The Blue Car - Short Story
No, not really. I'm sure there are plenty of red ones, green ones, black ones and white ones. I'm sure there are still others too, with decals, metallic paint, or racing stripes. But I don't see them. The only ones I notice, the only ones that exist in my mind, are blue.
Whether I am traveling or if I am driving around town, all the passing cars are blue. If I am parked on the street or stuck in waiting traffic, the car parked directly in front of me is blue. Or if waiting to cross the street, the first car to cross my vision is blue.
And they drive a blue car.
To many people they might be strangers. Just another face you see at church, just another acquaintance; another friend of a friend, or another someone that is related to someone else you know. To some people they are family, such as children or cousins. To others they are good friends. To still others, they may be enemies. And most people would think that to me, they are merely a name.
But they aren't.
For some reason - I'm yet to discover - God has laid these people on my heart. Tearing me open with an incision like a hot knife, he placed this burden within the cavity of my heart; the weight pressing upon me like a heavy anchor. I now find myself aching at intervals throughout the day; my heart swollen and thumping dully with a thick painful squeezing every time I think of my burden -
- These people. On the surface they look just fine. To anyone else, their lives might look smooth sailing on a sunshiny day, and one might think I'm crazy for the deep, wrenching compassion I feel for them; a care so profound that it drives me to my knees each night.
But I know something more.
Their souls cry out... I can hear them groaning in the air around them, and see the longing of it written in their eyes: hearts and souls desperate and hungry for God's peace, goodness, and restoration. I can feel their pain almost as though it were my own; a searching for something that seems to have died. How did I become like this? I was standing in the Lord's house one day feeling peaceful contentment, when the sudden sight of their tear-stained face struck out and hit me in the heart like a shot arrow. Pain scattered the peace and contentment within me, rendering my body numb and motionless as I stood and stared. The realization that they were not fine; that their spirit was torn, bleeding, and crying for God, seemed to turn all my emotions upside down. I transformed into something as fragile as glass; a glass prone to shattering and breaking down in tears without reason. Love and compassion seemed to collide inside my chest, and even now, the incision of my burden throbs painfully at the thought of them.
I don’t understand… I am so confused; my mind tangling into a mass of thoughts that conflict with the feelings of my heart. Why did God choose me? How is it that the Lord gave me this burden, entrusted them to my soul – the soul of a stranger? Weren't there so many others nearer to them who could do more than I ever could? Why for me, a mere name, did He choose to lift the veil of my eyes to see the reality of their pain? I feel so useless, so unable to help; my hands tied by the fact I am an outsider. Yet in spite of all my questions, what God has done, He has done, and there is only one thing I can do.
I pray.
I take my burden to God, pouring out my heart; I hold nothing back as I sink to my knees, head bowed, as my spirit groans prayers I cannot express through words. I lift them high above me, reaching hands to my Saviour as I pray His Words over them; that they have not been given a spirit of fear, but a spirit of love... that their hearts may be softened... that they have a future, a hope... I pray with a fervour and passion I have never felt for strangers before. My words rush as a torrent, and my heart runs like water as I pour everything into the hand of my Father. I know, deep down, that He has heard my cry. My God... the God who breathes out stars and formed me from my beginning... My God who is the beginning and the end... He hears my plea. His presence falls upon me; fanning the fire burning within my heart, as He whispers softly, "I am working. Keep praying."
And I do. I pray every chance I get, day and night. I whisper soft words that are whisked away by the wind to be performed. As I wash the dishes I hide my prayers in songs of praise; as I write, every word holds hope for His promise. Standing alone in a crowd, I murmur reminders of His love for them. Lying in bed at night, memories of the tear-stained face and the pain-filled eyes drive me back into ceaseless prayer. I carry this burden to God daily... hourly... minutely... just as He desires me to. Praying without ceasing. Relying on every prompting from Him, and praying that He continues to show me... remind me...
And, amazingly, miraculously, He does...
For their car is blue.
A nice story in your descriptive style.
ReplyDeleteThankyou, and thankyou for reading, Jonathan. :)
DeleteGreat story!
ReplyDeleteA true reminder!
Rosie
Thankyou, Rosie! :D
Delete*hugs her Bushy* This is just lovely. :) Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDelete*hugs back* Thankyou my Gracie. :)
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