He knows he must go back to find the source. Without this knowledge he believes the pain will never cease. He must walk back down the path that led him to this moment. Surely the answer is there. He knows his search will lead him to the culprit.
He turns to see a path overgrown with thickets as tall as a man. The great plants are filled with thorns. The vines so entwined that he can see no more than a few feet at a time. He wonders how this path to the past has become so overgrown. How will he ever get back to the place where there is no pain?
He turns to see a path overgrown with thickets as tall as a man. The great plants are filled with thorns. The vines so entwined that he can see no more than a few feet at a time. He wonders how this path to the past has become so overgrown. How will he ever get back to the place where there is no pain?
He begins his journey and almost immediately the thorns contact his skin; opening old scars. It hurts so badly. He struggles to work through the tangled memories, searching for the genesis. It is so hot. The sweat from his forehead pours into the newly reopened scars. The salt causes them to burn. The thorny vines take on a life of their own, becoming entangled around his legs, cutting deeply into previously unblemished skin. This journey will leave new scars. He stumbles to his knees, the pain unrelenting. “Turn back”, he cries. The journey he thought would bring relief only exasperates. He crawls with is head down, not wanting to see where he is going any longer. The heat and humidity have become unbearable. Insects swarm around his down-turned face, their buzz becomes deafening. It seems to cry out, “You will not find the answers, the pain is forever, die with it.”
Suddenly there is a small opening in the snarl of vines and he hurriedly crawls through, standing to his feet. For just a moment the pain eases, the void begins to fill. But as quickly as the relief came it leaves.
Along the path to the past there is water. Refreshment? No, this is not living water, it is dead, stagnate water. His nostrils fill with the stench of the past. And although no clarity has come from this journey, he believes the stench has brought him closer to the truth. He is determined to find the perpetrator of his pain.
Along the path to the past there is water. Refreshment? No, this is not living water, it is dead, stagnate water. His nostrils fill with the stench of the past. And although no clarity has come from this journey, he believes the stench has brought him closer to the truth. He is determined to find the perpetrator of his pain.
Hours pass, or maybe it is days. He cannot tell for sure. Time past is as tangled as the vines, murky as the swamp. Everything looks the same. The pain returns in full force. His body is soaked in sweat, the fresh punctures remind him of where he his. With each step the hope of discovery grows fainter. He succumbs to the anguish and lies down. Sleep is the only hope of relief. He knows it will be temporary, but that doesn’t matter. Any relief, even that which comes with the darkness of exhaustion is welcome.
The cool breeze awakens him. He stands and looks around to see that the jagged path and overgrown plants are gone. He stands on the boundary of a beautiful clearing. The dark green grass softly sways in the cool breeze. He detects the faint aroma of honeysuckle; an aroma that has always pleased. In the center of the clearing he sees a man. He knows that the man is Jesus. He begins to approach Christ and can feel the strangling vines tugging at him, keeping him from Christ. He pulls away and stands before Jesus.
“Why do I feel like this, why does it hurt so much?”
Christ only looks at him.
“Why did you let this happen to me, you know I love you?”
Christ answered, “Because I love you.”
“But why would you let someone hurt me so?” he cried.
“No one hurt you. You made choices. You held on.”
I looked down at my hands and saw that they still clung to all the bad and wrong choices I had made. When did this happen? How had I made so many wrong decisions? I tried to open my hands and let them fall, but I couldn’t.
“Christ, please take them away. I am sorry. I don’t want them anymore. I tried to do what was right. I tried to forgive others when they hurt me. I looked to you for guidance, I prayed for your help, but I didn’t see you. Where were you! I needed you and you forsook me!”
“I have been here all along, waiting.”
Lord, help me to forgive, help me to forget. Help me to see that is was I who moved away.
Amen.
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