WHEN LOVE POURS DOWN, Scene 1
I may have doubted
God. Maybe I did. I was the one who saw the blood. I was the one who
carried the lifeless babe. Truth and horror pressed in on me at a
crossroads, promising a tempest greater than I'd ever imagined.
Though, I chose the path to the King, leaving behind the fairytale of
a happily ever after on my terms.
It was His ever
after that would bring the most joy anyway.
Steve and I had
tried to process the ever after as we sat in his truck the
morning when more than one dream had died.
“What did the
doctor say?” he spoke with a sympathetic hush.
My words were
trapped by a net of agony. Heavy and unbearable. I shook my head and
squeezed my eyes to fortify the flood.
“Oh. I am so
sorry, Lisa.” His voice cracked just as big globs of rain plopped
on the windshield. I leaned into his body, cradling my torso and the
flitting life within it.
Over those days and
months, I cried to God and clung to knowing that He is a God Who
Sees. It was He who watched as I mourned the loss. Within me, He
gathered my spirit from every corner, every crevice, and pulled it
toward my heart. In that quiet huddle, it was He who whispered,
“Comfort and
peace, my love.”
Yet, Steve did not
cope well. And it wasn't long after that, when he spoke the venom my
soul could hardly bear, dousing the match and striking it to set of a
wild fire on whatever remained of my dreams.
“He ain't real.”
He flung the Bible across the room. “What God would allow for that
baby to die? We are good people, Lisa. And we trusted Him. He ain't
worth it.”
It's often that the
flowers in my windowsill fade to a deadly brown. Yet with some care,
their color returns and life is okay. Steve's deadly brown caused no
fear in me at first. Mourning tempts us to ludicrous bouts. But my
love was not enough. God's heart was hidden by Steve's scales which
grew from his grief. Soon, he crumpled to a brittle soul with no
scent of God to promise life.
His soul was dust.
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