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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 13 2008, 10:18 PM (120 Views) | |
| ChristianRoman | Jun 13 2008, 10:18 PM Post #1 |
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sVo Champion
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He laughed at me last week. He thought that what I was doing was wrong. That I had to man up and face my fears at some point in my life. You all know this. It's just - I can't do it. I don't know what it is. He got angry when I didn't have an answer for Him. You didn't klnow that. He told me that I better shape up. That I can't always run from my fears. He told me that there was someoene else here that could help me along the path of righteousness, someone that He was sending to help me. I don't need any help. And I really don't care about meeting new people, honestly. In fact, I think I know enough people as it is. But He told me that it's the only way. He said I had to redeem myself. I'm tired of redeeming myself. Crash. Every morning the same way, no matter where you are. You come out of sleep like a cannon firing. "You never know what to expect when you first open your eyes and accept the light." With the way you speak, one would think that you're a poet of some type. "Well, after doing Your work, I thought of a great career as a political satirist where I can employ all of that. What do you think?" There's no need to be coy, I was only complimenting you. "I apologize. I can't always be the sunshine of Your morning, you know." That's fine, that's fine. I don't always expect you to. "Oh no? I find that difficult to believe." Listen - there is a problem. "What are you talking about? We're in Brazil - we're doing everything that we said we would do. Hell, I'm doing everything that You told me I should do." That's not it. Last week I was disappointed in you. "Oh bloody hell, not this again." Hear me out before you discount what I'm going to tell you. "Fine, fine. Go on. Just make it short and sweet." There's no question that I was upset at what occurred last week, but that doesn't mean that I've lost faith in you, you know, as you're going around telling everyone. "Who else do I speak to besides you?" That's not the point; well, this is difficult for me to say. "Just come out with it then. Spill it." I'm sorry. "You're sorry? For what?" I should have realized that you'll do things when you want to, and I shouldn't have pushed you along like that. I shouldn't have tried to make you do something that you weren't yet ready to do. "I appreciate you coming clean on the matter." That doesn't mean I'm not still disappointed in what you did, and that definitely doesn't mean I don't think that you should at some point reconcile what occurred. "I understand." But just know that I'm truly sorry for what I tried to make you do. That's not why we have this relationship. "Then why do we? I thought this entire time I've been doing what You've been telling me to do. I think that was the first time I disobeyed Your commands. I don't get brushed aside in favor of someone else now, do I? I'm not finished yet." No, no. You won't be punished for your disobedience. However, there is something else. "What do you mean?" I'm sending you another to help guide you along your path. "I don't need anyone else. I already have You. That's enough." No, no. It's not. After last week I realized that perhaps you're not as ready as I thought you would be. Perhaps that - "What do you mean I'm not ready? I've been ready my entire life for this!" Listen to what I have to tell you first before you get all - "No, You listen to me! I've idly sat by and watched You ruin people in my name and under Your banner. I've taken the fall for You on countless occasions. My name has been discredited across the globe; I've been run out of several promotions where I shine because of You. And how could I ever forget, the big one. YOU took them from me." You still think this is all about you, don't you? It's hot. Disgustingly hot. The hot that makes you feel nauseous. The hot where it doesn't even matter that you wear your clothes, or your shoes, simply because they're getting in the way of whatever breeze there is. It's not hot like other places. Not at all. It's not even the heat that makes you think about water and see mirages. It's the humidity that kills you. Sweat pours down your face and just drops off at the bottom of your chin. You gave up trying to wipe your face clean with your shirt hours ago, simply because your shirt is now soaking wet and attached to your body as if it was your skin all along. You look up at the blazing sun and try and imagine what this must have been like when there were no air conditioners, and people had to toil in the fields all day. There had to have been methods to keep cool throughout the day, and you search your memory for some history lesson from your school days that you've forgotten, trying to recover one of these methods. It doesn't matter, you think to yourself, because you believe that this is what puts hair on your chest and makes you a man. Days like today, adventures like this. It's not everyday that you're in Brazil. It's not everyday that you're on a bus heading to the monument to end all monuments in Rio. It's not everyday that you get to do something on your own and for yourself. It's not everyday that you can clear your thoughts. You lean back in your chair and gaze out the window, watching the people along the sides of the road. People standing around; people working; people talking amongst one another. You wish that you had a seat on the other side. There was a chance to see the coastline, they said. Port Alegro to Rio de Janeiro is almost a direct route. Shouldn't take too long, they said. Your curiosity got the better of you. You never thought you'd come to Brazil again, so you decided to make the trip. Little did you know that your bus had a terrible carborator and one of its tires would blow out along the road there. Luckily it's not as if we're in the middle of nowhere. There are people everywhere. Poor people that is. It doesn't matter that you're seemingly close to an urban setting. That's what contributes to the dilapidation and the poor quality of life. You think about your own life. The misgivings. These are God's people, you think. Not you. Not the people who show up to Mass every Sunday, or every day for that matter, and prostrate themselves for God's deliverance. Those are the same people that are wealthy enough to give whatever's left over. These are the people that give what they have so that another, perhaps someone poorer, perhaps not, can have two loaves of bread instead of just one for supper. You sigh. Your eyes are now open. You thought this was about you. You always do, that's the problem. It's never about you. You try and get comfortable in the uncushioned seat on the bus and once again try and open your window as much as you can. A smell stings your nostrils and you notice it's coming from the man sleeping next to you. You sigh once again. This always seems to happen to you. You always have phenomenal seat partners as you're traveling. It never seems to fail. You hold your breath and breathe out the window at the first chance you get, then wonder when you'll be arriving at Rio. It's been much longer than anticipated, and all you want to do is stretch your legs and sample some local refreshments. You want to explore the city and see things for what they really are, not for what they tell you on the radio or television. You want to experience things firsthand, not through a guidebook or a picture that someone else took. You want to feel alive when you stand as close to that statue as possible and realize how insignificant your life is, and has become over the past several years To feel that rush of excitement as you stand close to something that millions flock to see each year. You want to feel alive again. That's all you've ever wanted since it happened. Another big event this week for that new company you're a part of, you know. "I know." Are you ready? Prepared? "As much as I ever will be, I suppose." You don't seem to confident in yourself. What's wrong? "Nothing. Nothing at all." Then what's eating you? It can't be that you're afraid of stepping into the ring with these three other men. Surely that can't be it. You've done that all before. "I know I have. And that's not it either." You know I'll be there with you the entire time. "I know." And together, we'll drive the heathen from the Earth. "I know, I know. It's not that either. It's just that -" Speak to me. If not that, then what? "Am I doing the right thing?" What do you mean? "Well, I'm under Your orders. I march into a ring, dispose of my opponents and say that it's in Your name, and then I come back, have another conversation with you, and then sit around until I do it again." What's wrong with that? That's what you've always done for Me. "What if I'm doing all of this for naught? And what if - what if this isn't the way of going about things?" Are you trying to tell me that you do not want to spread the Word of God any longer? "No, I'm just questioning the methods of how I am to spread it. Why does it have to be by the sword and not by the book? Does violence truly spread this message that is supposed to be about love and the bond between humans everywhere?" You're going about it all wrong, you know. "What do you mean?" You think that you are the only messenger of the Lord? You still believe it is only about you, don't you? The Word of God is limitless and boundless, Christian. No one person could be the vessel for the Lord, it would be implausible and impossible. "So You're saying that there are more of me?" You're not unique in what you do, Christian. But you are unique in how you do it. I trust in you the power of vengeance. I know that you, and you alone, are the one that can spread the Good News through fire and brimstone, through the sword and blood. I know that you will not fail. "But how do You know? What makes You so sure that my tasks - my methods, for that matter - are relegated only to violence? Maybe You were mistaken." I was never wrong, Christian. You and you alone can be the bearer of the Good News as the crusaders were thousands of years ago. The fire that burns deep within your heart that questions My power is nto inconsequential. Questioning your faith is a part of everyday life. But never question your abilities and the methods you utilize. "I just feel that this may not be the chosen path." Christian, the path does not matter. You are the one that matters the most. The path is not chosen; you are the chosen. You grin as you exit the bus, nodding slightly to the bus driver who is wiping his brow with a colored rag. He returns your grin with a toothless smile, one that almost makes you burst out laughing. An intense emotion fills your body at that moment, almost as if you are disturbed at what almost came to pass. You shake off the feeling that ran through you, determined to not let it ruin what is about to transpire in front of your very eyes. You passed through Rio de Janeiro on the way to the Tijuca National Park, and as much as you wanted to traverse the streets and converse with the locals, your destiny awaited you. Throngs of people are attracted to this statue. Millions come throughout the world for just a glimpse of this sight - to remember it in whatever way that they can. To experience it. You are one of those people. As you approach, the crowd thickens. More and more people push towards the statue and you find yourself being carried along, as if you are trapped in the undertow from a wave in the ocean. Briefly alarmed, you clutch your bag to your side and move with the masses, reassured now that your belongings are safely tucked away. You wouldn't want to lose those. They're your worldly possessions. You push through the crowd of people that are hovering at the base of the hill on the oceanside of the mountain. The statue is within your grasp, but it's not yet visible due to the treeline. You begin to hurry, picking up your pace as if you're never going to get to see it. As if in a few moments, it won't be there. But it is. As you turn the corner on the stone mountained path, you look upwards to your left and there it is. Arms outstretched. Welcoming everyone in. Welcoming you. You stand rooted in your spot for a brief moment, taking in the breathtaking view that has just come into your line of sight. Several people at your side stop and do the same, but you are quickly pushed forward due to the amount of people. You try and slow them down, but more and more push from behind. Many want to get as closely to the base of the statue as possible. Many want to reach the top, but only so few ever can. You stare up once more, looking at the expression on the carved face. Timeless. Motionless. You look down at your shoes in despair. People are snapping photographs. Helicopters hovering towards the right and left of the statue. Tour guides bellowing out instructions to their tours. You suddenly become disenfranchised by the amount of people there. The amount of people pushing and shoving their way to the statue for a better look. You become angry for a moment, and then you give up. You push through the crowd and back away from the statue. You head towards the coastal view, making your way as far as possible to the edge of the mountainside cliff. You give one glance over your left shoulder and then shake your head. This is what it has become. These men that you must show the glory of the Lord are the liars of the world; they are the heathens; they are the men who pretend to be something that they are not for personal gain. These men will do whatever it takes to prove to you and to themselves that they have what it takes to be chosen for an insignificant glory created by man. This battle is not about worldly possessions; it is not about the accolades or achievements of the flesh; this is a battle of righteousness. Of the soul. Of ridding evil from the world via the sword once and for all. You are my warrior, Christian. You carry the power of the Lord within you to do what it takes to destroy the false prophets and the pagans who attempt to persuade people to their paths in life. "I am ready once again to do what it takes to carry the shield and the sword of the Lord. To wear His colors. To fight and die in His honor if it must be so." No longer is that enough. It is time to punish these men, Christian. It is time to take the likes of Sensei Shredder, a man who looks to the past to search for his long lost glory; Chris Bond, a man filled with so much hatred that he could only forgive his dying stepfather on his deathbed; and finally, Peter Gilmour, a man filled with vengeance due to the way that people treated him when he was a child. These are the men that stand in your path, Christian. These men represent what is wrong in this world - and what you are going to cleanse. "I understand." The lesson you must learn, Christian, is that the past is the past. These three men dwell on the past - they dwell on what they could have been, on the way that they are perceived in the public eye, and the way that things could have turned out if it wasn't for that one moment in their lives that ruined it all. You will learn from this battle, Christian, I implore you to. "What if I can't? What if I look at these three men and see nothing but mirror images of myself?" That is the point, My Son. They are images of yourself. All people are images of yourself. You were created by Me and imbued with the spirit specifically for this goal. Those who stand against you are afraid of what you wield and represent. They are afraid of the power that is stored within your heart and soul. They are afraid because they wish that they were you. "But this Peter Gilmour man - what is he? He's just a confused man who was tortured as a child. He doesn't need the Wrath of the Lord, he needs the Mercy of the Lord. And God willing, he will accept that Mercy and carry on with his life." That time has come and passed. Peter Gilmour, among others, have been given the opportunity to turn their lives around and they have chosen otherwise. They have chosen the path of the flesh instead of the path of the spirit. It is now your duty to show them all that they could have had, but turned away from. "I will in Your Name." Rise now, Christian, your time has come. You are the Chosen - and through the flesh, you will show the spirit. You will show them everything that they wish they had, and everything that they could have become. Anybody could have been you, Christian, but you were Chosen by Me for a reason. "What was that reason? Can you tell me?" It's because you were broken, and the Lord fixed you. It's because you were thirsty, and the Lord gave you drink. It was because you were tired, and the Lord gave you rest. It was because you were homeless, and the Lord gave you shelter. It was because you were hungry, and the Lord gave you food. It was because you were a sinner, and the Lord gave you salvation. You smile as you look over the side of the mountain towards the water below. Incredibly close to the edge, you open up your bag and empty the contents over the side of the mountain, watching as papers and your wallet; a set of sunglasses and suntan lotion; an extra pair of shoes, and finally, a flask that you always keep for that special occasion when you travel. You watch as it all floats effortlessly down below. You grin once more and think about how things may be a bit more clearly now. That maybe, because of what you had done, because of the experience, things will change for you. You turn and glance back at the statue. You drop to your knees and toss your bag to the side. You reach towards your left knee, feeling the metal that ripples through your jeans. You touch it slightly. Just enough to send a shock through your body. This is how you feel alive. You fold your hands together and bow your head. A breeze pushes by you. You look back towards the statue as the sun gleams overhead. You are welcomed; you are saved; you are Chosen - you are redeemed by Christ and His outstretched arms. You hope that in some way, you can afford those others - those opponents of yours - the same type of redemption. In another life, perhaps. Now - now you must do the Work of your God once more. Heaven help those who stand in your path. |
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8:37 AM Jul 11