No Time for Despair-Learn to Live your Life from One Who Has Died- The Conclusion (?)

That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. John 1:9 KJV

Greetings Fellow Travelers...

I was thirteen when we moved to Corpus Christi, in the summer of 1975. I spent a great deal of the first part of 1976 in grim anticipation of the "communists taking over on July 4 th ." I even told a friend at school about it. After spending a panic-filled afternoon watching the flotilla in New York Harbor on Sunday the 4th , seeing no enemy military marching down the street, and, after being ribbed about the none invasion upon the resumption of school on Monday, I decided maybe my dad had issues. I guess that was when I really began to see my dad as human.

I went to school and never spoke about the future to anyone. Each passing day rolled into weeks, months and years. I grew more and more despondent, stuck in the "slough of Despond," much like Christian from "Pilgrims Progress." I could not even love myself, or even look in the mirror. I felt that anyone who was attracted to me had issues as bad as mine, or worse.

However, as time did slip by without the earth blowing up I began to realize that I might have a chance. At first it was like being on "litter patrol" as part of a chain gang out on the highway- much like Paul Newman in "Cool Hand Luke." I had a sensation like the guard had forgotten to lock my shackles and was not paying attention to me and that I had only seconds to make a life. This hit its peak around the age of 20, So, at the age of 21, I got married and had children. My doomsday thinking was melting away and I panicked. I had no real "life skills." I had no training or experience in being a part of humanity, so I resisted. I had trouble keeping a job, had quite a temper, and was an all around jerk at times. There was something growing inside me like the monster from "Alien," an entity that would someday bust out and kill me- again. Only...

This time it was not a monster, not in the traditional sense. Like Mary Shelly's "Frankenstein" I was a product, an aggregation of different men, but was assembled by God and, like the character in the book, I had powers that others did not. No super strength or speed, but, since I had actually stared into the stinking, gaping maul of death, I held an incredible appreciation for life. It began in me as small as a single cell and grew and grew and grew. It is still growing today.

Long before I began this series I began to wrestle with how, when the time came, I would describe my transformation. I have known for some time that this story would have to be told, for myself and for others struggling with similar problems. Then it hit me.

Imagine you are a happy child and your life is filled with promise. You are "normal" in every way. Then one day you wake up to find you are in a some sort of cave. There is absolutely no light and no sound- total sensory deprivation. You reach out to get an idea of what might be surrounding you and all your fingertips tell you is that it is cold rock, dry and lifeless.

You have vague memories of wandering near a flower patch and the flowers had thorns that caught you. Then you woke up here.

The cuts from the thorns are sore and bleeding, and a few of the offending spears are still fast inside you. You know this because of the pain you feel trying to determine the size of your new room.

Then you hear it. Tapping, in some sort of pattern coming from a specific and unchanging direction. Your face automatically turns towards the sound since it is the only sound you have heard since awakening. The stale air is draining your strength but you struggle to get a handle on the sounds origin.

In flashes of multicolored lights scenes open up on the walls all around you. Scenes of happy times being had by others, lovers walking on the beach hand in hand, happy children opening up gifts on birthdays and squealing with delight. These folks are familiar to you, friends who have invited you to share in their joy- but you cannot. You reach to accept the piece of birthday cake offered to you only to find it is an illusion, a portal through which nothing can pass. With a heavy and broken heart you sink down onto the floor of the cave, and wish for death.

But Death does not come.

Instead the tapping gets louder and louder until you fear you will lose all faculties completely. Why does it torment you so? Where is it coming from? Why can't it just leave you alone and let you die? Then a puff of fresh air lights upon your face, cooling the sweat and sparking a surge of energy through your torn, bruised and utterly exhausted body. At last the direction from which it came is known, but your face turns again and again until you are convinced it never happened. Then it happens again, and again, and again, growing a little bit stronger each time until the puff becomes a draft, then a breeze.

Suddenly you hear rocks falling and then you feel them, then the light appears. It is a tiny ray of light from the center of the cave, on the side where the tapping had been, now stopped. The rivulet of fresh, clean, sweet air now gives you strength to begin pulling rocks from the path. Your body is able to squeeze through the opening, following the air.

The light is growing too, both in size and warmth. Your cold, dehydrated and tired body struggles to keep moving. You want to quit. You need to quit, but you don't, the air is just too good. Panic freezes your progress when you feel a strong stab of regret, sparked by the realization that you will never again see the lovely images of happy people offering slices of cake to you if you keep going. You turn back to see the area where the images were, but cannot turn completely before your eyes lock onto several skeletons of folks who were going the way you are, but turned back, their remains fixed in a sad pose- arms stretching out to touch the spot from which the images were given. Your heart aches for them, but you must go on. And go on you do.

Up you go, and down, maneuvering your way through the cave, crawling, ignoring the sounds of happiness coming from the room you just left. Laughter too, but the laughter is from the folks who turned back, cursed and hopeless, who think you are a fool for working to meet your doom, instead of relaxing and letting it come to you. But, onward you go.

After what seems an eternity of struggle you are finally able to stand up, and, the second you do, the cave opening reveals itself, at first partially hidden by hundreds of rocks, then fully open as the rocks roll away. You step, blinking and shaking, into the sunlight. The warmth has already rejuvenated your soul as you stretch your arms upward, feeling the Holy and Omnipotent hand of God as He lifts you up. Then you see the chards of rock embedded in His fingertips, and see Jesus, holding a lantern and smiling.

That, dear reader, is my story. Scarred but alive, once shaken, but now strong and confident, I give it to you in hopes that, if you are in darkness, that you find your way out. Open your heart and minds to God, and He will save you. Do not let the things of this world keep you from seeking the eternal gifts.

God Bless You.

(Not) The End

Kenneth W. McCreless Sr. 2009