This article is part 1 of 4 in the ‘New Life’ series. It is based in absolute true life events. Mine.
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I knew exactly where I was going. I went there every night. A small forest path that wound slightly left and right, up and down. It was covered in just enough snow to crunch beneath my calf-high leather boots.
Over head, the spruce and pines swayed soft in the wind, shuttering a fresh snowfall. As I followed this familiar path, each new tree lit up with white lights, not unlike the mini white Christmas lights we buy at the super stores but these lights had a glow like a thousand fire flies. I was deep, deep in the forest, so clearly their power was not electricity. But it never made a difference how they were made to glow. What was important was I knew they were glowing for me. That seemed so simple. So innocent.
As I continued walking through this ancient tunnel of trees, I began to see the expected clearing up ahead. It grew closer and closer.
The trees parted abrupt, the fading sun almost blinded me and if I took one more step forward, I would be plunging. I was all, and at once, on the edge of a magnificent cliff, over looking a mountain range so vast and so personal, I can’t find the right words to describe it.
The snowfall became more brisk in the open air and an up draft wrapped itself around me, almost taking me forward. But I’ve been here so many nights, I know what happens next.
One step forward, one look straight over the rocky overhang, a breathe, a wonderment, a step backward then another breathe. Taking that extra step forward would have to wait for another night.
Behind me and slightly left was a manmade bench of solid pine. Not linear. The seat was overly oblong and curved in several places. It was polished only from generations of sitting. The back of the bench was also oblong with a strange high and low curvature. It had strength and wqs held to the seat with three thick, hand-carved poles. It sounds uncomfortable but I tell you it’s very existence was designed for such peaceful respite as I now sought. I know. I’ve been here so many times before.
I turned slightly and made my way to the bench. Without even looking, my left hand shot forward and scooped up a large fur coat, complete with a hood that swallowed my head. Maybe elk, maybe wolf. I never asked so I can’t speculate. I only know when I put it on, something naturally calmed all the voices that were troubling me on my trek through the trees. The cloak began to swallow me in it’s breadth so I wrapped right then left. Satisfied I was bundled up warm, I finally sat on the edge and stared out at the majestic scene before my eyes.
Mountains in every direction. Trees scattered up and down them. Below the cliff, a deep valley. Within the valley, a Bavarian village kissed by the falling sun. Snowfall. Every where snowfall. Then pure silence. Even the wind moved in a hushed tone, just out of earshot. I sat, as I always did, struck with amazement that such a place could exist and that I, small and insignificant, was allowed to witness its perfection.
I waited and it came. The distinct aroma of honey crisp apples and pure balsam. Not overbearing. Just enough to shift my mind from the silence. My eyes remained forward as he slid up next to my rightt side in his own fur. He looked out, too, but spoke directly to me.
“You’re not wrong,” he said.
“I feel wrong,” I said.
“I’d tell you if you were wrong.”
“Would you? Maybe I’m making up the words in my head that you speak to me.”
“That is possible. But I believe you know otherwise.”
I took a breathe and exhaled, mist coming from my mouth.
“I do,” I said.
Silence. That was what was most important. The silence.
“You hear me calling you every night. That’s why you come,” he said.
“I come for many reasons,” I said.
“Oh?”
“Mostly to silence the confusion.”
“We’ve covered that.” Silence. “Tell me the truth.”
More silence. Then it fell from my mouth, unrestrained.
“I’m here to stop the voices. The painful scenarios I’m bearing all by myself that are destroying me from the inside out. To seek real answers to the questions I’m making up the answers to.”
“And?”
“To hear you say how much you love me.”
Both our fur cloaks swirled and almost became one as he wrapped me tight, laid us both back on the bench and pulled me close.
“I love you without question, with reserve, without judgment,” he said.
The snow paused but a moment. He continued.
“I just love you. And it’s going to be alright.”
I finally looked up into his most beautiful, excepting eyes.
“Do you promise?”
“I do.”
It was really that simple. Believe.
He kissed me on the forehead several times, murmurs of love escaping his lips.
Then silence. Long silence.
“Look. The lights are coming on,” he said.
We both leaned far enough forward to watch the lights on the houses in the valley light up randomly just as the sun sank behind the gigantic hills. Up and down the majestic mountains, trees in the forest also lit up. It was beyond magic. It was purity.
I waited. It would come because this was a space blessed with pure truth.
“You’re not wrong,” he said again.
And just like that, my tears cascaded in waterfalls down my face. He squeezed me tight and laid us both back again.
“If you tell me, I’ll tell you,” he said.
“Critic,” I said.
We laughed.
“No. Simple. No weird sayings or mantras or prolonged Bible verses. Just the truth.”
Silence. I finally filled the space with the hardest words I’ve ever said aloud.
“They have destroyed me completely. The five.”
“I know they have. I have bled over this for you.”
“I have never felt such betrayal that could entwine me in a hold that’s unbreakable. I was so strong.”
“You mean, you were so strong …until you weren’t.”
“Right.”
“Very few have experienced what you’re trapped in. Even fewer wanted to meet me at such a time.”
I turned enough to see his face. Olive skin, intense bright, brown eyes, a smile that glowed and dark, cascading hair down past his shoulders. It always took my breath away.
“You never left me,” I said. “I can feel that. You just waited and waited and waited until I came running like a battered child. You opened your arms and held me close until the first tears subsided. Then you pulled me back, smiled and eye to eye, you spoke.
“Welcome home,” we both said, simultaneously.
I hugged him burying my face in his fur, crying with embarrassment and regret.
“You know those feelings you bury in my fur don’t exist when we’re here together,” he said.
“I can’t help it.”
“Yes, you can. Hear my words and truly listen. Here. Here in this place. You have never been safer.”
I snuggled up, my back to his chest and looked up at the snow. It was lighter now and didn’t feel so cold.
“What if I’m making up the words you say to me? To cover truer words. My own words,” I said.
“Would that be so bad?”
Silence. He went on.
“I want you to understand only one thing. I love you.”
Silence.
“Oh, and you’re not wrong.” He chuckled.
“I could be. What if I’m denying myself the truth?”
He sat us straight up on the edge of the pine bench and pointed outward.
“Look. There beyond the village. Beyond the trees and mountains. Do you see that space where the stars meet the dusky horizon? Do you know what’s there?” he said.
“No. Do you?”
“No. I was hoping you did.”
We giggled and hugged. He did not let go of my shoulder.
“That’s the entire point. You do not know what’s there. But it is beautiful, spacious. A place of mystery. Of wonder. What would happen if you dared leave this place, this bench and make the trek all the way there?” he said.
“I’m sure to be lost. And you wouldn’t be there.”
“Are you sure? The first time you came to our bench, did you know I would be here?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t know what awaits you there. It is only an opportunity right now. But I tell you this. The five are not there. That is truth.”
I sat up straight, looking at him in desperation.
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Then why have we come here every night, over and over, for three years?”
“You did that. There’s nothing wrong in it. We are here now because it is exactly where we are meant to be.”
Silence. The words he spoke, dare I say the same he spoke every night, were beginning to take a strong hold in me. Transformation had begun, if only in hope.
“You seem different,” he said.
“I’m playing all my cards.”
“Don’t do that. Predictable desires. Stunted outcomes. Sometimes, we must leap over the cliff to find there is no bloody ending but a beginning, showered only in light and love.”
“Your love.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“How do I begin? I’m so lost.”
“Rewrite your narrative. Speak it out loud. Believe it. And no matter what comes, know I love you. That cannot change.”
“What if I get lost?”
“Come right back here. Start over. As many times as you need to. No one will be judging you if you don’t let them. That includes you.”
“It’s so complicated.”
“No. It’s really not. First came symptoms, then a diagnosis and over time, you became very sick. The five saw all of this and chose selfishness, fear, denial. And now, we’re here. Pretty simple yet so divisive. Less is more at this point.”
“What happens first?”
“Rewrite your story. Without them. Let’s face facts, they’re already gone. Their choice, not yours.”
The words stung of a reality I could almost not comprehend and yet, he was right. I had already lived in that reality for three years.
“It’s all in the words: your words – desperate and painful; their words – empty or complete lack of; my words – full of possibility and void of the current pain,” he said. “Thoughts produce words. Words produce actions.”
Silence. Tears. I cuddled so close as he squeezed me to his side. We waited for what seemed like an eternity. He already knew it would happen but I spoke different for the very first time.
“I”m going there. Tomorrow. I’m going there and I know you will be waiting.”
Jesus smiled as he kissed me, his child, gently on the forehead. He knew the journey that awaited me was not easy but the promise of his love for me would finally propel my spirit over the cliff we now sat in front of.
The stars twinkled on the horizon as a deep blue-purple sky engulfed the majestic mountains. Somewhere in the valley below, bells tolled, announcing the coming of yet another evening.
It was night. Jesus pulled our furs tight around us and we slept.
Tomorrow, I would reinvent my story.
