Worth

another overflow of the soul

Desolate places can seem beautiful when they are all you see. You get attached to the bleak skies, the barren land, the rough wind.  Before you know it, you're a part of the land itself.  At least, that's what happened to me.  That's how I ended up here, with my back to this rock, chained and left to die.  For miles, as far as your eye can see, is parched earth.  The sun beats down upon me, but it doesn't break through the thick veil of constant clouds.  This is my existence.  

I remember a better time.  I lived in a city, once.  I had a family, and good friends.  But my greed took them away from me.  I was desperately grasping at wealth and security, chasing the ever elusive good life.  One day, I found myself here.  I prefer to keep my eyes on the ground, but I know that if I were to look at myself I would see a naked, dirty body.  Disheveled hair, lifeless eyes, and weathered skin are all mine.  

If I were to look to the skies, I would be met with silence.  If I looked to my hands, I would be overcome with guilt.  If I looked to the rock, memories would flood in of the stable life I once had.  So I look to the ground, intent on not letting my mind get away from me.  Keeping a tight reign on my lips, I make sure no words pass from them.  There is nothing to say now, and nothing to do, but calmly accept my fate.  And when I die, I will endure the punishment for pushing everyone away.

I never really meant for it to get this far.  All I ever wanted was to something to fill me up.  Little by little, my experiments with this or that became addictions and vices that I could not escape.  It went from a pill here and there to a handful a day.  At first it was just a flirty fling, but somehow it turned into promiscuity.  Before, it was just a social drink; before I knew it, I just wanted to numb the pain.  I didn't mind a little pat on the back now and then, but soon it became a thirst for recognition.

I like to say that I keep a grip on my mind, but I have to say that I'm only managing at best.  There is a darkness that clouds my thoughts and hovers around the edges of my vision.  There are whispered lies in my ears.  It's all your fault.  Look what you've done!  No one will ever save you.  Sinner, sinner, sinner.  You are dead and broken. You will never live again, you will never be whole again.  Those are just the little ones.  There is one lie, as big as a mountain, that I believe above all the others.  It's not whispered into my ear but tattooed on my soul.  You're not worth it.

Sometimes, when I can't take it anymore, my mind breaks.  When I cave and give in to the need for self-destruction, I cry until my throat is hoarse and I am coughing blood.  I smash my head against the rock until I can feel warm, wet blood running down my temple.  My body convulses in an attempt to unbind myself from these terrible, damnable chains.  That is when the voices are loudest, mocking and jeering.  They laugh at my sorrow, they enjoy my pain.  I throw myself on the ground at the end of these fits, gasping for breath.  When I am able, I struggle back to sitting with my back against the rock, and I let out a defeated sigh.  

After one of these episodes, while I was still on the ground, I saw a shadow before me.  I blinked, believing that the throbbing pain in my head was overflowing into mirages.  When I opened my eyes again, the shadow was still there.  I looked up, and saw no one in front of me.  Where could this shadow be coming from?  The sun wasn't even shining, and the clouds still covered the sky.  Today was darker than any day I had seen since waking up here, chained and left to die.  My episodes had been getting worse, and this last one had left me more than exhausted. This punishment was killing me, slowly at first, but advancing like a cancer that ravages the body.

On that black day, when I saw the shadow, there was no hope that entered my soul.  I simply flinched--not because of the concussions or split lips, because those were numb pains to me.  I flinched because I knew that, finally, someone had come to kill me.  No matter how many times I longed for death, I was a coward at heart.  I didn't want to die.  I wanted to live, however despicable of an existence my so called living was.  

Yet before I could speak, or protest, that shadow was speaking to me.  Mad as I was, something stirred within my soul when I heard the words,

"Dear Child, would you like to be free?"

I lay, silent, ignoring what I surely thought was a vision or a hallucination or a dream.  What a cruel trick, that my mind would conjure up such ideas of freedom and salvation!  Perhaps this was it--this was to be the end of me, the undoing of my own mind.  Tortured to death by visions and dreams that there was mercy and grace--what a better way to go?  The shadow left me, and I closed my eyes once more.  My heart, however, would not stop turning in my chest.

For six days more, a shadow would come over me.  And there was a voice with that shadow, and the voice would ask the same question.  The second day, I ignored it once more.  On the third day, I raged out, screaming blasphemy and profanity, until I collapsed into a mess of skin and bone.  The fourth day, I said nothing as I considered the question.  On the fifth day, just as I was about to reply, doubt crowded my mind and choked out my answer.

That sixth day will stay with me forever.  I had already endured ten episodes by noon, and I was exhausted.  The days had grown darker since the first time that shadow had appeared to me.  I could not even see clouds, for the night was now eternal.  There was no wind and no rain.  The stillness in itself was suffocating.  While I never heard foot-steps approaching, I had learned to sense when the shadow was upon me without opening my eyes.  

There was always a pause.  He always took his own time.  Some days the shadow could be with me for hours before asking, and other times he would show up with in a flash.  That day, I could sense him, hovering over me, since awaking from my fitful slumber.  I could never tell exactly when he would ask me his question, yet there was no better time than when he decided to.  His voice was always gentle and soft, full of love and grace.

"Dear Child, would you like to be free?"

There was no more running.  No more hiding.  I could not escape the way my heart had been flip-flopping in my chest the past week.  I could not deafen my ears to his ever-present plea.  I could not resist.  Chained as I was, I turned and saw the man who had shadowed me.  To this day, I can describe him no other way than a pure beauty which seemed to sustain everything around him.  Overwhelmed by such perfection, my heart's cry overflowed into a whimper.  And I nodded.

I hung my head and turned away, afraid that I had given in to the madness.  Had I become so far gone?  My doubts were soon put to flight as I felt his hand upon my shoulder.  I cried out in pain, for His very touch burned through my skin to the depths of my soul.  Despite my cries, he didn't let me go.  Frightened and in pain, suffocating, I kicked and screamed.  He still did not let me go.  Instead, he held me closer.  Dirty and naked as I was, chained to a rock that had been the source of many wounds, he gathered me in his arms, picked me up, and carried me.

I do not know much of the journey.  His touch never stopped hurting, burning, searing my flesh.  I felt there was a fire in my bones that heated my skin and made me glow.  The pain was unbearable, and I fought every step of the way.  There were times when I wanted to curse him for taking away the comfortable pain that I had known for so long.  It had been predictable, agonizing and deadly as it was.  This was different.  It was an unpredictable pain that I couldn't control or describe or get used to.  I gave in to every rant and word that came my way, hating myself for caving into certain madness.  Even still, my heart over-ruled my sense, and I stayed with him.

One thing I do remember is that we came to a river.  This was where my fear was stronger than the pain, and I remember the terror that seized me as he gently lowered me into that water.  Though it was warm, my fears overtook me.  Was this to be my death?  Had I trusted him just so that he would lead me to a death worse than what I had known?  Did he not know that I was still chained to that rock?  My heart sank.  He was abandoning me!  I closed my eyes and let my soul go.  Who cared anymore?  Perhaps this was the way it was supposed to be all along.  But he said something that made me wonder--not that I had much time to, but I wondered for those brief moments.  As he lowered me, he said,

"Dear Child, your sins are forgiven."

As I started to sink deeper, I instinctively reached out for something to pull me up.  I needed to get out, to escape, to breathe.  I needed to live!  I caught hold of a hand--his hand--and grasped it firmly.  My brain was nearly dead, but the last thing I remember was a thought that has been my comfort ever since.  He is with me, even in death.  

The next thing I remember was waking up.  How long I had slept, I would never know.  I gasped and sucked in breath after breath, fighting the weight on me chest.  But there was no weight.  There was no fear.  There was simply peace. I was clothed in robes of purple and white.  Richer, purer colors have not met my eyes since.  I jumped to my feet and searched the room frantically for that face, that beauty.  Not finding him there, I ran through the halls.  I started to call out his name, only to find that I never knew.

"Father!  Father!"

My lips were crying out the words before I could stop them.  In a way, I suppose it could work.  He had called me his child, after all.  I cried out over and over, running through every hall and open door.  The longer I searched, the more frantic I became.  Where was he?  I needed to see him, to know his beauty, to be burned by his touch.  I needed to thank him.  Oh, how I needed to thank him!

Stumbling down the stairs, I heard the sound of great laughter.  It was like his voice, but deeper and thunderous.  For a moment I was afraid, but the smell of food tantalized my stomach, and I inched towards the opening at the foot of the stairs.  Someone must have heard me coming, because I heard a chair scooting back from a table.  I stopped, frozen in fear.  Was I supposed to be here?  What if he was angry?  But I had to thank him!

Before I could make a decision, he was at my side and scooping me into his arms.  With a beaming smile, he rushed into the room, which was large and had a table with a feast spread out.  With one arm holding me close, he used his free hand to pull out a chair that was right next to his.  He set me down with the same gentleness and care, and then he sat down beside me.  Taking my hands, he slipped a ring on my finger and smiled widely.  

Still holding my hands, he turned to the man at the head of the table, who I was just now noticing.  I could not describe him with any other word but powerful, as if he held everything in balance.  He was perfection, just as much as the one who had rescued me.  My rescuer squeezed my hand and said excitedly,

"Father!  I have found a precious one, a dear child.  See her beauty?  See how she radiates with strength and dignity?"

I stared at him, mouth agape.  Me?  I was nowhere near beautiful or strong, or precious or dignified.  But as he said the words, I believed them.  And his father, who was the standard of absolute perfection, nodded and smiled at me.  With that deep but warm voice, he said to me,

"Welcome home."

I looked between the two of them, my rescuer and my father, with a heart full of gratitude.  Thank them.  I wanted to thank them and promise that I would do anything they asked or wanted.  But my tongue was tied, and I was glued to my chair.  I looked down at my hands, and noticed  that there were scars there.  Despite my wholeness, I was still bore the marks of a life past.  But it didn't matter, really.  I was here, in my Father's house, with my rescuer.  I was safe.  Only one question burdened me, and I found myself asking,

"Why did you do all of this?"

The words he answered me with are ones that I keep close to my heart.  I was expecting something along the lines of pity or charity.  I knew it was irrational to think, because it went contrary to his nature.  Perhaps it had been an irrational question to ask in the first place, but I just had to know.  With a smile on his face and a joy in his eyes, he answered simply,

"Because I love you, which means you're worth it."

To this day, I hope to dwell in his house once more.  I want to eat at his table and drink his wine.  The fire in my bones is never put out, and my soul is alive with passion that others will taste and see that the Father is good.  Until I am with him again, I rest in his unchanging and unfailing love for me.  I am his, clothed in his love, perfect before my Savior and my Lord.  I will see him again, and I will dwell in his house and eat of his food and drink of is wine forever.  

Author's Note

I didn't think that the story would be this long. I was so busy digging to unearth what I thought was a house, but what I discovered what a castle. I hope that within the rooms and walls of this castle, you found something to relate to and something that comforted you.

What are your thoughts and reactions?

Reviews

[quinfinn]

although i suspected where you were going with this early in the story, i still think you did a wonderful job of making it build and build to a tipping point before revealing the true nature of the experience, even being a pagan, i can see the beauty in the thought of being saved.... well done, poet!!

[beautiful dreamer]

Oh wow this is so touching! wonderful write siren