Devo 8
10/27/99
"The Lost"
Good Evening. The story you are about to read is true, and in fact a common occurrence. It is a tale of ghosts, and spirits, and the supernatural with an ending nothing less than gripping. Many lives have been unalterably changed by similar occurrences, but many have tragically stayed the same. (Ben here...please hear me out, I haven't sold my soul to the devil or anything, just bear with me.)
As I parked my car in the driveway of my country estate, a bolt of lightning transformed the blackness of the night into a brilliant white. Before I involuntarily closed my eyes to the brightness, I caught a glimpse of the magnificent silhouette of my mansion. Rain pelted me as I made the way up the walk and under the awning of the porch. As I fit my key into the lock, I could hear the windows rattle in their casings as a peal of thunder slowly rumbled by. To be very honest, I was terrified and felt very glad that I had taken the time the other day to oil the hinges of the great oak door--I was scared enough the way it was, I didn't need a creaking doorway to compliment the roiling storm outside.
Once I turned on the light in the little entryway, I began breathing a little more normally. And as more and more lights were illuminated, the fears were driven even further away. For the most part I enjoyed my solitary life here in my mansion--well, mansion may be a bit of an exaggeration, but not much. After all the work I had put into building this place from drawing the blueprints to putting on the last coat of paint, I could easily identify with the old cliché that a man's home is his castle. It was only nights like these that my home seemed a little too big and remote. In the kitchen I began brewing a pot of coffee--I wouldn't be sleeping much tonight anyway. Taking my mug with me into the den, I stocked up the fireplace and a few minutes later was sitting down with a favorite book in the flickering light of a roaring fire.
An unexpected flash of lightning caused me jump, spilling some coffee on my lap. As the scalding liquid made its way to my skin beneath my pants, I stood up quickly causing my book to fall on the floor. I went and changed to some clean pants and came back to resume my reading. But as I reached down to pick up my book, I saw that it had fell open to the inside cover, and the inscription left there. It was addressed to me and read, "Happy Birthday. Here's looking forward to many more that we will celebrate together." It was followed by a heart and a name I had worked hard to forget, never more than partially succeeding. As the storm outside sent another sonic earthquake rumbling across the countryside, I felt my knees go weak and I collapsed onto the sofa being drenched in the memories too long held back behind my crude dam.
She had been the only one I had ever really loved. I hate invoking such clichés as 'love at first sight' and 'soul-mate', but nothing else can really come close to describing how I felt about her. What's more amazing is that she evidently felt the same way about me. We were perfect compliments too each other, and it wasn't long before we had committed ourselves to marriage. I had always been considered a bit extravagant (I prefer the term 'grandiose') and so I wanted to give my bride-to-be the perfect gift: a dream home in the country. I attacked the project with a passion second only to my passion for my beloved. A tear began welling at the side of my eye as I remembered the first six months that passed while working on the house; remembering every nail I drove with her name on my lips and every brick I set into the mortar longing for the day when we would be similarly joined. The tear slid down my cheek and hung a moment before it spilled off, glinting in the lightning before it splashed onto the open book. I sniffed and shook my head as I tried to hold back the next memory, but it wouldn't be held. I shuddered as I remembered the day that I realized that my passions had changed. I had been consumed by my work on the house; I was obsessed with making everything perfect. At first I believed it was because of my great love for her, but it soon became clear to me that it wasn't her I was doing this for, I was doing it for myself. She, of course, had noticed this long before. I'm ashamed to say that she never gave up on me, despite the gradual cooling of my own affections...I barely noticed when stopped coming to visit me, any pain or grief I felt I channeled into my work. It wasn't her fault I knew, she had never stopped loving me, I had stopped loving her.
The rattling of window panes and the rolling of thunder snapped me back to the present, and it wasn't until the flash of lightning faded that I realized that my fire had gone out. I sat for a second feeling the cold grip of terror begin fingering at my heart. I stumbled around in the darkness looking for my flashlight but finding nothing but the sting of pain as my feet banged against the various pieces of furniture in my den. Then I heard it...
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Quietly, barley audibly, the knocking filtered through the empty passageways, resonated through deserted rooms. My hands closed on the box of matches on the mantle. Spilling several matches in the process, I managed to light one, and in its dim glow found a candle to light.
The knocking persisted as I agonized over what to do. Strangely, the first thing that occurred to me was how terrified I would be if at that moment the telephone would ring. I wasted no time in yanking the telephone cord out of the wall. I tried the light switch if for nothing more to confirm what I already knew, the power had gone out. As fear began working its way through me, my reason likewise began fleeing motivating my feet to do the same. Recklessly I made my way to the back stairway and upstairs to my room, the knocking still audible. I flung myself into my bed and buried my head in my pillow trying to block the sound of the maddening knocking. It became all I could hear, moving through me and merging with the beating of my heart. At that moment, I could not imagine a time when I had not heard the knocking, it was all-pervasive. The last bit of fleeing reason told me to not be afraid and answer the door. The thought was so unusual that I almost believed it. I allowed myself to open my eyes...that is when I noticed my candle lying on the floor beneath a wall of flames.
I don't write this to endorse Halloween in any way. But neither do I want to give the impression that this kind of horror does not happen. It happens everyday with the dying of yet another sinner without Christ in his heart. Praise God that we who have accepted His sacrifice do not have to face this. But never forget that until God saved you, your fate would have been no different than those thousands who die without Christ. "It is by grace that you have been saved, through faith, and that not of yourselves. It is the gift of God. Not of works, so that no man may boast." Our salvation is not something to brag about as if we have been given a special privilege. God's desire is that everyone know Him, and He is ready to bring them to salvation if only they acknowledge Him. Therefore, since we know what it is to be brought from death to life and the "inexpressible and glorious joy" this brings, we need to be working right alongside with God proclaiming that "The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor."