The Prisoner

I wrote this a couple of years ago and thought I would reintroduce it to the world. A little long, perhaps, but if you don't have time to read it now, leave the window open and take it with you to lunch! :)

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He was conscience of cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck under his nape of black hair. Another bead of the stuff headed down his forehead, hiding for a moment in his bushy eyebrow before running into his left eye, making it burn. He blinked briskly but made no other move to ease his discomfort. Sweat was the last of his concerns at the moment. Let it come… it might be the last time he felt the sting.


The damp cool of his own private little room didn’t even mention itself to his mind as he slouched in the corner, head tilted back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. ‘Private’ did though, and he strained his hearing to the utmost. Still no sound. No voices, no footsteps in the hall. He was totally alone. Sweating in the coolness and alone. He strode to the door, footsteps echoing dully off the bare walls. He reached out his hand and laid it on the solid door, staring at his fingers, willing them to have the strength the brake this barrier down. They didn’t even flinch, never even tried. It was no use. There was no way out of this. No use.


Somewhere in the distance water dripped from a leak, matching his thoughts, word-for-word, drop-for-drop. No-Use, it splashed, No-Use-No-Use!


With a groan he let his forehead drop forward against that immovable barrier, hands clenched into fists against it. Though he could see no sun, had no way to see time passing, he knew it was. Time was passing… his time was passing. His life’s last sands were slipping dangerously close to the narrow neck of the hour glass and he stared, in his mind’s eye, at the mound in the bottom half. All the things he wished he had done, all the things he wished he had not, now staring him back in the face. It was too late now. He couldn’t go back, couldn’t change anything. It was too late.


Too-Late-Too-Late, the water mourned with him. Too-Late


It was the story of his life, every single one of his days summed up in two words… too late. The dreariness of that thought consumed his mind, eating up every last shred of hope he had been trying to cling to. As he stood there, exhausted from days of trying to find a way our, he felt he no longer had the will to try anymore. There was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do. For the first time in his life, he was truly and totally helpless. This impossible predicament he had brought down on himself was overtaking him, breathing down his neck, running him into the ground. Breaking him! Beating him! Destroying him! With a furious, desperate cry he raised his head and slammed his fists against that one thing that stood between him and his freedom, but it didn’t budge, didn’t even shudder. Impossible predicament. Hopeless. Absolutely…


Hope-less. It finished his thought for him.


He paused in his frantic search for hope, knowing he would find none and wanting to sink into blissful nothingness, to escape into himself. Drawing a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, letting his head sink forward to the door once more, slowing his racing heart and loosening taut muscles.


Hope-less, the drips reminded him. Hope-less, Hope-less!


“I know!” his mind screamed, but he refused to let his body respond. His breathing was ragged and heavy, his shirt now soaked and clingy. The stillness of this, his prison, clashed violently with the chaos in the prison of his mind where ideas fought for credibility, thoughts struggled against instinct, and his soul cried out for relief from its mental torture. His end was nearing… why couldn’t it come quickly? Must he endure this so much longer, only to die then?


Raising his head he turned, eyes roaming the bare walls surrounding him… nothing.


Somewhere on the other side of the door those drips continued, taunting him as they steadily splashed away, telling him of his predicaments. No-Use Help-less Hope-less


That’s when he heard them. Breaking the stillness, disrupting the rhythmic taunt of the drips, echoing dully off the bare walls as his own had… footsteps. The solemn tread of judgment filled the air, growing louder as the footsteps grew closer to the door, the door that, a moment ago, he longed to see open but which now, he only wished would remain closed.


Try as he did to keep hold of himself, fear began to shake him to his very core. Panic closed in. He gasped for air as this desperate, terrifying icy claw seemed to tear at his heart. He groped for the near-by wall, drinking in the cool firmness of it because his vision seemed suddenly to have blurred around the edges. With small, unsteady steps, he eased his way into a corner, away from that dread door, those dread footsteps. Sliding down the wall, he dropped his head into his hands, unable to even groan through his constricted throat.


Where was this loving God his parents, companions, colleagues, told him of? Here, in his darkest hour, why was he absent? If there was a God who loved him, he wouldn’t be here, now, waiting for his own death. The only God he saw here with him was a holy God of judgment, fixing to crush him through the owners of the footsteps that even now stopped outside his abode. Contempt darkened what reason he still had. Love? What place did that have?






Dread slowed his feet while his heart raced. Pain tore through his twisted arm as he bent forward, trying to escape just a little bit of this man’s iron grip. Suddenly, he found himself falling to the stone floor outside his physical prison. His hand barely made it between his face and solid rock before he hit, and he lay for a moment, stunned, barely able to move, waiting for a shower of blows to rain down upon him, but none came.


Instead, the raspy voice growled again. “Get up, you fool.” When he didn’t respond, rough hands grabbed him, pulling him to his feet and he suddenly found himself backed against the wall, nose to nose with a face so full of hate he could barely breathe. “Dog!” the guard spat out. His grip tightened, muscles bulged, nostrils flared… then the guard forced himself back away from his prisoner. “Go,” he snarled.


Confusions blanked out every bit of sense he had left. Go? What could that mean? He turned and stared down the long hallway, saw the open door at the end, but couldn’t will his feet to move. “Go! – Go!” the drips had found their voice again. “GO!”


“Barrabas…” he turned again, looking blankly at the guard. “You are free to leave.” The guard’s eyes were watery as he gazed at the very personification of evil. “Go, Barabbas. Look at the man who took your place.”


And he went.

Honesty in Today's World... What has Changed?

          The first word that pops into anyone's mind when you mention Abraham Lincoln is probably "Honest". I mean, no one has gone down in history like he has for being honest! For the slavery movement you have William Wilberforce, for the Civil War you have General Grant, Lee, etc... but for honesty, Abe takes the cake. Well, and maybe George Washington with his hatchet mess-up concerning his daddy's cherry tree. Wish I could vote for one of them in 2012... But back to my point. 

          Here's a question to ask yourself...Do you admire greatness or aspire to greatness?

         When we hear the story of Abraham Lincoln's two-mile walk to return 2 pennies to the guy who overpaid him, the general reaction is "Wow, what a guy". But I think that secretly, in the back of many minds, there's a mixed reaction. And I think that that mixed reaction has grown rapidly over the years. No longer is there pure admiration for feats of honesty like his. Instead, we have grown dull to such displays of character, and even find them irritating at times.

         I speak from personal experience on this... just last night I had an honesty dilemma that my Maker wouldn't let me wriggle out of. Please don't think of me as tremendously honest after this story... for the truth is that He had to twist my arm too much to claim that quality. After all, a coupon that the car hop didn't take isn't seriously a big deal, is it? I mean, seriously! But as I started to back out of the parking space and go on my way, (yes, I was secretly doing a happy dance in my mind over the fact that I was going to get another ninety-nine cent Route44) God tapped me on the shoulder and said, "That wasn't an accident". Of course, I got defensive. Really, I had just set it down to count my change out to her! Never once crossed my mind that she couldn't see the coupon, and, of course, wouldn't remember it! 

          "Liar." 

          I pulled out onto the street anyway and tried to laugh it all off. I couldn't count the number of times I had reused 'forgotten' coupons. It really was NOT a big deal. If I actually went back and gave it to them, they would no doubt laugh at me for being so ridiculous. I made it onto the interstate, all the while humming to try to block Him out. But all I could think of was that turning back was going to get harder with every block I drove, every mph I accelerated. And I had just asked God to speak into my life more, to use me more, to renew my faith and vigor in this walk... if I ignored Him now, would all of that be killed?

         Finally, with an exasperated sigh, I yanked onto an off ramp, drove the 2 miles back to Sonic, told 'James' that I owed him more than I gave him, and handed over the coupon. Of course, just as I expected, the reaction was somewhere between, "Oh honey, you're so exasperatinly sweet," and "Geez, woman, get a life". And I have no doubt that someone, somewhere, reading this, probably had similar thoughts, if but for a moment. 

          Why is it that we can applaud Abraham Lincoln for walking two miles to return two cents, but roll our eyes at Jessica driving two miles to return a dollar? Is it because his task was so much more difficult? But that doesn't make sense, because the fact that my task was simple means that there should be thousands of people doing it, right? It should be common place...

          We still applaud the woman who turns in the bag of dough to the police when she could have kept it, or the guy who runs after the lady who dropped her expensive purse. But when it comes to the little things, we have lost something terribly valuable. In fact, we have traded it for something much less worthy. God's standards and applause should never have been exchanged for man's value and approval. Yet, as I drove home last night, I realized that that was exactly what I had done in my own mind. Man would never have expected me to go back to make sure my coupon was in the proper hands. Man would snicker behind closed hands if I they saw me doing it. But God... God did expect me to go back and make sure my coupon was in the proper hands. And God...God would applaud me openly if He saw me doing it.

          Instead of simply cheering Honest Abe we should aspire to be an Honest Abe in our own right. Instead of simply giving kudos to the woman who turned in the cash we should eagerly look for our chance to be more like her. Instead of simply nodding and smiling our approval at the man who chases down the careless purse loser we should be as quick in our decisions over what to do when we see it happen.

          Whenever you hear stories of people doing tremendously honest things, like returning small amounts of money or including little truths in their accounts even when it might hurt them... watch your reaction. It could tell you a lot about the state of your heart, and whose opinion you value most.

Good Not Great

          The words come from Brad Paisley's song about a dying love, a relationship that has seen better days. Distraught by memories of feelings stronger than the ones being felt today, the writer longs for a renewal of what he once knew, a reigniting of a passion he once had. In spite of the fiery romance he once enjoyed (we'll assume it was with his wife ;) ) now he finds himself immersed only in his mind, remembering what was once so glorious, so all-consuming that his life seemingly revolved around it.

          We're left to wonder what path led him here, and how long he has been feeling this, but the important thing is that he has reached that pivotal point in the road. The point where he can either deny that anything is wrong... or admit that there is and do something about it. And this phrase captures perfectly the decision he makes.

     

"Now we keep saying that we're OK   

     But I don't want to settle for good not great

     I miss the way that it felt back then I wanna feel that way again"

          Settling for good not great... those words, along with other things I have encountered in my life lately, have me thinking about my spiritual walk and wondering how many other Christians are out there who are right where I am. Settling for good in this love relationship with our Creator when we could be having great.

          All through this song Brad keeps rememberang specific occurrences that speak of a deep love, a passionate display of sincere feeling. "Remind me," he says.

"Remember when..."

"Remind me!"

          Remember back when we couldn't stop talking about Him? When we thought about Him all day long, and we couldn't wait to meet with Him again? Do we remember the times when we couldn't sleep until we had spent time with Him? Or when we couldn't get started in the morning until we had gotten our fill of Him? What about when we would get lost in His love, loose track of time and be late for work? Can you please remind me?

          With all of the thinking I have been doing lately about lukewarmness in the Christian church I have been doing a lot of looking into myself. Though it pains me to admit it, I can't say that I like what I see. I would be a conceited liar to try to convince any of you who are reading this that I am being totally consumed by a passionate love affair with my Creator and Keeper. Instead, I am in Brad's place of maintaining a 'good' relationship instead of enjoying a 'great' one.

          But the more that I find myself admitting this truth the more I find myself vehemently able to say that I don't want to settle for 'good not great'. I really do miss the way it felt back then and I really do want to feel that way again. But not settling means getting up and doing something. Settling is sitting down doing nothing. If I don't want to do that, than I must want to do the opposite.

           Quite certainly, there are Christians all across the world, though perhaps especially in the Unites States, who are in the same condition. Let's not stay where we are, people. Don't settle, please. We could be loving passionately, sincerely, instead of loving and wanting just a little. Join me... it's going to be a journey.