On my knees before God, the shadows, the dark places of my heart, received their first light. But that is not the beginning. Allow me to explain.
This is the analogous account of a life of bondage, and of turning to God. I will attempt to serve as an enlightener to reveal the inner workings of the trap. The bait is relatively unimportant. But the trap is nearly always the same, and almost inescapable. The crisis was of my own making.
* * *
I was surely no stranger to sin by that time. At first, I had consumed it, sparingly at first, but still, I remained "responsibly in control”, or so I thought. My appetite began to grow. As time passed, somehow, and as if by some dark magic, a deadly and subtle switch took place so that now the things with which I had once luxuriously indulged myself had turned on me and were now consuming me. In fact, Sin owned me. Oh, it always had, but I was now actively engaged in exploring the depths of my own depravity; a very sorry state, indeed.
Plague was the name given to the un-tethered, burly beast that prowled the holding yard in which I was captive. The yard was called Drought, this because of its utter lack of anything spiritually good. Drought was surrounded, but not with walls as one might expect. Instead there were encamped around the outer limits a calculating, well-organized companionship of demons - ugly, hellish creatures whose numbers were known as The Presence. They were fighters of the Order of the Guards, banished in times past, who had made it their personal business to see to it that no one ever escaped.
When I first arrived at Drought, I had been blinded and was in a state of shock and confusion. I knew little of the other captives. I realized very soon how many souls were really being held prisoner there. Some of them were even Children of the Light. But there was no camaraderie. Each soul felt as if it were there all alone.
We who were held were assigned three mentors. These Mentors were “graciously” supplied for us to help us cope with our new situation and to coach us intensively throughout the duration of our stay.
Doubt was the first of them. He was a likable figure, and an old one with a magnificent, admirable intellect. Those who considered him to be no more than an ancient and harmless fool were easy prey. None were his match. His chief responsibility was to relentlessly challenge and defeat our concept of belief in absolute truth and right-ness, and this he did masterfully. Doubt, over time, could manipulate our will so as to call into question our ambition that escape from Drought was particularly urgent. He would cause us to wonder whether escape were even necessary. Most were convinced it was not.
Of the three Mentors, Pleasure was most powerful. She was the embodiment of an intoxicating, perverse concoction of everything good and everything black. She was not to be trusted, but Doubt could be very persuasive, and he would often come to her defense. There was nothing that could be desired that Pleasure could not offer to the anxious seeker simply for the asking. Between her seductive generosity and her seemingly unlimited ability to satisfy, Pleasure could almost single-handedly and securely hold most of the souls in residence there under her influence and sway. She would take oversight of a new group of prisoners after Doubt had managed to plant his seeds and all but destroy our foundations, and then she would work tirelessly to please us until we were each driven to stay by an internal lust, one originating and brought to full bloom from within our own hearts.
Now, Doubt, from ages of experience, remained close by at all times to ensure that no one with a wandering eye could ever successfully reason their way free from the appeal of Pleasure and her lusts, her enchanting children. Pleasure’s primary goal was to make staying put our idea, and she would give people almost anything they wanted to ensure it. This cut down on runaways, and made the job easier for the Guards on the perimeter.
And that is where Complacency came in. Complacency was by far our most subtle and slippery mentor. He was a shifty and crafty character capable of desensitizing and conditioning large numbers of souls at a time by bringing them securely to the point where they no longer minded living out their days in Drought and adopting a sort of passive, dependent mentality. He often hung out in the shadows of Pleasure. Sometimes he made his presence known, sometimes he didn’t, but he was never absent. He was always working behind the scenes, not jealous of the glory of the spotlight, but thankful for the cloak of delusion.
At the smallest indication of personal revival within a soul, it was usually Complacency who would be there to quench their spirit and extinguish their hope. Then, Pleasure, in all the appeal she could muster, would swoop in swiftly to remind us of why we enjoyed being in Drought so much and how we really could have all of our desires fulfilled there, and that she was at our disposal any time we felt cravings. She counted it her privilege and mission to be able to provide for us. And we always felt sheepish for thinking we needed to leave, and would reaffirm that she was right. We sort of needed each other, in a way.
On several occasions, I would hear talk made in hushed tones of souls who had attempted to leave before and actually made it. That gave me a glimmer of hope and a small measure of courage, but I was one of those who, over and over and in desperation, had tried to make a break for it, praying earnestly that I would not be seen by Plague – that sleepless, wretched beast who lurked in the darkness, just waiting for someone like me to harass and corral. From nowhere, he’d spot me and pummel toward me, catapulting across the barren, hard-packed dirt to apprehend me. I was like the many he’d chased down before – a frantic, pathetic frame charging pell-mell for the perimeter in hopes of breaking through, only to be turned around by a hideous, unforgiving brute. Plague had my number. He knew I was one of those they called the Runners, and he had an uncanny way of reading us and knowing when we might try to escape. He was always on his game. But if he couldn’t catch the soul, the Presence always proved impassible. Hope seemed lost. The faithful and ever-present Mentors seemed to be my lot and Drought my eternal fate.
I was a long-time prisoner of Drought, and had grown accustomed to enjoying the place for what it did have to offer. I found I could medicate all my unanswered longings by over-indulging in Pleasure. And whatever Pleasure couldn’t satisfy, Complacency taught me I didn’t need. Doubt encouraged me never to question it again. This was his way of consoling us. It brought kind of a numbing peace.
Twelve years into my capture, something strange began to happen that had the Mentors visibly shaken. My sense of apathy began to show signs of failing which troubled Complacency deeply. Pleasure became more frequent and elaborate in the gifts she offered. She was certainly still enticing, but for once she seemed to be losing her touch. The cunning, old sage, Doubt, clearly irritated, began again to confront me and sputter vehemently and in a rage, trying to undo what was being done, none of which I understood at the time. All I knew was that he was trying to keep something away from my grasp and out of my head, but he could not, and he hated me for it!
By a Messenger I never saw, through a voice I never heard, I received an invitation which I could sense only in my spirit to a little-known place called the Gap, which was said to be located at the furthest edge of Drought where two timeless, gray boulders were forever rooted. I had heard about it before, but never been there. On one was carved the word “Faith,” and, on the other, “Repentance.” The proposal was amazing, it was invigorating, and my head swirled with many thoughts. It seemed as if time itself tripled its pace. Somehow, I seemed to know what to do.
At dusk, I set out toward the Gap and made my way swiftly, determined to make a run for it, even if my escape attempt was noticed. Having already been alerted to my status, Plague was lying in wait, and when he spotted me he heaved from his shadow like a mad, sick animal, slinging a trail through the air of his putrid, yellow drool, moving ravenously to apprehend me.
My heart sunk in my chest as I fled, thinking what a fool I had been to try to beat him once again. It had never worked in the past. Why would I think I could get by with it now? But I was near enough now to see the Gap, the two stone pillars rising in the distance, when from between them a great light shone and my path became brilliantly lit with a glow of such unearthly intensity that the earth beneath me turned smoky white, as if smitten. The hideous beast stopped cold with a blood-curdling howl just short of the beam cast by the light. I had never seen anything like it – he was trembling from head to toe, and he turned to vomit. He snarled low, and his dark eyes bore a look of both hatred and fear I had never seen in them before. He would come no further.
I gathered my surprise and my composure and fled harder, now with renewed hope. I was running at inhuman speed. Drought already felt like a distant memory. It seemed to me that no sooner had I began to run than I arrived there in absolute wonder and speechlessness at the marvelous Gap. And there, standing fearlessly between the two great stones, was the almighty Prince of Peace, the Lord of Hosts shining brilliantly, as if the One whose glory gives light to the sun itself.
* * *
He made me his own that day. I was in need, and He provided Himself for me. He began to work diligently with me to help me grow so one day I could look like Him. I had been brainwashed and conditioned, and I had picked up a lot of had habits, but He began purging those things from me too. He began to teach me truth. He began teaching me to love one God, and what true love is, and how to walk in righteousness. He began teaching me all other manner of things pure and holy.
He is not finished with me yet. I owe Him my life. He is training me for ministry. My name is Unworthy. His name is Jesus.
