Past the Light

I found this among the notes in my nightstand. There's no date, but I think it's circa 2004. Sometimes writing a story helps me more than just writing out my thoughts and feelings. Wish I would've commented somewhere on it, but alas, it stands as is. I can only speculate as to what the specific circumstances were. I have a pretty good idea though.


She groped among the boulders to steady herself while she made her way along the shoreline barefoot. She could hardly discern outlines in the moonless night. The wind was stinging her cheeks and moving in more fiercely now. The water, while not terribly cold itself, made her even colder because of that merciless wind. She had to find shelter, but where? She had wandered too far from her familiar stomping grounds and had no mental inventory of this area. She was freezing, and her shorts, t-shirt and thin hoodie did almost nothing to provide any warmth, especially now that she was almost completely soaked. She muddled her way forward, trying not to slip and fall or step on something sharp.

She had done it again. She had determined she would not do it again, but here she was, in the midst of another pathetic mess, and all because of what? That blasted dragon. Always now, it was that blasted dragon.

When she'd first happened upon it, she thought it cute and fun and marveled at the novelty. It was such a delightful experience to handle it, hold it, watch it. Of course, she knew better than to spend too much time with it because she'd seen and heard all the dangers and pitfalls of befriending such a creature. No good ever came of it. Some people could maintain a healthy distance when living in fairly close proximity to a lair, but that’s where she had failed. She had not exercised self-control and gave in consistently to the desire to be near it. She could have stayed away. She should have stayed away. But she did not. That had happened so much that now she was no longer the visitor but the visited upon. It sought her out in unexpected places, and always, because of the wonder and sense of peace it seemed to give her, she would wile away the time with it, even taking it with her when it could hide in the darkness.

She thought of how she had done this to herself. Whenever she began self-pity, it was smothered by the acknowledgment that she was solely responsible for her plight. She began the relationship with the full realization of what this creature was capable of. Because of what she had sown, she was now reaping the wind.

She sloshed along slowly, one careful foot feel after another. In the distance she saw a light twinkle, and she realized she must be close to a house. Father Joshua lived on the northernmost part of the beach, so that must be his place. She continued the arduous trek, a tiny bead of hope tracing the thoughts that circled in her mind.

Father Joshua will let me stay for the night, and I’ll be safe. Someplace warm. That’s all I want right now!

Wait . . . . . . He’ll ask what I’m doing in this condition at this time of night. I can’t tell him what I’ve been doing. I’m too ashamed. He’s not a gossip, but this is a small town, and somehow these kinds of things get shouted from the rooftops. I could never do that to my family—or to myself. What could I possibly tell him?

She thought. Clever scenarios presented themselves one after another as she entertained what she might possibly offer as an explanation. Little by little, feeling a misery she was all too familiar with by now, the firefly of hope that had lit her mind just a few minutes before now quietly gasped out of existence, quenched by a knowledge as profoundly cold as her skin. The safety obvious to any other person was not ultimately safety to her. She could not concoct a story reasonable enough to satisfy this good, intelligent man. He was kind and full of grace, but this was too complicated. Her mind was muddied with fatigue and worry edging on desperation. She could not think fast or well. And she could not simply tell the truth. The fear of that was graver and more daunting than her fear of the elements.

She would continue to search for a cave among the rocks. She would be all right. She had experienced cold, hunger, and discomfort worse than this. She determined to begin anew tomorrow. Tomorrow would be another day, another start, another chance to leave behind this wretched mess of habit and start fresh. She would be glad for this night to be over and would consider the memory of it payment enough if it helped launch her into the life she knew she was meant to lead, the life she was living before she met the dragon. That blasted dragon.

In the darkness, a black smile twisted the features of a scaly, silver-green face. With seeing eyes and knowing mind, it watched the girl. Tomorrow, yes. There is always tomorrow.

Enchanted

I saw “Enchanted” yesterday with a dear friend, and I liked it. I was surprised at the beginning because it was about 10 minutes of that 2D animation of those early Disney movies. Made sense to do it that way though because when the characters got fleshed out, there was this great clarity of contrast, which was quite entertaining in itself.

There was so much unreality in it that I couldn’t help but be reminded that this was a fairy tale. The melodrama, the plot, the clear line between good and evil—all delicious ingredients for a make-believe story.

However, I found myself getting choked up several times during this movie. I thought This is just a fun little story, light Disney fare--where’s this coming from?

It hit me toward the end of the movie that this story was yet another example of our heart’s desire to experience and share in that one story of the ages, the one God tells in His word that crashes against the reality we experience: There IS a happy ending, a happily ever after. It’s true, even if it’s something that we’ll experience after this life when we are really and truly alive. The tale of good & evil, peril & rescue, and that haunting desire we know as True Love is a true story, ever alive in eternity, and deep down, we know it. This is what I felt, and as always, my reaction to it was strong and deep and unexpected.

But I keep forgetting. I keep living like this is where it’s all at. Then when His story, my story, Our story, reintroduces itself, I’m taken aback and hugged full-on by it all over again. It’s rather like loving the movie “Casa Blanca” and going for years without seeing it or even thinking of it, and then having it be the girls night out film one night. It just gets you “right here.” [tap your heart twice]

It was a fun, beautiful time with my unself-conscious friend, and I treasure the memory. I was thinking we were two that day, but that’s never the case, is it? There were precious Three of us… †