Terrible Justice

The light within the hall burns my skin with frigid purity. My skin is sticky and mired with filth. I can feel the grime on my body dripping to the cool floor in sickening globs. As I hobble and lurch forward on broken and twisted limbs, even touching the floor cleanses some of the filth from my hands and knees. The exposed flesh beneath feels as though I crawl on broken glass.

I cower.

I tremble in unimaginable fear. My twisted body shivers with abject terror. How could I have dared to hope? Such hope was insanity. Such hope would insult His justice. How could I have dared to hope that His justice would be imperfect? That I would get anything less than I deserved? How dare I...

Fear grips my entrails in a vice and twists them in paralyzing agony. I've forgotten why I decided to come. Did I think that I would be able to repay? I cannot even draw a breath. Did I think that I would not get what I deserve? My lungs finally rasp a cautious breath and I quake uncontrollably. What had I done? Did I think that submitting to my deserved punishment would bring me some kind of peace? No, there would be no peace from my sentence. Any peace would belong only to my Judge.

He stands from His throne and I hear the rustle of His kingly robe throughout the whole court. It is the hiss of a thousand righteous swords being drawn for my execution. My terror becomes truth and I scream the wretched, gurgling, wailing expression of awful doom. I weep great globs of terror from my eyes and I shield my pitiful head with pitiful arms, knowing full-well the impending sentence of horrible death. I hear Him approaching and each step of His mighty feet is the thunder of a thousand worlds. My horror grows with each tread as He draws nearer to exact His perfect justice. Writhing, screaming, wailing in the throes of absolute terror, I can see His awful hands stretching out. As He grasps my whole body in His crushing grip, my last hope tears from my lips in the desperate screech of the utterly damned.

"Mercy!" I cry out. "Mercy!" I beg.

Over and over, the pitiful mewling of a deformed creature in the grip of terrible justice.

He clasps me to His chest and cradles my head against His shoulder and shushes gently in my ear. I can see His throne over His shoulder and I can see that the rustle of His robe was not the sound of doom. It was not the sound of a thousand swords being drawn; it was the sound of a thousand righteous swords being sheathed. When He stood, He had removed His robe and it had rustled as He draped it over His throne.

"Not because you hoped," He whispers gently. "But because I loved, child."

He holds me. He embraces me tenderly as the child I could never have hoped to be. My hope and more has come true, and I weep. I bury my face in the crook of His mighty arm and weep His praises.


Inspired by the wretchedness of my own broken, twisted spirit.

Dedicated to the God who loves.

Sandcastles

Son, I love you.

Build sandcastles, Daddy!

But Son, I am giving you my whole life. Don’t you want more?

No, Daddy. Build sandcastles! We’ll have fun!

You are too old for sandcastles now, Son.

But Daddy, I used to have such fun! Build sandcastles, Daddy!

The tide is coming, Son.

Look, Daddy! Isn’t it big?! It is so big and high! It’s bigger than me, Daddy!

I can help you make something that will last the tide.

But Daddy, I made it just for you! Look, I can put pretty things on it. I can make it look so nice!

It is still sand, Child. I can make things that will last.

But Daddy, this is what I want to do. Isn’t it wonderful? It will be so much fun!

But your work is in vain, Child. The tide is coming.

I can make people! They live here for me Daddy! Isn’t it so big and grand! The people like me! I can make more of them! There are so many, isn’t it great, Daddy?

The tide is coming, Child.

It can be even bigger, Daddy! I can make more of them, with even more people! Then other people will see my sandcastles and they will think that I’m so smart! Then other people will like me and I will have lots of friends. I can tell them about you, too, Daddy. Build sandcastles, Daddy!

With my life, I have given you freedom.

Build sandcastles, Daddy!

I can give you joy, in place of happiness.

But I want to build sandcastles, Daddy!

The tide is coming, Child. I can give you peace.

Sandcastles are easy, Daddy. I can make them for you!

No, Child. There is more to what I offer you than sand.

Daddy, I can build sandcastles! I want to build sandcastles!

But Child, the tide is coming! Ask me to give you something to last the tide!

Daddy, what’s happening?! My sandcastles are going away! Daddy!

The tide has come, my Child. It is time to see what you did with the time and the life I gave you.

I built sandcastles, Daddy.

But where are they now, my Child?

The tide swept them away, Daddy. Everything is gone.

Everything that you did with my life, with my time, is gone.

I’m so sorry, Daddy. I wasted your gift.

Yes you did, Son.

You even told me that you could give me something that would last.

I could have helped you build so much more.

But I didn’t listen. I wasted it, Daddy! It’s all gone! I’m so sorry…

Do not despair, you are still my child.

But I didn’t do anything with what you gave me…

Weep no more, Child. I still love you. No more tears, you are here with me now.


Inspired by 1 Corinthians 3:10-15 “Let each man take care how he builds…for the Day will disclose it.”
Dedicated to the One who wipes away every tear of shame.

No Greater Love

She sits in her seat reading some romance paperback, vaguely aware that her train is passing over a bridge, but her preoccupied mind pays this non-event little attention. She notices the man at the bridge tower, though. The man is shouting something incoherent, another non-event.

The man stands shouting as he remembers his son. He remembers the look on his son’s face. The look that said “There’s no time to save me, father.” He remembers that the bridge had been up. His son knew that if the bridge stayed up all the passengers would die, all of them. He knew that his son also understood what would happen if he lowered the bridge.

He screams, “Don’t you care?!” while he tries to work through the moment when the decision had teetered on a knife’s edge. The choice was made when his son said, “Save them, Daddy… save them.” Then he threw the switch that crushed his boy in the workings of the bridge and saved every person on the train.

“Don’t you care?” he asks. “I gave my son!”

She reads on.


Inspired by “No greater love has any man than this: that he lay his life down for a friend,” and its ultimate example.
Dedicated to everyone who just reads on.

Valor

We had known it would come, that Day when we would fight, that Day when Men would prove their words, that Day when we, as a people, would be struck from the annals of history, that Day when we would die. Few remembered why our enemies had promised to come. It mattered little, for still our demons came. We prepared. We taught our children to face their fears for what they were, and nothing more. We taught them of the Day when Death and Terror would rain from the sky like fire and all the world would groan in agony for the pain that would come. We waited for the end of our people.

Then the Day.

The Day that our grandfathers had spoken about; the Day that would live in the legends of even our enemies; the Day that the clouds would flee in terror; the Day came.

On that Day the sky wept great gouts of blood. Crimson streaks tore across the sky like tears from the eyes of its Creator. Agony squeezed life from creation itself in great washes of rain. Ships came from the clouds by the millions. One squatted in front of the city, crushing the few homes that weren’t swept away. It opened up, and then they came. Swarms of them poured from every opening as the craft belched out spores of incarnate death. They were not unlike us in appearance, but that mattered very little. We died the same; and oh, how we died. We fought, not as animals clawing for life, but as Men fighting for nothing more than an honorable and glorious end. We fought not to survive, for that was not possible; rather we fought to make them value our home as much as we did. They would value it with their lives, the lives with which they bought it from us, and the cost was high. They could not value it with the lives of their children and wives. They did not love that land; they lost none of their family on that Day. They came with the putrid stench of greed and domination. They defiled the land that guarded the memory of our ancestors. There was no price high enough for our land, for our home. Since they could not buy that land from us, we made them pay as dearly as we could. We fought for the life that was stolen from us on that Day. On that Day we refused to be forgotten. We remembered something that others overlooked all too easily. On that Day they saw something the world had forgotten. On that Day they saw Valor.

Inspired by the battle for the Alamo and Mars: Bringer of War, by Holst
Dedicated to those who have forgotten true valor.

The Piano

Moonlight rained through the windows like a volley from archers. It struck the massive instrument, glancing off to pierce my soul. The room filled with light, as full as my heart. My spirit cascaded out of my fingers onto the keys, bounding away to fight for control of the room. The first wave was slow and deep, but my soul was not satisfied. I fought on, striving to release the feelings that strangled my core. As I strove, my weapon turned traitor and refused to express me. I struck at the keys, straining to force my soul through the instrument, into the night. The notes struggled, and the air groaned to bear what I begged it take. The air became thick with my story, and the room filled to bursting as the notes gave substance to my soul. Moonlight retreated into the night as my soul released the last of my grief.

Inspired by Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, especially the first and third movements.
Dedicated to inexpressible grief.

Happiness

The ocean hushes far below. Wooden landings wind their way up to where she stands. Stairs meander from landing to landing, guiding a traveler wherever they wish to go. She stands across the landing, gazing pleasantly up at the clear sky. Her russet hair dances on the unfelt breeze. She leans elegantly on the railing, unwaveringly sure of her happiness. Mercy and grace follow her and purity hangs in her breath. The glee of a child dances in her eyes, and her soul sings of a wisdom bestowed. The air quivers with joy and the ground rises to touch her feet, content to be graced by her steps. It is life to see her. To know her is joy; to be near her is soothing to the spirit. When a smile caresses her face, contentedness ensconces itself in my heart.

Inspired by a dream and a girl.
Dedicated to Helen, my Love.

The Game

The board rested on a plane of clouds, far above the emptiness that lurked below. A light without origin shone on the polished board. On some of the black and white squares that lay on the board rested pieces of elegant and exotic, yet simple designs. The objects were blue and red, but only in the broadest sense. Each piece had unique hue and character as well as shape. Each one also held power that had to be discovered, abilities that were to be learned and exploited in order to win. Some held sway over others by power; more held control by cunning. Yet one thing they all had in common; all were cold and dark and none moved on its own, save one. This one piece burned with an inner flame that no other possessed, and this one alone could move of its own will. For this reason it was feared.

They called it Man.


Inspired by a piece of art called The Game.
Dedicated to all those who think they’ve got the game of life figured out.