserve such a lot in this life. The disease caught everyone in the family off guard. We couldn't believe that such a thing could happen, not in this perfect life. I remember worrying about my brother and his wife and family. How would they deal with such a burden as this sickness would be?
Then we faced the loss of two loved family members, that of our Uncle Don, and Grandpa McBride. Two giants that had been staples in our lives while we had been growing up. Both of their deaths were surprises and we weren't expecting either of them to be taken so quickly from us. We faced our first real moments of staring into the eternities and the first moments of having something truly beyond our control. Something final that caused us to shake and brought that darkness even closer to our doorsteps it would seem. Something that really brought the reality of death into at the very least my life. I can't speak for my siblings in this regard, for I don't know their experiences. But I do know that it was a tough and trying time.
Our Mom passed away almost a year ago now. Those were dark days, despair seemed to settle over my life. It was at a very crucial point in my life, too. I had just set out into the academic world and was first experiencing my own independance outside of the mission. I remember the days following this sad event, the dark nights of wondering, the outright denials on my part, and the absolute bewilderment I felt as to my lack of happiness. I seemed miserable all the time. I sat in my dank prison cel of self-pity, wondering where the daylight that had graced me throughout my life had gone. We had lost an angel from amongst us, and I felt that loss. It was heart breaking. I remember at the funeral as I watched my brothers and sisters with their families, their loved ones, and I felt so utterly alone. I saw my two best friends, each with their beautiful wives (or soon to be wives in that case) and how happy they seemed to be, and I felt isolated and utterly alone in those moments. Alone like I'd never felt before in my life... What had I done wrong? What had I done to deserve such a punishment?
All at once, that picturesque setting that had defined my family's life crumbled and died. Suddenly those things that we hear about in Ensign articles and in the movies was happening to us. Our lives had suddenly lost that stable enviorenment that we had grown so accustomed to. Our entire perspective on things was forced to change and we were forced to adapt to confront these new challenges. There was so much in that small amount of time, all of this ocurring within the last three years. So little time compared to the rest of our lives, even in my relatively short experience here on life, this seemed like an awful lot in one round to take. So what is it that keeps us going?
An answer was given to me by a friend as we talked one night, which turned out to be a shaft of light that penetrated the dark that had encompassed me in my grief. She asked me a simple question that has changed my perspective: "Have you given up hope?" I realized in that moment that I had discarded it, fearing in to hold on to it lest I be disappointed yet again. All my hope had been destroyed in the past wave of pain that had hit me. I realized that I was afraid to protect my hope, I was afraid that it would "betray" me again. What that question made me realize was that my hope hadn't been betrayed, only tested, and I had been found wanting.
That moment of clarity burst through those clouds of misery and gloom that had gathered on my horizon. I saw the pit that I had dug for myself. For just a minute I could see the way out. Since then I've been struggling to make my way out. I have been met with many disappointments as I've done so, but I see now that each day truly is something special. I have hope that death is not the end, that Mom is still there waiting for me, coaxing me to do better. She stands as a beacon for all of us to move forward. I see the wonderful being that my niece is, that all of the little ones in our family are. I see how wonderful and blessed our family is. Each little giggle from them is a gift, and a preview to what is ahead. Beyond the mountains that loom in the distance, and over the rivers and woods we have yet to traverse there is a beautiful place waiting for us. Mom is here to help us, she stands to give us a hand up and she's there to cheer us on, just as she's always been. She still loves us and she's still aware of us.
Our families are a wonderful blessing, and are a prelude, not a finale, to what this life has to offer. Everyone has had those moments of clarity where the clouds part and we're allowed to see, really see what lies ahead. We're given a glimpse into the eternities and we know that this is not the end. The problem is that the clouds roll back into place and the gloom comes back as the wear and tear of climbing over obstacles and mountains. We grow fatigued and lose sight of what we have seen and felt. The rain falls on us and we grow cold, and wet, and weary. We don't care about what lies ahead.
As for me, there are days when I want to throw my hope aside again. Sometimes it just feels too heavy to keep carrying. I want to give up and crawl in some cave and take refuge and stop worrying about it. But then there are those days when the sun shines, and the birds sing and I'm reminded of those beautiful days that I sat on the deck and just talked with Mom as she pointed out the beauties around me. The same way she did for all of us. There's days when I have my friends and family around me to bear me up, like angels that they are. Each of us helping the other, the way it should be. It's those days that I know Mom is watching us and smiling, her eyes filled with those happy tears that we all know the feel of. I love those days, and they make the dark days bearable. Because in the end, those gray storms and overcast days are the temporary settings. Some day in the not too distant future we'll be able to bask in the eternal sunshine that we came to enjoy through Mom's instruction and we will be glad that we didn't discard our hope along the way. We just have to keep pushing along for now....
Now then, before I begin this writing, I'll let you all know that I'm feeling particularly verbose, so be prepared. Some of this rests on cliche's but I want to send a message out to everyone who's ever felt that the night is too long, or that the road is too rocky.
Sometimes in this life we have a tendency to see the dark pit that is our life as we see it and despair. We fear that we aren't good enough for the trials that we face and we feel as though there is no hope for the future and what it holds. We see tomorrow as only a prolonged painful experience that we will never fully conquer. We see the happiness of those around us and wonder why we are so lost and what we are doing wrong. I am talking about those nights where an evil presence is our closest companion and it seems that we can't seem to get out of the black stupor that has come upon us. I've been there, many many times.
Over the course of this last year I've been met with a lot, my whole family has, in fact these past few years have been something close to disastrous. First we have the situation of that angelic presence known as Whitney and her disabling disease. That sweet little girl that did nothing to deserve such a lot in this life. The disease caught everyone in the family off guard. We couldn't believe that such a thing could happen, not in this perfect life. I remember worrying about my brother and his wife and family. How would they deal with such a burden as this sickness would be?
Then we faced the loss of two loved family members, that of our Uncle Don, and Grandpa McBride. Two giants that had been staples in our lives while we had been growing up. Both of their deaths were surprises and we weren't expecting either of them to be taken so quickly from us. We faced our first real moments of staring into the eternities and the first moments of having something truly beyond our control. Something final that caused us to shake and brought that darkness even closer to our doorsteps it would seem. Something that really brought the reality of death into at the very least my life. I can't speak for my siblings in this regard, for I don't know their experiences. But I do know that it was a tough and trying time.
Our Mom passed away almost a year ago now. Those were dark days, despair seemed to settle over my life. It was at a very crucial point in my life, too. I had just set out into the academic world and was first experiencing my own independance outside of the mission. I remember the days following this sad event, the dark nights of wondering, the outright denials on my part, and the absolute bewilderment I felt as to my lack of happiness. I seemed miserable all the time. I sat in my dank prison cel of self-pity, wondering where the daylight that had graced me throughout my life had gone. We had lost an angel from amongst us, and I felt that loss. It was heart breaking. I remember at the funeral as I watched my brothers and sisters with their families, their loved ones, and I felt so utterly alone. I saw my two best friends, each with their beautiful wives (or soon to be wives in that case) and how happy they seemed to be, and I felt isolated and utterly alone in those moments. Alone like I'd never felt before in my life... What had I done wrong? What had I done to deserve such a punishment?
All at once, that picturesque setting that had defined my family's life crumbled and died. Suddenly those things that we hear about in Ensign articles and in the movies was happening to us. Our lives had suddenly lost that stable enviorenment that we had grown so accustomed to. Our entire perspective on things was forced to change and we were forced to adapt to confront these new challenges. There was so much in that small amount of time, all of this ocurring within the last three years. So little time compared to the rest of our lives, even in my relatively short experience here on life, this seemed like an awful lot in one round to take. So what is it that keeps us going?
An answer was given to me by a friend as we talked one night, which turned out to be a shaft of light that penetrated the dark that had encompassed me in my grief. She asked me a simple question that has changed my perspective: "Have you given up hope?" I realized in that moment that I had discarded it, fearing in to hold on to it lest I be disappointed yet again. All my hope had been destroyed in the past wave of pain that had hit me. I realized that I was afraid to protect my hope, I was afraid that it would "betray" me again. What that question made me realize was that my hope hadn't been betrayed, only tested, and I had been found wanting.
That moment of clarity burst through those clouds of misery and gloom that had gathered on my horizon. I saw the pit that I had dug for myself. For just a minute I could see the way out. Since then I've been struggling to make my way out. I have been met with many disappointments as I've done so, but I see now that each day truly is something special. I have hope that death is not the end, that Mom is still there waiting for me, coaxing me to do better. She stands as a beacon for all of us to move forward. I see the wonderful being that my niece is, that all of the little ones in our family are. I see how wonderful and blessed our family is. Each little giggle from them is a gift, and a preview to what is ahead. Beyond the mountains that loom in the distance, and over the rivers and woods we have yet to traverse there is a beautiful place waiting for us. Mom is here to help us, she stands to give us a hand up and she's there to cheer us on, just as she's always been. She still loves us and she's still aware of us.
Our families are a wonderful blessing, and are a prelude, not a finale, to what this life has to offer. Everyone has had those moments of clarity where the clouds part and we're allowed to see, really see what lies ahead. We're given a glimpse into the eternities and we know that this is not the end. The problem is that the clouds roll back into place and the gloom comes back as the wear and tear of climbing over obstacles and mountains. We grow fatigued and lose sight of what we have seen and felt. The rain falls on us and we grow cold, and wet, and weary. We don't care about what lies ahead.
As for me, there are days when I want to throw my hope aside again. Sometimes it just feels too heavy to keep carrying. I want to give up and crawl in some cave and take refuge and stop worrying about it. But then there are those days when the sun shines, and the birds sing and I'm reminded of those beautiful days that I sat on the deck and just talked with Mom as she pointed out the beauties around me. The same way she did for all of us. There's days when I have my friends and family around me to bear me up, like angels that they are. Each of us helping the other, the way it should be. It's those days that I know Mom is watching us and smiling, her eyes filled with those happy tears that we all know the feel of. I love those days, and they make the dark days bearable. Because in the end, those gray storms and overcast days are the temporary settings. Some day in the not too distant future we'll be able to bask in the eternal sunshine that we came to enjoy through Mom's instruction and we will be glad that we didn't discard our hope along the way. We just have to keep pushing along for now....
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Horror Story
The rain fell in heavy sheets against the window pain, casting the city in a darker hue of blue as the failing light of the receding sun backed away from the overcast sky. I sat looking out over the azure cityscape spread out before me, it almost felt as if a saxophone should be playing some strange, lilting melody somewhere in the background. The water washed down the window of my second story flat, obscuring the crowded array of buildings behind the pane of glass. The lights were off in my small living room, a half drunk bottle of self pity lying near my outstretched hand. From somewhere upstairs came the sounds of laughter and playful running as the newlywed couple above me acted out their unsynchronized happiness that struck so discordantly with my own melancholy.
How does one pick up the broken pieces of a shattered confidence? The thought slid darkly across my thoughts, enveloping my conscious like a dark blanket of worry. The sound of the rain was my single comfort as I sat quietly watching the day die out through my small window. The isolation of the small room was punctuated by the sounds of the couple upstairs. They weren’t giggling and laughing anymore. Their happiness glared at me, a candle disturbing the otherwise welcome gloom of my own despondency. My inadequacies stared at me in the darkness, glowing eyes far more terrifying than any other childhood monster that had crept from under my bed or taken refuge in the solace of my closet. The sounds of small children playing in the alleyway rang up the walls, giggles and screams of delight again throwing me off of the dark stupor I had settled myself into.
I had failed. Happiness is a thing reserved for the successful, the triumphant, and the penitent, at this point I was none of those three. I was a failure. At this point the golden gates of the contentment I had once felt were closed off to me, and I had been cast into a black gulf of despair. I say cast when I should use a more voluntary verb. I had jumped into this ravine that I found myself. Something about my nature reveled in self-destruction.
I allowed my gaze to fall to the leather bound book lying close to the window, bathed in the dying blue light. A set of pages stitched together and glued inside the green-skinned cover. Words that I had built my life around seemed now to stare at me with mixed disappointment and grief. The azure light by now had begun to cast dark shadows of doubt across the room. I had tried and still failed. Perhaps my faith hadn’t been enough, perhaps I hadn’t tried hard enough, maybe I had misread what answers I had been given, perhaps the unthinkable had occurred and I had been shown the frailty of my belief and the reality of present circumstances had crushed my former idealistic dreams. The fact that I was a fool was not in dispute; only what kind was up for debate.
The candle of my faith wavered like the fading light that even now lay almost extinguished with the setting sun. I lit a match to try and rebuff the darkness, but it only seemed to punctuate it. How could this have happened? How could it have been allowed to go this far? I had done everything in my power to stop the failure that had eventually ended up being my own. The phone rang out in the twilight, I didn’t even stir, too tired to make the effort. A knock at the door came, and I remained seated despite my rising urge to rush to the portal and throw back the door, hungry for the companionship on the other side. Yet I stayed where I was, too afraid of the monsters lurking in the growing shadows to stray too far from my bubble of light brought on by the sputtering match. I lit another. The brief flare of the phosphate pushed back the encroaching shadows and caused the monsters to flinch away in startled fear.
The knocking on the door grew louder. The creatures snarled and crept closer to my seat. By now the only light was my single flame. The sounds of the couple upstairs had silenced, they had settled down to a night of whispering sweet nothings to each other until they fell asleep. The children outside having long been called back inside to warm homes with warm beds. The only sound was the brief pops from the little match I held and the incessant pounding on the door. The desire to open the door grew more persistent. I longed for the relief that my guest could provide. I lit another match and during its flare I leapt to my feet and ran to the door, flinging it wide open. No one was there. I looked down the hallway that stretched away into blackness, there was nothing but other doors that had remained as firmly shut as my own had been, some doors I recognized. A single paper lay folded on my doormat, with the words “Have faith, the light will come,” written across in an elegant hand. I stooped down and picked up the fragile lifeline and made my way quickly back to the refuge of my worn out recliner.
I stared out the window at the darkness that had enveloped the crowded metropolis around me. The creatures began their tireless circling as my match again began to die away. I lit another. Again the sudden brightness of the fresh flame caused the predators to pull away momentarily before again resuming their restless patrol, a feral hunger reflecting in their eyes, the only visible thing in the darkness. I continued my watching of the darkness outside of my window. At first there was only the ink of the newly risen night, then slowly as my eyes adjusted, I began to notice little spots of white, a bright cancer on the otherwise perfect blight of darkness. Stars. Little pinpoints of hope and promise stared back at me, penetrating the gloom of this, my darkest night. Memories of brighter mornings and evenings when I too had lain in the warm arms of happiness. A small determination welled up inside of me. A single hope that I clung to was all that I could find to grasp to. The hope that there was still hope to be had. That a sunrise was coming, I just had to last out the night.
The light from my small match finally reflected in my eyes. I took the paper that had the words of hope scrawled across it. I realized abruptly that it wasn’t just a piece of paper, but that it was an envelope. I opened it and looked anxiously inside it, there were three matches inside, I placed them with the rest and stared out in the darkness, a quiet resolution forming in my gut. I lit another match and settled in to wait. There would be no rest this evening. The monsters were too daring tonight and any lack of care would result in my destruction. I turned my recliner to face the eastern window and held my sacred matches even closer. The night promised to be a revealing one, and I sat back. I only hoped that my matches would be enough. I stared out again at the stars and clung to the extra strength that they gave me. Something whispered to me that it was enough. My comfort was complete as I entreated to my patience. In the darkness the snarling beasts were still circling…
How does one pick up the broken pieces of a shattered confidence? The thought slid darkly across my thoughts, enveloping my conscious like a dark blanket of worry. The sound of the rain was my single comfort as I sat quietly watching the day die out through my small window. The isolation of the small room was punctuated by the sounds of the couple upstairs. They weren’t giggling and laughing anymore. Their happiness glared at me, a candle disturbing the otherwise welcome gloom of my own despondency. My inadequacies stared at me in the darkness, glowing eyes far more terrifying than any other childhood monster that had crept from under my bed or taken refuge in the solace of my closet. The sounds of small children playing in the alleyway rang up the walls, giggles and screams of delight again throwing me off of the dark stupor I had settled myself into.
I had failed. Happiness is a thing reserved for the successful, the triumphant, and the penitent, at this point I was none of those three. I was a failure. At this point the golden gates of the contentment I had once felt were closed off to me, and I had been cast into a black gulf of despair. I say cast when I should use a more voluntary verb. I had jumped into this ravine that I found myself. Something about my nature reveled in self-destruction.
I allowed my gaze to fall to the leather bound book lying close to the window, bathed in the dying blue light. A set of pages stitched together and glued inside the green-skinned cover. Words that I had built my life around seemed now to stare at me with mixed disappointment and grief. The azure light by now had begun to cast dark shadows of doubt across the room. I had tried and still failed. Perhaps my faith hadn’t been enough, perhaps I hadn’t tried hard enough, maybe I had misread what answers I had been given, perhaps the unthinkable had occurred and I had been shown the frailty of my belief and the reality of present circumstances had crushed my former idealistic dreams. The fact that I was a fool was not in dispute; only what kind was up for debate.
The candle of my faith wavered like the fading light that even now lay almost extinguished with the setting sun. I lit a match to try and rebuff the darkness, but it only seemed to punctuate it. How could this have happened? How could it have been allowed to go this far? I had done everything in my power to stop the failure that had eventually ended up being my own. The phone rang out in the twilight, I didn’t even stir, too tired to make the effort. A knock at the door came, and I remained seated despite my rising urge to rush to the portal and throw back the door, hungry for the companionship on the other side. Yet I stayed where I was, too afraid of the monsters lurking in the growing shadows to stray too far from my bubble of light brought on by the sputtering match. I lit another. The brief flare of the phosphate pushed back the encroaching shadows and caused the monsters to flinch away in startled fear.
The knocking on the door grew louder. The creatures snarled and crept closer to my seat. By now the only light was my single flame. The sounds of the couple upstairs had silenced, they had settled down to a night of whispering sweet nothings to each other until they fell asleep. The children outside having long been called back inside to warm homes with warm beds. The only sound was the brief pops from the little match I held and the incessant pounding on the door. The desire to open the door grew more persistent. I longed for the relief that my guest could provide. I lit another match and during its flare I leapt to my feet and ran to the door, flinging it wide open. No one was there. I looked down the hallway that stretched away into blackness, there was nothing but other doors that had remained as firmly shut as my own had been, some doors I recognized. A single paper lay folded on my doormat, with the words “Have faith, the light will come,” written across in an elegant hand. I stooped down and picked up the fragile lifeline and made my way quickly back to the refuge of my worn out recliner.
I stared out the window at the darkness that had enveloped the crowded metropolis around me. The creatures began their tireless circling as my match again began to die away. I lit another. Again the sudden brightness of the fresh flame caused the predators to pull away momentarily before again resuming their restless patrol, a feral hunger reflecting in their eyes, the only visible thing in the darkness. I continued my watching of the darkness outside of my window. At first there was only the ink of the newly risen night, then slowly as my eyes adjusted, I began to notice little spots of white, a bright cancer on the otherwise perfect blight of darkness. Stars. Little pinpoints of hope and promise stared back at me, penetrating the gloom of this, my darkest night. Memories of brighter mornings and evenings when I too had lain in the warm arms of happiness. A small determination welled up inside of me. A single hope that I clung to was all that I could find to grasp to. The hope that there was still hope to be had. That a sunrise was coming, I just had to last out the night.
The light from my small match finally reflected in my eyes. I took the paper that had the words of hope scrawled across it. I realized abruptly that it wasn’t just a piece of paper, but that it was an envelope. I opened it and looked anxiously inside it, there were three matches inside, I placed them with the rest and stared out in the darkness, a quiet resolution forming in my gut. I lit another match and settled in to wait. There would be no rest this evening. The monsters were too daring tonight and any lack of care would result in my destruction. I turned my recliner to face the eastern window and held my sacred matches even closer. The night promised to be a revealing one, and I sat back. I only hoped that my matches would be enough. I stared out again at the stars and clung to the extra strength that they gave me. Something whispered to me that it was enough. My comfort was complete as I entreated to my patience. In the darkness the snarling beasts were still circling…
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