Hold You
He lifted me up and sat me down on a tall stool, my feet dangling short of the dark floor hidden in shadows.
He placed the projector on a stand and turned it on.
It glowed; blue beams of light threads zooming from the source to the wall, where it blossomed out on the white screen.
After still moments, the movie was ready to begin. Numbers 4, 3, 2, one after the other, they blipped past in black and white with a crackling silence, as there was no sound.
The image showed a girl, just like me. So like me, it might have been me, but I don't see myself the way I saw this girl. She smiled, but as I watched, she began to change.
The smiles left and her eyes grew dark. Her laughter was fake and she seemed to shrink. There was a sadness to her, but more obvious, an anger and deep-seated resentment.
Then the girl, so like me, began to run.
She ran so hard, sweaty and tired, but I could see in the silent film she ran nowhere, but in place, her exertion fruitless.
I wanted her to run and I turned to Him and asked, “Why does she run like that? She's not moving... Is she stuck or something?” He looked at me.
“Watch,” He said and I returned to the film. She still ran endlessly, but my view changed. Now I saw her from behind, with her flying heels that took her nowhere rising near my eyes. And then, I saw through her.
Suddenly her body was sheer, a curtain to her insides, to the frame within. Her spine stretched before me, a curve of ripples, a stack of vertebrates arranged just so, but one thing was added.
Encircling the spine, wrapped tightly, intertwined perfectly, interlaced with the vertebrate themselves was a enormous hand holding her spine.
The fist just held, it didn't move. The girl ran and ran, angry and exhausted, but she couldn't move with that hand ensconced in her bone structure, holding deftly to her being.
“Why are you holding her?” I asked.
“Because she's mine.” He answered.
I pondered this a while, as I watched.
“But I thought we had a choice, to go or stay?”
“You do. But I am a jealous God, and it doesn't mean I'll make it easy for you to walk away. I will let you choose, but I never let go.”
He watched me closely.
“Do you understand?” I shook my head.
“She chose to rebel, run from me in anger. I let her do anything she wants, but I bought her at a very high price and I love her, as one of my own.”
“So as long as she runs, I'll hold her. When she stops, I'll hold her. When she calls for me, I'll hold her.
When she curses me, I'll hold her. For she is my precious one.”
“The hand on her spine, is me, my love, my passion for her, my willingness to pursue her. I will not stop, just because she runs."
"My hand is the teachings she grew up with and can't forget. It's the knowledge of right and wrong. The longing to stop and forgive, even while angry and in pain.”
“My hand on her is gentle, but firm. My hand is a light weight, compared to her burdens and troubles of running. My hand on her is invisible, but I never let go.”
“She fights herself, her anger and me, but what wearies her are the blows she takes from the darts and arrows of the battle between my angels and his demons that she can't even see. But regardless, I never let go.”
I stared at the girl, at myself and then looked at him, tearfully.
“Are you disappointed in her?” I asked afraid of what He would say, if I could bear it.
“No. Hurt, yes. But I see such beauty to come.”
“It'll be a beautiful thing when she stops, when she forgives, renews, rebuilds, and has the strength to grow again. Disappointed? No, I can see ahead and already know what will come of this.”
He turned off the film, turned off the projector, and set me down on the floor, my legs numb and weak as if I had been running for a very long time.
“Daddy?” I said.
He paused in the doorway to hear me.
“Yes?” His eyes were so kind it physically hurt.
“I'm sorry.” The words hardly out of my mouth, He gathered me into His arms and held me.
7/2012
He placed the projector on a stand and turned it on.
It glowed; blue beams of light threads zooming from the source to the wall, where it blossomed out on the white screen.
After still moments, the movie was ready to begin. Numbers 4, 3, 2, one after the other, they blipped past in black and white with a crackling silence, as there was no sound.
The image showed a girl, just like me. So like me, it might have been me, but I don't see myself the way I saw this girl. She smiled, but as I watched, she began to change.
The smiles left and her eyes grew dark. Her laughter was fake and she seemed to shrink. There was a sadness to her, but more obvious, an anger and deep-seated resentment.
Then the girl, so like me, began to run.
She ran so hard, sweaty and tired, but I could see in the silent film she ran nowhere, but in place, her exertion fruitless.
I wanted her to run and I turned to Him and asked, “Why does she run like that? She's not moving... Is she stuck or something?” He looked at me.
“Watch,” He said and I returned to the film. She still ran endlessly, but my view changed. Now I saw her from behind, with her flying heels that took her nowhere rising near my eyes. And then, I saw through her.
Suddenly her body was sheer, a curtain to her insides, to the frame within. Her spine stretched before me, a curve of ripples, a stack of vertebrates arranged just so, but one thing was added.
Encircling the spine, wrapped tightly, intertwined perfectly, interlaced with the vertebrate themselves was a enormous hand holding her spine.
The fist just held, it didn't move. The girl ran and ran, angry and exhausted, but she couldn't move with that hand ensconced in her bone structure, holding deftly to her being.
“Why are you holding her?” I asked.
“Because she's mine.” He answered.
I pondered this a while, as I watched.
“But I thought we had a choice, to go or stay?”
“You do. But I am a jealous God, and it doesn't mean I'll make it easy for you to walk away. I will let you choose, but I never let go.”
He watched me closely.
“Do you understand?” I shook my head.
“She chose to rebel, run from me in anger. I let her do anything she wants, but I bought her at a very high price and I love her, as one of my own.”
“So as long as she runs, I'll hold her. When she stops, I'll hold her. When she calls for me, I'll hold her.
When she curses me, I'll hold her. For she is my precious one.”
“The hand on her spine, is me, my love, my passion for her, my willingness to pursue her. I will not stop, just because she runs."
"My hand is the teachings she grew up with and can't forget. It's the knowledge of right and wrong. The longing to stop and forgive, even while angry and in pain.”
“My hand on her is gentle, but firm. My hand is a light weight, compared to her burdens and troubles of running. My hand on her is invisible, but I never let go.”
“She fights herself, her anger and me, but what wearies her are the blows she takes from the darts and arrows of the battle between my angels and his demons that she can't even see. But regardless, I never let go.”
I stared at the girl, at myself and then looked at him, tearfully.
“Are you disappointed in her?” I asked afraid of what He would say, if I could bear it.
“No. Hurt, yes. But I see such beauty to come.”
“It'll be a beautiful thing when she stops, when she forgives, renews, rebuilds, and has the strength to grow again. Disappointed? No, I can see ahead and already know what will come of this.”
He turned off the film, turned off the projector, and set me down on the floor, my legs numb and weak as if I had been running for a very long time.
“Daddy?” I said.
He paused in the doorway to hear me.
“Yes?” His eyes were so kind it physically hurt.
“I'm sorry.” The words hardly out of my mouth, He gathered me into His arms and held me.
7/2012
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