Gospel and Your Spouse (A Proposal)

     This could happen beneath the spire of an ancient castle, or beside some gently running brook. It might occur on a park bench or in front of a crackling fire. What is about to be related may come about in any number of places and be proceeded by a multitude of various actions. These places and actions are determined by the localities, traditions, and personalities of the characters. This event has transpired innumerable times since man's creation. The characters in this story, or rather, the prologue to myriad stories, are always the same. One man and one woman. It is the proposal. 

     The words that follow are not borrowed from any real encounter. However, they are felt, if not spoken, in part assuredly, and more probably in great excess, by the players. The scene may be a snow laden cabin, a white sand beach, a moss covered log near a waterfall, it matters not. The real scene is the heart of man. 

     "I... I have something to tell you... something to ask," he says in faltering manner. She knows. She asks what it is anyway with a leaping heart. He looks intently into her questioning eyes. Though he need not look closely. He memorized them long ago. He did it because one night as he lay in bed recounting a pleasant afternoon with a certain young lady he was ashamed and astonished to discover he could not recall the color of her eyes. Three tortuous days passed until his remembrance was made whole by observation. He would steal glances of those eyes when he thought she wasn't looking. Later, when they had grown close, his gaze could often be traced across a busy room to where her clear eyes responded with a soft smile. Could it be those eyes were even more beautiful today. A feat he thought before as impossible. As he had drawn near her, he learned what was behind those eyes; the love, the kindness, the patience. Now, sitting so close he could feel her breathe, the riddle to the clarity and brightness of her eyes was revealed. It was the passion of her heart. That emotive center acted as a furnace that gave her eyes the intensity and luster of diamonds. 

     All of this flashed through his mind in a second. The occurrence of such thoughts was not rare. In fact, with her, every other of his thoughts was similar in nature. Her presence was such that it stimulated seemingly endless creativity in him, and all of the purest, richest sort. It was from this creativity he had endeavored to draw upon and from which he created the document he now pulled from a pocket with less than steady hands. 

     "I wrote you a poem," he said, feeling that was a very poor introduction. A few moments of silence followed while he plumbed the depths of his mind for something dramatic to say, but found his mind quite shallow. No reassuring words did she speak. For though her exterior was one of calm eagerness she was too elated to say anything. She feared to part her lips lest the cry of joy she was hiding in her throat escape and her elation be betrayed. Finding nothing better he continued, "I'll just read it." 

I like to think of life as one big story

From man in all his brokeness, to God in all His glory

A meta-narrative it's called by learned academics

It includes all inventions, books, battles, epidemics

There's a page for everything in history even if it's never printed

It reveals the lives of people at which historians never hinted

But it's more than just a history, it's a book written by His hand

It's the story of a fall, a promise, and redemption planned

It's the story of a triune God who created the whole universe

And how his beloved ones His name soon learned to curse

A novel penned by the providence of the infinite divine

By who's grace I hope that you will soon be mine. 

It's the tale of a mighty Creator, possessing wisdom without measure

The epics of the ancient ones are mere shadows of this treasure

Scarier than any ghost story, sadder than any tragic play

It never grows dull, though angels sing it a thousand times a day

It's a myth, not contrived by imagination, but birthed by truth

It lends to the aged the burning passion of youth

A musical score with more feeling than Beethoven, more depth than Bach

The one that is the root of children's play and philosopher's talk

The moon cries it in her waxing, and whispers it in her waning

It is the innocence of the new creation we are regaining

It is God made man

It is the Gospel!

It's the poem in the rustling branches of the trees

It is the power by which the blind man sees

It's in sunsets and clouds and the smell of fresh cut grass

In the crunch of frozen snow beneath your feet like glass

It leaps about in the flames of a roaring fire

It is the fulfillment of the orphan's desire

It is the glory of the Father, the passion of the Christ

The presence of the Spirit, by which the temple curtain was sliced

The Gospel!

The Gospel!

It is you and I, wretched, alone, and lost

Upon a tempestuous ocean of iniquity we were blown and tossed

Till heaven's gates were loosed, but no deluge would be our bane

A single ray of light broke through, a Lamb come to be slain

In the gap He stood, between us and the wrath of God

And in His righteousness the faithful ones are shod

The Gospel!

The Gospel!

It is pure and simple and bloody

It is grace poured out on the broken and muddy

Having taken on our punishment, having died and been buried

He was gloriously raised, and to His bride was married

For reasons quite beyond me, He has chosen you and I

To be a living, breathing picture of how He came to die

We will have all eternity to revel, sing, and dance

But we are only given this one hour to romance

Perhaps others to this gospel we might pull

By being to this world blood stained wool

I'm not the brightest one, and I'm certainly no sage

But, my darling, I think we are on the same page

I'm not talking about common interests, though that definitely is true

But in this story bigger than the both of us, the lines of my love were written for you

Take my hand, if you will, and join me on this quest

Rather pitiful in solitude, when together at our best

With a love more brilliant than the celestial fires burn

We will work and watch, for our beloved Savior's return

Gospel and Parents (The Ceiling Weeps)

     The rain made a mechanical sound on the roof of the truck. It was cold. A sigh escaped from deep within him. Wrinkled hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. One more long, slow breath and he opened the door. It creaked and groaned in protest to the movement. His body did the same when he climbed out of the beat up truck. He stood staring at a half-charred building. The structure was an old church. It was already old when he was young and the days of his youth were spent long ago.
He had grown up here. He had spent countless hours in the old place, or, at least, hours that were not counted. As it was the social center of the small town he had made most of his friends here. He met his wife here. He used to bring his daughter here. The thought of his daughter brought a wave of pain he could not repress. His head moved slowly side to side without his notice.
Lost in the sights, sounds, and smells of his memory he walked around the church. It had changed. The bricks were weathered and the windows that were not broken were dirty and dim. It struck him that the passage of the decades showed much the same way on his own body. When he had made almost a full circuit of the building something caught his eye. The side door was open.
Without deliberation he made his way to the half open door and reached for the knob. He hesitated for a second, pulling back his hand. It's not hot, he thought, the fire was years ago. He reached out again and pushed on the blackened wood. The foyer was silent. How many times had "Good morning!" and "Fine thank you, and you?" been spoken through smiling lips in this place? The voices were gone now.
The big doors to the sanctuary were still propped open. His worn leather boots made a crunching noise as he made his way through the threshold to the room where he had heard so many sermons and sung so many hymns. His eyes moved along the floor, watching for nails and fallen pieces of the ceiling. Looking up he saw a person wearing a raincoat with the hood up sitting in the front pew.
"Hello," he said rather gruffly thinking it was some kid trespassing. Though he had no real reason to be there himself.
"Hello," came the reply in a voice so soft it was barely audible. The hooded figure did not turn around, but leaned forward. He walked slowly up the aisle eyeing the figure the whole time. When he reached the front pew he could see that the person was hunched over with her hands covering her face. It was definitely a woman, and she was definitely crying.
"I...I'm sorry ma'am," he said very apologetically, "I didn't know. I just came in here and, well, I'm leaving. Unless you needed something."
The woman did not look up or say anything, so the old man took a half step back.
"No," came an entreating voice, "don't go. You're the reason I'm here."
Now she let her hands fall from her face and stood up. Her eyes were a haunting grey-green and they stared earnestly into his, which were incredibly similar. His were lined with wrinkles and muted with age, but the similarity was there.
After a shocked silence he managed to whisper, "Danielle?"
"Papa," was the reply.
Three large steps and he had her in a deep embrace. Tears and smiles mingled while he held her. He would let her go only to get a look at her and then hug her again.
"How? Where?" he couldn't finish a thought.
"I'll tell you," she said knowing just what he wondered, "but first tell me what happened to the church."
"No one knows for sure. Some people think it was kids and others say something about how it was wired. The whole place would have gone up, but the volunteers got here real quick. To tell the truth, I was happy to see it go. It happened right after momma..." his voice trailed off.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you. There are so many things I'm sorry for."
"You? I'm the one that made you leave. I'm the one that drove you off."
"Well, I was seventeen and stupid. I might have left no matter how nice you were."
"I don't believe that's true. But where have you been? What have you been doing?"
"It was awful papa, at least, for a long time. I thought it would be great to do whatever I wanted. But I was lonely, but too proud to come back. I looked for every way I could to get even with you. I don't know why, it doesn't make sense now. I saw every loser that I lived with as just the guy you wouldn't want me to be with, and that made me happy. I made so many mistakes. I was so selfish."
Father and daughter shared another hug.
"Shhh, it's all right," the old man said in a soft tone. "I was selfish too. Pride held me back. I wanted to reach out. I kept up with you for a long time. I knew where you were and all I had to do was get in the car and come get you; tell you that I loved you. I'm so sorry. You ran away, and I just let you go."
For a few minutes no words were spoken. The daughter thought of the years filled with pain and empty relationships. The father thought of the years he had spent hardening his heart and trying to convince himself he didn't have a daughter.
"Why did you come back?" the old man finally asked.
"Oh papa, it's beautiful. I was living in an apartment complex and this woman came to my door. She said she was having a Bible study in her apartment. I didn't know what to think of it, but I was so desperate. I had just found out I was pregnant and my boyfriend had left me and..."
"Pregnant! Do you have a baby?"
"No, he's not a baby anymore. He's four. You're a grandpa."
"What's his name?"
"I named him after you. You'll meet him soon. A friend is watching him for me while I came looking for you."
"I...that's great," he said surprised and overwhelmed.
"Yes it is, it's the greatest thing ever. Well, almost. Anyway, this woman asked if I wanted to come to her Bible study. I was so confused about life I thought maybe she could give me some answers. She was also so nice when I talked to her on the stairs or at the washers. It turns out she gave me something better than advice. She told me a story. She told me about Jesus. I had heard about him so many times here, right here," she motioned around at the blackened sanctuary. "But I thought he didn't do anything. I thought he only listened to all the good people. And I didn't feel good, even before I ran away. But when Liz, that's my neighbor, told me about Jesus it was different. When we read about him I saw that he came for people like me too. People that had made so many mistakes. I was lost, dad, I was so lost. It took a long time, Liz met with me every week. She was there when your grandson was born and helped me take care of him because I had no idea what I was doing. Finally, after over a year of meeting with her I felt as though I could trust her and not just her, but I could trust Jesus. That he really would clean me and love me forever. So now I love him and follow him. Then I realized that I had hurt you and momma and I needed to come back. I tried going to the house, but someone else lives there now."
"When momma died there were just too many memories. I had to leave."
"I came back because I wanted to ask your forgiveness, if you can forgive me. I want my son to grow up knowing his grandfather."
"Of course I can forgive you, and I do. I am so happy. I have something to tell you too. You remember momma always talked about Jesus, just like you did just now. I never understood why she talked about him so much. He was for Sundays. For years I sat right next to her in this church and nodded my head during the sermon and even said amen. But when she got sick..." his lips tightened into a firm line. "When she got sick I got mad. She was the finest woman in this town and she suffered so much. 'It's not fair,' I kept telling myself. I had lost a daughter and now I was watching my wife die slowly. One day, when she couldn't walk anymore and was laying in bed she called to me in the kitchen. 'Jonathan,' you know how she always called me that when she was being real sweet. And she was smiling and happy. The happier she got the madder I got. I told her if I was in God's place this wouldn't happen. She told me I shouldn't talk like that and that God knew exactly what he was doing."
The old man's appearance was suddenly changed. The wrinkles around his eyes softened and his mouth relaxed.
"It took her going like that," he continued, "for me to realize how much she loved him. She trusted Jesus. She knew that everything was going to be all right. At the end, when she couldn't talk and when she finally stopped breathing I was sitting next to her. Then I knew. All those years I came here. All those stories that I taught you. I didn't really believe them until then. I couldn't let her go, but she was ready. And because she had that..." his wandering eyes rested on the cross above the stage,"that peace, I saw that it was true. I got down on my knees and you know me I don't cry. But I was blubberin' like a baby. How could I have missed it? I did everything, I just didn't love him. Now I do. I wish momma could have seen before she went."
"You'll have plenty of time to tell her about it daddy," said Danielle with a glowing face. "You know, I didn't realize how hard it was to be a parent. The stress, and the pressure of taking care of someone else. I didn't do you any favors."
"I had forgotten what it was like to be a kid, always having somebody tell you what to do. And you just wanted to be loved. I tried too hard to get the rules just right. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too dad. But I'm back; I'm with you now."
"I love you," the old man said. He felt a burden lifted in finally giving voice to the words he had whispered in the dark for so long. Now he had her in front of him. The one to hear the message he longed to share. "I've got to tell you though, I'm still proud and ornery."
"That's fine dad, I love you just the way you are. And to warn you too, I'm stubborn as ever."
"I'm not much of one for words.” The old man ringed his hands. “I get them twisted up a lot, but you...I'm glad. See, here I go. I'm just so glad Jesus came and died for us. And I'm so glad he brought you back to me. I thought you were lost forever."
"I was daddy, I was."
Father and daughter sat a while and related to each other the events that had filled the years. They laughed at how much they hadn't changed; they thanked God for they ways they had. The rain continued to drizzle outside. It made its way through the burned roof and left streaks across the ceiling. It dripped into a pool at the feet of the reunited family and reflected a strangely unburned, gaudy, bright purple banner that read "Jesus, Messiah."