"Who is God?", the young boy asked. His father didn't say a word. His eyes fixed upon the television, one hand holding a beer, the other a cigarette, with the remote on his lap. So the boy raised his voice a little. "Is God real?", asked the young boy. His father turned around, blew smoke in his face, and said "NO! He's just a fable, a myth. Don't listen to those people who talk about God, their just a bunch of looneys. All they want is your money." And so the father turned around, and this young boy walked away. But deep inside he still clung to the hope that there was a God.
Then the day came he had been waiting for. He was invited to the Goldhouse by one of his friends. He awoke that Sunday morning very early, and just as excited. He couldn't even eat breakfast, he was full of anticipation.
The short drive seemed to last forever, as the car parked he nearly ran with his friend into the entrance. But as he stepped in, his heart sunk within himself. He felt embarrassed, ashamed, inferior. All the children were wearing suits and ties or pretty dresses.
He soon felt everyones eyes upon him. Penetrating eyes that bore down into his very essence. His knees began to weaken, his lips began to tremble, and so he lowered his head and slumped down into his seat.
Then someone came up to the front and began screaming about money, and when the offering plate came his way, it almost seemed to pause in his lap, time stood still. He slowly reached down into his pocket, hoping the tray would slip by, but not so. It waited for that hand to creap out of that pocket. And when he pulled out lint, the tray was snatched out of his tiny hands, and once again he felt the eyes.
But he still managed to cling to hope. The hope of hearing about God. He knew that Jesus was born in a manger, and he knew He had died on a cross, but that was all, and he knew there must be more. He almost smiled when the preacher arose to the throne. The people became silent. He had never experienced such dead stillness before, and the cold. An icy chill that seemed to envelop him.
"You are going to burn in hell......"
Those words, those first few words were seasoned with so much passion, anger and bitterness. They seemed to burn inside his mind.
"God only helps those who help themselves...."
Round two
Ready.....
Aim......
Fire!!!
"Everyone is a sinner, and all sinners are going to burn in hell forever......"
Like a firing squad or well trained sniper, execution style, the man aimed his tongue, adjusted his mouth, and fired those words into the young boys heart.
He felt cold, weak, and lost.
Worse than an empty christmas present, he felt robbed of hope. His dreams dashed against the wall of religion.
Rejection, like an evil monster clung to him until all joy and happiness were sucked out. His mind soon began to numb. Rebellion came soon after to relieve Rejection. They greeted each other, then Rejection screached a hideous laugh and departed, searching for another victim.
Rebellion would speak to his mind, and he used a wide assortment of weapons. The dagger of anger was a favorite. The spear of hatred also accomplished much. But the axe of fear was probably his most lethal. Sometimes he would use all three as well as his arrows of guilt, shame, despair, depression, doubt, and hopelessness.
And so trudged along through life, choosing to believe that man came from an ape, rather than to believe in an angry hateful God.
Then one day while walking home, he decided not to take his usual route, but another. He didn't realize why, maybe he was just bored he thought. He kept his head low as he walked, but he sensed that he needed to look up.
There he saw a sign. "The House of God'.
It was not a large church, but rather small, it dimmed in comparison to the Goldhouse he had visited. He fully intended to walk right by, but he soon felt his steps slowing. He felt drawn, pushed, even pulled. And if he could have seen the invisible, he would have seen the angels.
He paused at the entrance for a moment, but as his hand reached for the door those memories once suppressed came back like a flood. Once again he felt like that small fragile child. He wanted to run away, far away. Doubt entered his mind, soon followed by fear. A fear that started at his mind and reached deep within his heart. His mind began to fog. But the angel was there, and he dislodged the arrow of doubt, and removed the axe of fear. Soon the man began to feel a courage rise up inside of him. He sighed deeply, and using all of his strength turned the handle, closed his eyes, and opened the door.
Smiles and laughter welcomed him. A big hand grasped his with a gentle shake. A warm hug. Another smile. Another hug.
"Welcome" are the words he heard. He began to feel a warmth overcome him, it was melting his cold heart. A faded smile resurfaced, his eyes began to twinkle. A stranger with a gentle hand led him to a seat. People all around him shook his hand, and welcomed him.
But as the teacher came forward, his legs began to shake, he couldn't find his breath, and the room became hot. He recalled that awful condemning voice again. His heart began to pound, it beat so loudly that he felt everybody heard it. Besieged by paranoia, he slowly began to slink into his chair.
"God is love....."
Those words, were filled with so much passion, kindness and love, they seemed to caress his heart, and soon the pounding stopped.
"God sent His only Son, that whosoever believes in Him will be saved."
He felt hope resurrected.
"Jesus said, 'I am with you always, I will never leave you or forsake you".
Joy began to leap from his heart.
He walked to the altar when the call was given. Rebellion was there clinging to his feet, trying to stop him. But then this man opened his heart to the Lord. He felt such peace and love that he began to cry. He understood for the first time. He received the Holy Spirit. The demon screached with horror and fled into the night. And the angels laughed, heaven rejoiced, and God smiled as He wrote down another name in the Book of Life.