The Runaway

It was a cold, dark night.  Darker than most.  The streets were empty.  In front of the church stood a man.  He stood there, looking passionately ahead at the small building.  There was a whisper, faint.  As rain started to fall, he let out a sigh and walked away.  The church looked so distant.  As if standing a mile away, yet being only a few yards.  This was it.  This was the end.  Enough.

Years ago he had seen the miracles.  Years ago he had been passionate for God.  Years ago he had chased after God.  Years ago he saw God move in his city, in his church, and in his life.  Years ago.

These days are different.

The more he sought God, the more hardened he became.  Tired.  He was tired of seeking God with no feeling of return.  Where was God when his father died?  Where was God when he lost everything?  Where was God?

It never started out this way.  He was passionate.  People looked at him with shock.  He was what the world saw as “radical”.  He chased after God with his whole being.  A missionary, one with raw zeal for God.  The words flowed from his lips as he recited entire chapters of the Word.  That was when there was joy.  Hope.  Life.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.  No, he was supposed to be that missionary.  He was supposed to be that man.  Supposed to be.  The troubles of life consumed him.  The others were saying, “there is no God”.  It’s all chance.  The Living Book has become his item of distrust.  “There’s no way it’s true,” he now says.

He’s not forgotten.  He’s still got the passion he had, but it’s slowly fading away.  Things are going great now, he tells himself.  He believes what he’s told now.  “These secular teachers speak the truth,” he now says.

The rain is pouring down now.  As he pulls out of the parking lot of the church, he feels satisfied.  That’s what he’ll tell everyone, anyway.  The truth of it all is that he’s dead.  Bitter.  Broken.  Completely empty.  Blinded.  Blinded by the lies.  He’s still okay.  He laughs a little.  It hides the pain that he just can’t show.  He won’t show.  He knows where he needs to be, he’s seen the power.  He can’t deny it within; only publicly.  Lost.  So very lost.  He ran away.  Away from the loving arms of Christ.  God’s calling out to him: he’s got to decide.  Recommit or die; there’s no time left.  He makes the choice.

Ok, so I decided to post a bit different tonight.  A little story of sorts, with some truth behind it.  It’s about something that’s been on my mind that I really don’t have any other way to write it out, other than how I just did.  I’m not that great of a story teller either (and really, I shift tenses like crazy), but that’s not the point.  The idea behind everything may not make sense to some, but I hope it speaks to someone (because I know there’s someone that’s bound to get something out of it).  Oh, and this isn’t anything describing me; nor is it a complete story or is it based on anything proven to be true.  This is why the story is open ended.

As for my ending?

But as for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more.

—Psalm 71:14 NIV