At first

I can feel the facade crumble

Into bits

Until I’m looking at a barren landscape

The Shadowlands

I’m just so sick and tired of the darkness

Can someone come and fix this?

It’s so crushing

All-encompassing

It feels like there’s no end

I try to smile

I try to ignore it

But it all comes rushing back

The grim reality

The endless dark

Like a blanket of wool suffocating me

Trapping me

It’s all I can see:

The widows, the orphans

The abused, the helpless

The victims, the lonely

Those crying out for help

Where’s the light?

Where’s the hope that you promised?

Come back Lord.

Please.

Over all these years

Across space and time

Only time can tell

Who were they?

Mothers, fathers?

Sisters, brothers?

Only time can tell

Why were they there?

What were they going through?

What is their story?

Only time can tell

“Go ahead and eat it”, “Put it out of its misery”, and “It’s a useless sheep, all it does is slow you down.” And things like that. To which the shepherd replied,

“Well it’s not your sheep is it? It’s mine and I’ll do as I see fit with it, so there”. And every night, the shepherd would hold Ruth close and whisper, “You’re the best sheep I could ask for, I love you, and the Lord has blessed me with you”. Then they’d sit under the stars as they fell asleep.

Now, you’re probably wondering who the shepherd was, and I’d tell you, except Ruth didn’t have a good memory, and she didn’t remember. Was it Harold? No. Harvey? No. Dwayne? Hmmm. . .

No.

Aside from that, Ruth was reciprocal in the love of her shepherd.

(Was it John? Edward? Albert? No, no, and no. Gah, this is frustrating).

Now.

One lazy day, the shepherd was tending his flock as usual, with nothing out of the ordinary. Then the comfortable breeze started to pick up just a little bit. The shepherd was playing some sort of stringed contraption and singing at the same time. (This was one of Ruth’s favorite things). Soon, dark clouds appeared on the horizon rumbling and crackling. The shepherd, (was it George or Jerry? No. . . How about Kramer??? No, that’s not it. . .) anywho, the shepherd had started to gather his sheep together and drive them towards town as fast as he could. Ruth, though in the middle of the herd, fell behind quickly despite trying to keep up, due to her bad leg.

Suddenly, the wind blew so hard, Ruth staggered a few steps and fell down. Shakily, she got back up, only for another gust of wind to blow her about and knock her down. She quickly stumbled behind a rock which blocked her from the worst of the wind.

And if THAT wasn’t enough, it started raining. Not just a drizzle, mind you, but a fully fledged downpour. Scared and alone, Ruth bleated as loud as she could, only to have the wind shred her calls in its howls. Thinking of nothing but survival, Ruth huddled close to the rock, shivering and alone. Hour after hour of rain still fell with the addition of the sky darkening from late afternoon to night.

Then came the growling. Scared, and hoping it was just the wind, Ruth started wondering if her shepherd was looking for her. Then came the eyes, yellow and cold with an insatiable appetite blazing forth in the night. Cold, exhausted and terrified, Ruth tried to get up and run, but her leg buckled under her, and she fell down. The eyes crept closer until she could see the muzzle of the beast, and then the teeth, and soon after, the rest of the face. With her last spurt of energy, Ruth bleated as hard as she could, out of fear and desperation.

Just as the beast was about to jump, a stone came hurtling out of the dark and struck the animal square in the eye. Whimpering with pain, it turned and disappeared into the night. And then, Ruth’s heart could barely believe it, out came her shepherd, worn, scratched, soaked, bruised, and full of love. He ran to Ruth, picked her up, and wept.

“I thought I’d lost you”, he cried in the pouring rain. Slowly being carried back into the village, Ruth, knowing her love for the shepherd boy, bleated, and nestled herself up to him. He held her a little tighter, and she knew, she was safe.

Years later, after wars, violence, and drama with the in-laws, the shepherd came to an older Ruth and carried her to play with his kids.

A servant came up. “Your majesty, would you like me to take that sheep away?”

“No”, replied the shepherd, “this sheep shall eat off my table, live in the palace with my children, and be treated as one of my own”.

“As you wish King David”.

Into this world

You had hopes and dreams

You had opportunity

But you laid them down

For me

You sacrificed

So I could thrive

You’ve had patience

With my failures

You’ve raised me

To love the Lord

Your sacrifices mean the world

I won’t ever be able to repay you

But I’ll still try

Because I love you

Happy Birthday Mama!

Tracing back through the past

To a place I cannot go

A place where only memories last

I can’t walk backwards, only forward

Wearily trudging through the now

I look back as my feet shuffle onward

Wondering over my past as I wonder how

Footsteps in the snow

Giving a path for the future

To look on the past

And use it to walk onwards.

Isn’t it tiring

To hide?

Aren’t you weary

Of anxiety?

Why are you stumbling

Under your burdens?

Are you able to bear

This load?

Voice 2:

Why do you ask

When you already know?

Do you mock

My burdens and pain?

You know I’m broken

Shattered as broken glass

And I come to you

For help

So why do you ask

What you already know?

Voice 1:

You know I don’t

Need any reminding

But I know

That you do

Not to point out your failures

But to point out my path

My ways are above

All others

And my love for you

Runs unbound

Trust my hand

Fall into my arms

Voice 2:

Hold me

As I fall into your grace

Beckon for me to follow

The breeze whispers

Of a never ending day

If I would heed them and go,

I’d find what I’m looking for

The sun shines an invitation

Encouraging acceptance

The moon shines a path

Begging me to walk it

If I would heed them and go

I’d find what I’m longing for

My soul sings a song of longing

Calling me to listen

My heart beats a Calling

To follow these signs to go

So I heed them, I go

To the far side of the horizon

I run

I fly

I’m finally there

Beyond the edge of existence

More alive than I ever was

I’m there

I’m home

Everywhere I go

It’s there

But there’s no end

If I ran, can I catch it?

If I flew, could I reach the end?

As far as the east is from the west

So is the end of the horizon from me

My heart yearns to see the end

Knowing that what it’s searching for is there

But I can’t reach it

I never could

I never will

But what I’d give

To see the never ending sunrise

The endless day

The calm of the endless night

All at once

It’s there

Everywhere I go

Where does it go?

I wish to still be there

I’m at the end of a journey

No matter how brief

That journey, it changed me

And I now wish to go back

To where, who, and when

I’m reaching the end of a chapter

And every moment is precious

I wish to be back there

With who, where, and when

That roads never end

But I didn’t know

What it meant

Until I was there

At the edge of existence

A forgotten corner of creation

Going, going, going

Speeding to the edge

Flying towards the horizon

Chasing the sun

A never ending chase towards infinity

I’ve heard it said

That roads never end

And I’ve been there

And it’s true

So I’m following the road

Riding towards tomorrow

Quo me diliges?

Quo ad me audies?

Quo mortem wear ad dat vitam me?

Quo dominum caelum et terram est?

Quo me fecit mei in principio?

In matrem fecitne?

Quo me in tempum noctis adjuvat?

Quo Rex Gloriae est?

Quo ducit exercitum est?

Quo Dominum tenebrae et lucis est?

Quid nomenem Regis est?

Iesu Christus est Ejus nomenem

Is est Regis Gloriam

Is est mei montem

Is est mei vitam

Is est mei salutem

Lauda Eum Omnies hominem

Semper Lauda!

(TRANSLATION)

Who loves me?

Who listens to me?

Who became death and life for me?

Who is the Lord of Heaven and Earth?

Who made me in the beginning?

In my mother’s womb?

Who aided me in the dark of night?

Who is this King of Glory?

Who is the leader of the army?

Who is the Lord of darkness and Light?

What is this King’s name?

Jesus Christ is His name

He is this King of Glory

He is my mountain

He is my life

He is my salvation

Praise Him Forever!

He woke up with a start. “Where am I?” He thought. He was in a pristine room with white walls, tile floor, and bright lights. “Mama?” He called, “Daddy?” A woman in scrubs walked in, a mask obscuring her face.

“Hey there, little man! Glad to see you’re awake. How do you feel? It’s Peter, right?”

“I’m hungry. And thirsty. Where am I?Where’s my Mama?”

The kind lady responded, “You’re in the hospital. I’m your nurse, Riley. And for sure I can get something to fill that tummy of yours! How old are you?”

“I’m 9. But what about my Mama and my Daddy?”

The nurse tumbled over her words, “Well, 9 years old! Isn’t that something…”

“Mrs. Riley, where’s my Mama?” Peter started to feel a wave of anxiety and panic. It began to creep into his voice. “W-where are they?”

The nurse sighed and took off her mask. “Well, you and your parents were in a pretty bad car wreck with a bad man… and well… to tell you the truth, I’m so sorry.” The nurse started sobbing lightly.

“Wh-what happened Mrs. Riley?”

“They died sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” The little boy gasped and heaved as tears leapt to his eyes.

“Wha-what?” His feeble voice wobbled, “N-n-no! They’re not! They CAN’T be!” He bawled and wept despairingly, tears coursing down his young face. The young nurse, Riley, gathered him into her arms and rocked him as he soaked her scrubs with snot and tears.

Years passed as Peter grew up in the foster care system. No immediate family had been found for him to stay with, so he was shunted from foster home to foster home, family to family. At 12 years old, he took up drinking in secret, hiding the bottles under the porch, in the shed, in his room. Once the new family found out, Peter was kicked out. He started seeing therapists once one family found out his violent nature towards other things such as animals, and especially other children. He ran away from school, smoked cigarettes, stole from stores, and other petty thefts, and beat up defenseless kids. Other people in the community started talking about, “that Peter kid”,warning their own children to stay away from him. After a couple years of this, when he was 14, Peter was sent to his social worker’s office. She was a shorter, skinny woman with greying hair, a sharp nose, and glasses which never missed a thing.

“Peter, please have a seat.” She smiled curtly at her current case. Peter, with a grunt, slouched down in the seat in front of the desk. “Peter, you’ve been having a hard past few years haven’t you? I see that you’ve been arrested 21 different times… illegal drinking, harassment, shoplifting, you’ve been kicked out of 10 foster homes… These have to stop Peter. The police are losing their patience, and frankly, we’re not able to find many more foster families for you.” He did nothing but grunt, his long, oily hair hanging in front of his gaunt face. The social worker took in his appearance, baggy sweatpants, a dirty T-shirt covering his bony, malnourished frame, worn shoes with holes where his toes stuck out. She sighed. “I’ll give you one more chance with this family… if you change your ways and get straight, I won’t turn you in. If you continue to cause havoc, then I’m going to hand you over to the police. You have 3 weeks.” The only thing Peter did to acknowledge the offer was a jerk of his head and a smirk. The social worker sighed again and sent him on his way.

Peter arrived at his new foster family’s home the following afternoon. There was a tall, man named Andrew, with his kind wife, Mary standing beside him. However, when Peter got out of the car, they gave him a warm smile that took him off guard. “Didn’t they know what he had done?” He wondered as he trudged towards the house. On the first day, Peter stole $30 from a convenience store and spent it on a pack of cigarettes and a 6 pack of cheap beer. When he got back to the foster home that night drunk and high, the Andrew and Mary stood at the doorway to which the Andrew asked, “Peter, where have you been all day?” To which Peter said nothing and walked to his room. The next day, he beat up a couple of 4th graders for “annoying him” and stole beer from a gas station. That night, the Andrew and Mary again stood at the doorway to which Andrew asked, “Peter, where have you been all day?” The same pattern continued for the next week of shoplifting, beating up kids, and such until one night, Andrew and Mary found out what was going on. Andrew called Peter to the living room. Trudging in, expecting a lecture, Peter sat down in a chair pulling his greasy hair over his face. Andrew kneeled down in front of Peter and asked, “What’s wrong?” Surprised, Peter looked at his host’s face which was… full of concern? All he had ever experienced was a talking to about ‘morals and what it meant to be a good person’. Once Peter looked into Andrew’s eyes, he couldn’t look away. “What’s wrong, Peter?” Andrew repeated as Peter, now feeling a foreign emotion rise, abruptly stood up. “What’s wrong?” Andrew asked again. A wave of rage crashed over Peter as he yelled, the first words he had uttered to Andrew, “WHY DO YOU CARE WHAT’S WRONG? WHAT DOES IT MATTER TO YOU? I DIDN’T ASK FOR ANYONE TO… TO CARE! I JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE!!!” Peter ran out the door, tears blinding him as he fled from the only person who had shown him compassion and love in a long time. Peter spent the rest of the day drinking his sorrow away, drowning himself in a bottle. A police car found him as he staggered down the sidewalk, picking him up and dumping him in a jail cell.

Later that night, Peter awoke to the sound of worried voices, shoes tapping along a cold, cement floor, and a door unlocking. Peter’s eyes squinted due to the sudden light that flooded his cell. Three faces materialized out of the darkness into the cop, Andrew, and Mary. “Hey there, Peter,” Mary’s voice sweet and sad reached the boy’s ears. Shocked, Peter could do nothing but stare in silence at her worried, tired, yet radiant face.

“Officer, could you please leave us alone for a minute?” Andrew’s voice murmured. The two adults sat beside the scared, frightened boy who had known no love for years.

“Peter,” Mary’s voice once again called out, “what happened? Why are you so sad and angry?” Peter stayed silent, too scared to say anything. The two adults just sat in silence beside him.

With that feeling of love and compassion, Peter started crying. Great heaves that shook his whole body, as he poured out his whole life story from the car crash, through every petty theft, every foster home, every bottle of alcohol.

“Mary and I,” Andrew cleared his throat, “We had a little girl, Jessie. She was bright, happy, kind to everyone, and beautiful. She was the light of our lives, and we were happy. When she was about your age, 14 right? Well, she was in the car with another of her friends when a drunk driver crashed into the van, immediately killing Jessie. Mary and I, well we were distraught. Our sadness knew no end. We kinda just hovered around like ghosts, not either dead, not alive. We had some friends, Betty and George, who first took us to church. It was a little chapel really with only a small piano and a even smaller congregation. But, when the pastor spoke, all I could think of or see, is a river. I was on one side, and a bright light was at the other. All I could think of was how I’ve got to get to that side of the river. I don’t even remember what the pastor preached. Well, Mary and I then started going again and again to that church until we realized what we needed to fill our grief. We needed the Lord to heal us, to cleanse us, and to help us. Well, Mary and I we found the driver, he was in prison, and we forgave him. It was the hardest thing I ever did in my life, forgiving that man. Yet, Mary and I, we forgave him. We even had to forgive ourselves. Peter, I want you to forgive yourself. It wasn’t your fault your parents died. You don’t have to be sad anymore, cause you’re not alone anymore. Mary and I know grief just as you do. You’re a slave to it, until you find the one that sets you free.”

Peter gasped as he begged for forgiveness from them, to which all they did was embrace him and show him love he hadn’t seen since the nurse, Riley showed him the day that he woke up in the hospital. In the jail cell, a place of captivity, a lost, lonely, sad boy found his freedom and a way home to a new home, a loving family who embraced him, showed him grace, and healed him by God’s grace.

You’re packed up and ready to go

Again

This time it’s different than the rest

You’re leaving cause you chose someone

Over me

I didn’t want this for you

But you want it more than you want me

Like always

I watch you drive down the gravel

Leaving me behind

Cause you never really wanted me

I see that now

It hurts more this time

The pain of betrayal

It hurts worse this time

Cause you didn’t even try

You never did anything hard

You always took the easy way

Then you always lied

How can I trust you

Look at what you’ve left behind

Look at what you’ve got now

You expect me to believe you’re happy

When you’re miserable inside

You act like all is normal

You act as if nothing has changed

You’re looking in a broken mirror

I don’t know what to say

Except I’m through with you

From dealing with all the pain

Know that I’ll always love you

But I’m through with you

She saw herself, nine years old, playing in the field with her older sister. They were giggling, full of life, devoid of pain and hardship. She blinked and suddenly she was fourteen giggling with her school friends about boys they liked and the next new dress to come out. Suddenly, she was sixteen and stealing away to talk to a boy who said he’d always love her no matter what. It was then when hardship came.

The notes from the piano turned sad and slow, weighted with remembrance of the soldiers that stormed their town, took everything they had, and jeered mercilessly at crying mothers, helpless children, and defeated fathers.

Even though she was shaking, her fingers didn’t falter on the keys playing steadily through her life. She was eighteen and on a ship from her homeland to a new life in a new country. Nervous and scared, her notes trembled but stayed consistent to the tune. Then finally calming down, she remembered meeting a new boy, a loving, kind man who took care of her and loved her. They wed and she was content reveling in the memory of her marriage. She smiled, her music now full of joy as scenes from her life flashed by her. Having her first child, holding her grandchildren for the first time, growing old with the love of her life.

The music crescendoed reflecting her life, peaceful and happy until that fateful day. Suddenly, a pause. The woman stopped playing for a second her notes echoing as she shook from the worst memory of all. When she started again, her notes turned minor, her heart full of sorrow. She remembered sitting by her husband’s bedside, holding his hand as she heard him take his last breath. Playing for a few more seconds, the old woman’s notes were sad and slow. She finished her song before it was done, before the end came. As she opened her eyes, she saw her grandchild looking at her with wide eyes.

Her smile bittersweet, the old woman took her grandchild and set him beside her on the bench. Her grandson asked her,

“Memaw, what song were you playing?”

The old woman replied, “Ah. That was the song of my life.”

“Why didn’t you finish it?”

“It’s not time to finish that song yet. Soon though, it will have been played to its full.”

Showing her grandson where to place his hands, the old woman taught her grandchild how to play her faithful, well-loved, piano.

What am I to do?

Always throbbing never stopping

What am I to do?

The noise, the noise, the noise

A constant companion

A constant annoyance

Where is peace?

Where is quiet?

Hides in a dark corner never found

While I’m bound to the sound

The painful chain that never stops

When we had youthful innocence.

When we were not easily fazed

By life’s sudden changes.

I hold on to these memories

Even as I look for tomorrow

Not knowing what comes next

But trusting the LORD

To guide me on His Way

As my life keeps on going

I know He’ll be with me.

But I’ll keep on remembering

Remembering those who love me.

I still have my future in front of me

But I’ve left some of my past behind

As the poet once said, “footprints in the sands of time.”

Empty, Unfulfilled

No matter how high I fill

It always comes crashing down

Tumbling, Falling

Forever and ever

Is there anything that can give me hope?

(Sorry I missed my deadline yesterday.😳 I had a music rehearsal that slipped my mind!)

“Aye, so you’re Owen?” The old man asked.

“Yes, sir.” He replied.

“This is a mighty fine place you’ve chosen. I wish I was up to keeping myself.”

The young man, Owen, smiled and said, “Is everything settled?”

“Aye. It is.”

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to this opportunity.” The old man left shortly afterwards leaving Owen in the shop by himself. “A chance for a new beginning,” he breathed as he took in his surroundings, “A chance for a new life.”

I sat upright in my bed, tears mingling with sweat rolling down my sobbing face. I looked at the clock beside me. It read 3:27 AM. “It was just a dream,” I said to myself over and over again, trying to control my trembling body. I closed my eyes again and sank back into a troubled sleep.

The next morning, I made myself a cup of black coffee. I sat at my table trying to sort through last night’s torment. Sighing, I picked up my bag and headed to work.

As I sat down at my desk looking over paperwork, my eyes started dropping. I pinched myself to stay awake. One of my coworkers walked up to me and said,

“Boss wants to see you.”

Wearily, I nodded my head and dragged myself to my boss’s office. He turned around in his chair where he told me,

“Sit down. I’d like to have a word with you.” I sat down, and he started talking, but everything started to slur together for some reason. I blinked as he finished, “Got it?” I nodded my head in reply, but he looked at me, eyes cold, and said “No, I don’t think you do.” He then pulled out a gun and cocked it. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you.” I stood up to run, but found that the office had had turned into a cell. I heard feet running to my rescue, but it was too late. I looked back at my boss who had turned into the hooded man that had haunted my dreams the night before. He smiled as he pulled the trigger, causing the bullet to eat a hole through my body as I fell onto the floor, only to wake up back at my desk. No one seemed to have noticed that I had dozed off.

Driving back to my apartment, I thought over my dreams. I felt like I was missing something, a missing piece to my puzzle, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

When I got back to my apartment, I ate a hasty dinner and showered, dreading the moment when I’d have to go to sleep. I knew the nightmare would return. They came every night.

As I laid in bed, I wondered why my dreams came every night. I wondered my place in the world. I wondered my purpose in life. Soon, sleep cast it’s spell on me dragging me down down down to the last place I wanted to go.

I gingerly opened my eyes. When I realized that I was still in my bed, I breathed a sigh in relief. Rising, I walked down my hallway to the bathroom. When I turned on the light, I saw a figure behind me. The figure in black. The one who haunted me. Haunted my dreams. He held a syringe in his hand, filled with a vivid green liquid. I heard someone walking down the hall to find out what was happening, but the figure jabbed my neck with his needle and injected the poison I was sure was going to kill me. I fell to the cold floor, my body convulsing with a seizure as my eyes dimmed and the poison took effect. But before everything went black, I saw a new figure standing beside me. Then I woke up.

The early morning sun was filtering through my curtains, casting light on my face. I was shaking but for some reason, my dream didn’t install as much fear in me as the others did. As I was sitting down for my morning coffee, I heard a knock on my door. When I answered it, all I found was a leather bound book on my doorstep. Looking up and down the hall to find who had sent this, all I saw was empty stretches of floor. Picking up the book, I went inside and closed the door back. ‘What is this, some sort of trick?’ I wondered as I stared at the cover which read Holy Bible. Bored, with nothing else to do, I started reading. I opened up to a random page where this guy started talking about leaving 99 sheep to go find one that had wondered away from the flock. It struck a chord in me, while also at the same time, I didn’t understand a word it was saying. I then noticed a bookmark shoved in between some pages. It opened to a passage labeled Matthew 11. I started reading it, when one verse in the chapter made me pause. It was verse 28. It said “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” I started shaking as tears rolled down my face, turning into a rushing flood.

That night, as I went to sleep, I found myself in a strange, but familiar scene. I was walking down a cold, dark street. I was hurrying to get to somewhere l just didn’t know where. Where was I going? I shook the disturbing thought off and continued following my feet, who knew which way to go. As I turned a corner, I caught a glimpse of someone in a dark coat and hat. ‘Is he following me?’ I wondered as I hurried on. Then, I finally saw my destination: a building with lights and warmth and people, all beckoning to me. Welcoming me. I started walking towards them, but then the figure I spotted following me finally caught up. I turned as he raised his arm to stab me, but then a figure who came barreling from the shadows, jumping in between me and my attacker. He grunted as the knife sank into his skin. The skin he sacrificed to save mine. He then pulled the knife from his dying form and shoved it into the attacker’s flesh. My savior beckoned me closer and told me,

“Go into this house. My home. Your home. I died for you. I love you. I’ll see you inside.” Agony ripped through my chest as I began to cry for this man who I didn’t know. This man who had saved me. He smiled and his eyes went glassy. He slumped onto the ground. I looked at both of the dead forms in front of me. My attacker’s body, and my savior’s body. With nothing left to do, I started waking towards the house. The uneven ground sent me stumbling, but I safely made it to the house, where people were running to meet me. To know me. To love me. They embraced me telling me to come with them and to see someone. I followed them into a beautiful room where I saw… my eyes couldn’t believe it. It was the man who had died for me out on the street. I then knew. He was the fulfillment to my emptiness, he was the joy to my sorrow, he was,

“Jesus!” I said running into his arms.