Onlookers would state that they couldn’t be worried more, how was his mental state? Were you to ask him, “Everything was okay.” He possessed a diligent focus, there was a consuming fire burning within his heart. The light gleaming from his eyes had a provenance which was undeniable, certainly the joy came from beyond that which was within. Could life get any better than this? Yes, and significantly. But it didn’t matter, the grasp was on everything which would come after his years. He hadn’t slept for days, and hadn’t eaten for longer--still he realized where he would truly leaven contentment. For man cannot live off of bread alone, nor any other earthy tangible...
He thought it would feel good to be on top. Cars, stereos, cell phones, clothing, girls, and money: It was all he could think about. If he just had “this” he would be happy, that is; until “that” came along. The joys were temporary, only adding to the problem. The ambitions cried, “More, more, more!” There were growling hungers which could not be satisfied, an exponential series of distractions which saw no means to an end. Onlookers envied such a life, they swore he was happy. Perhaps the worst part was: So did he...
On any other day the collapsing fall would have crippled him, but he didn’t feel a thing. His knees struck the unpadded floor uncontrollably quick, synchronizing his body movements with the sinking feelings of his heart. It was humility at its finest, recognizable by more than just tears. Looking beyond the troubles, something made no sense: Why did it feel right, feeling this low? In the background music played, “At the cross you beckon me. Draw me gently to my knees.” If a beckoning to the cross is representative of a gentle fall, then what was this pugnacious reduction symbolizing? An indubitable summoning? The counterintuitive truths of the Christian faith never made more sense, if only he didn’t have to fall in order to learn how to stand...
Every other word was one of -R- nature, lying and cheating was just becoming the norm. Nothing was worth working towards, he was always trying to find the easy way out. There was no glorification in his nature, he was slowly becoming just another hypocritical Christian-- living the normal medial depiction of a double standard. Sin clouded his judgment, temptation was constantly drawing near. He couldn’t even look himself in the mirror, let alone face God. The greatest sins, he knew, were those which were carried out knowingly and without regard. Faith was becoming “love-hate”: Rewarding when the strides were in the right direction, yet arduous in its burdening nature whenever there were steps in the wrong. He could’t help but to consider that the day would eventually come when he would’t find the strength to go on. There was a battle inside him...
It was a leap of faith, one which would stretch him to extremes. He was desperate, he needed to be alone. There was no turning back, it felt as if this was going to be a “make or break” period of his life. He traveled thousands of miles away from home, only to find himself in a situation to move millions of “miles” closer to God-- and it worked. A calling became consumingly clear, God showed him a purpose for his life. He was excited, at first, to sleepless extremes. This was the concept which gave him an unmatched lively high: God was going to use imperfection to further a perfect kingdom. God was going to use him...
The bounty placed on his soul must have been clearly seen by any and all lamentable inclinations. He had to be stopped, perhaps there was too much potential. Or perhaps, as he would argue, none at all. It had nothing to do with his own worth, and everything to do with opening the door to the Holy Spirit. What a waste of an investment, God would get no return. The broken promise tore him apart, but God had grown used to his unreliability. He would pray, “Let your will be done in my life, guide me with the Holy Spirit. I will go to whatever lengths necessary in your name!” What a great hypothetical and idealistic statement to make. How could an all knowing God be foolish enough believe him? His life was slowly dwindling down a path of entirely different lengths...
He wasn’t at a loss for words, he knew exactly what he would say (were he to actually speak). He wouldn’t even need to open his mouth, nor say a word. This concept confused him, surely God needed no vocalization of such heart cries. But it wasn’t about communication, nor pertaining to information unknown. Humility was the word which was leading him to the fork in the road. It was an apology which was needed, one inconceivably difficult to express. Having reached a potential for many turns, he knew it would only require a “left” in order to bring his life back to terms. Still his pride convinced him to reproach the guilt in his life. He continued to turn right, at least for a month or two, until one lonely night. What a release it was, having walked up that hill to pray, just him and his Father looking down at the city. Those three words, “I am sorry,” brought him back to where he needed to be. “Aba, my love for you is unshakable. Nothing can ever be prolonged in between...”
Though he could recognize the feud within his heart, knowledge wasn’t everything. His spiritual weakness proved to be an easy way out. Though we are promised to never be tempted beyond what we can bear, he grew unwilling to even put up a fight. Faced with incompetencies and fear, his strength against evil was plummeting. Satan understood why he couldn’t succeed in his purpose, yet he himself could not understand what difference it could make. What would success in his life possibly surmount to? Mortality belittled him, making it all too easy for darkness to stop God’s spiritual soldier at the front line. He didn’t believe in himself, but Satan’s efforts proved there was in fact potential. Why did he need to be stopped, why was every evil hold on his life being entirely adhered to? This train of thought should have been a slap in the face, pointing directly to his spiritual capacity, still he was blind in every sense of the word. Instead similar questions raced through his head: “Why should I live by the Book? Why should I continue to try? What good can I do? Why do I even bother praying? Why do I only ever let God down?” The price on his soul had proven to be substantial enough...
The stress weighed down on him, though it was nothing that a million other people weren’t faced with. But that was the point, he didn’t want to be like the rest, burdened by the pain of this life. He didn’t want to worry about his money, schedule, or sleep. He wanted to focus on something more-- a commitment which required a level of trust in God that he didn’t yet have. Faced with the truths of life, he grew unable to focus on any Godly affirmations in this world. Questions loomed over his head, he was burdened by blessings and tortured by the unquestionable agony of those who weren’t. “Whenever it stabs me, it reminds me that this is only a small fraction of the pain Jesus had to bare for our sins, that is why I wear this symbol around my neck.” Everyone wore a cross around their neck, turning the wooden planks into a happy representation of grace-- but he wore a crown of thorns. But the stabbing thorns, however, wrongly highlighted his life. They only reminded him that he could run away from “home” only to return to his Father’s house at anytime. Grace almost forces Christians towards occasionally being the worst of people-- the cross gives them the freedom to a life without long-standing reproach. This trend in his life was like a roller coaster --growing exponentially-- the lower the fall from God, the higher he would eventually climb. But certainly, he thought, “What comes up must come down.” And this “low point” was trenched too deep. Were he to raise himself from this low, the spiritual high would be insurmountable and enduring. But gravity, like the evil in his life, always seemed to win...
He tore the stickers from his car, and ripped the crown from his neck. He wasn’t going to represent his Father anymore. He wasn’t going to be a representation of grace and love. For years Jesus’s symbol was worn around his chest, surrounding his heart with a selfless representation and promise to live for more. What broke first, the necklace or his heart, this was entirely impossible to tell. As he abandoned his position and Godly intentions, it felt as if His soul was finally at peace-- free from the battle and wages of spiritual war. He was no longer a target, slowly he re-learned how to lift up his now unweighted shoulders. Alas, he could take a deep breath and put to bed the painful-pitter-patters of a restless heart. He had no dog tags, no crown around his neck; he was flying no flag, displaying no faithful representations; he fled from the front lines, laying his work entirely aside; and he kindly received his discharge, dropping that breast-plate of righteousness to lay and dwell in the so called past...
Was it the end, or hardly the beginning-- can even a spark ignite a flame? Though he protected his heart from the tearing of sides, a voice in his head continually kept crying, “You have quit on a cause, you have chosen simplicity, you have chosen a facile escape!” His soul cried, “Yes, I will continue!” But another spirit yelled, “Never!” Forget dying for a cause, would he even consider living for this cause ever again? In the warm still of his room he wiped the sweat from his brow, and screamed from the top of his lungs, “Father, why won’t you let me settle for less? Why can’t I settle for the simple safety of grace without such oblige? Why can’t your will for my life be easy?” Easy or not, these Godly intentions were far form pliant. He grew ready to rise from his state of spiritual deadness. Though he couldn’t raise himself from the dead, though he couldn’t walk on water, and though he couldn’t heal the sick-- he could call upon the resilience of the One who did. In a triumph he reached his feat. The crushing weight of spiritual transgressions again fell upon his back, only to be supported by a belt of undeniable truth which was wrapped around his waste: Agápē was inescapable, making it so the ups and downs of his life could be of no concern. His form of safety again took a turn, gripping itself onto a life of complete risk. Counter intuitive really, still the uncompromisingly-forceful look in his eyes read heartfelt commitment and newfound resilience. His fight had to be sacrificial and steadfast-- like the unconditional love which planed him through the historical ups and downs of his life.
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