Cross Roads (24 page)

That elicited a beaming grin. “I know that, Mr. Tony,” she said, laughing, “but sometimes it’s the thought that counts.”

He felt himself smile.
Where am I?
he thought.

“We, Mr. Tony, where are we? We, Mr. Tony, we are not alone.” And she twirled in her dress of flowered blues and greens as if onstage, finally taking a deep and slow-motion bow. Her presence was innocence and warmth, and he felt
the icy weights ever so slightly lighten. If he could have laughed out loud he would have.

We, then… where are we?
He again thought the question.

She ignored him. “Who are you, Mr. Tony?” she asked and cocked her head to one side in childlike inquiry, waiting for his answer.

A hopeless failure
, he thought and felt his chest tighten with the attending despair.

“Is that what you are, Mr. Tony? A hopeless failure?”

A litany of successive images tumbled through his mind, all in support of his self-accusation, validations of the judgment against him.

“Oh, Mr. Tony!” she exclaimed without any sense of incrimination. “You are so much more than that!” It was an observation, not a value statement.

So who am I, then
, he thought,
if more than just a hopeless failure?

The little girl began to hop-skip around him, moving in and out of his view while touching her fingers in no particular order as if keeping a count. In a singsong voice, she declared, “Mr. Tony, you are also a mighty warrior, you are not alone, you are someone who learns, you are a universe of wonder, you are Grandmother’s boy, you are adopted by Papa God, you are not powerful enough to change that, you are a beautiful mess, you are the melody…” And with each phrase the ice chains that seemed to bind him loosened and his breathing deepened. Thoughts arose that wanted to argue and deny each statement, but as he calmed, he chose to simply watch her dance and listen to her sing.

What did she know? She was just a little girl. Regardless, her words carried power, of that he was certain, and they seemed to resonate in his frozen core. Her presence was like springtime unfolding, the thaw that warmed and invited
new things. She stood directly in front of him, leaned in, and softly kissed his cheek.

“What is your name?” He was finally able to find a whisper.

She beamed. “Hope! My name is Hope.”

Any reserve he had left broke and tears splashed to the ground. Hope reached up and lifted his chin until he was looking deep into her incredible eyes. “Fight him, Mr. Tony,” she whispered. “You do not fight alone.”

“Fight who?”

“Your empty imaginations that raise themselves up against the knowing of the character of God. Fight them.”

“How?”

“Get angry and tell the truth!”

“I thought anger was wrong.”

“Wrong? I get angry all the time, at everything that is wrong.”

“Who are you?” he finally asked.

“I am the one who relentlessly loves you,” she said, beaming, and stepped back. “Mr. Tony, when you find yourself in the darkness, don’t light your own fires, don’t circle yourself with a blaze you have set. Darkness cannot change the character of God.”

“I thought Grandmother left me… right in the middle of the battle.”

“Never left. Your imagination hid her from view. You were lighting your own fires.”

“I don’t know how not to do that,” confessed Tony.

“Trust, Mr. Tony. Trust. Regardless of what your reasoning or emotions or imagination are telling you, trust.”

“But I am so not good at that.”

“We know. Trust that you are not alone, that you are not
hopeless.” She smiled and kissed his cheek again. “Mr. Tony, simply trust your mother’s word to you. Can you do that?”

“As best I know how, I will,” admitted Tony, more to himself than the little girl.

“It only takes the smallest desire, Mr. Tony. Jesus is very good at trusting. He will make up the difference. Like most things that last, trusting is a process.”

“How do you know so much?” asked Tony.

She grinned. “I am older than you think.” A third time she waltzed her breeze-driven dances in a circle around him and a third time leaned in to kiss his other cheek. “Remember this, Mr. Tony, Talitha cumi.” She stepped back, then leaned forward and touched her forehead to his, breathing deep. “Now go,” she whispered, “and be angry.”

And he felt it come, like the roll of an earthquake, the tremors coalescing to a roar as his anger tore a hole into the darkness and scattered it like a murder of startled crows. Tony had been dropped to his knees, and with a grunt he heaved himself back to his feet. Grandmother stood where he had last seen her, impassive except for a hint of a grin that lit the corners of her mouth.

“You are a liar!” roared Tony, pointing a finger up at the grotesque image of himself. “I don’t need you anymore, and I revoke any right that I have ever given you, any right to have any say or authority in my life, and I revoke it now!”

For the first time he saw a break in the confidence of the other, larger Tony, who staggered and took a step back. “You can’t do that!” he stormed back. “I am stronger than you are.”

“That may be true,” refuted Tony, “but you can go be stronger somewhere else. This is my property, this is my home, and this is my heart, and I don’t want you here.”

“I refuse!” The other stamped his foot adamantly. “You have no power to make me leave.”

“I…” He hesitated, then plummeted headlong. “I don’t stand here alone.”

“You!” screamed the other, raising his fist. “You have always been alone… totally alone. I don’t see anyone here, do you? Who would want to be with you? You are alone now and only worthy of being abandoned. I am all you have!”

“Liar!” yelled Tony with fury. “You have told me these lies all of my life, and it has produced nothing but heartache and hurt. I am finished with you!”

“You are alone,” hissed the other. “Who would lower themselves to be with you?”

“Jesus!” It surprised Tony to hear himself say it, out loud. “Jesus!” He said it again and added, “And the Holy Spirit and the Father of Jesus.”

“The Father of Jesus.” The hulking creature spit the words. “You hate the Father of Jesus. He killed your parents; he crushed your mother.” He took a step closer, gloating. “He murdered your only son, took him screaming and kicking into oblivion. He ignored every prayer you prayed. How can you trust such an evil being who would kill your innocent son like he did his own?”

“I don’t!” bellowed Tony, and as he said it, he knew it was true.

A look of triumph crossed the monster’s face.

Tony lowered his gaze, glancing quickly again at Grandmother, who still stood like a statue, unwavering. “I don’t know him well enough to trust him, but Jesus trusts his Father, and that’s good enough for me.”

The false Tony, large and formidable, began to shrink. His features caved in on themselves, his clothing hanging
loosely from his body, until he stood a mere shadow of his former self. He became a caricature.

Tony felt a sense of peace, like when he was in the presence of the little girl. “So do all these other wall-keepers answer to you?” he asked the pitiful shrinking man.

For a moment it appeared the shrunken Tony might argue, but instead he shrugged in acquiescence.

“Good!” declared Tony. “I want you to leave and take all your lying followers with you.” The dozen odd-looking creatures who had gathered during the confrontation along with the few he had met glanced nervously in his direction. Most stared their hatred and contempt for their despised leader, now reduced to a sniveling excuse. As their chief had lost his power and authority, so, too, had each of them. Even Bluster and Swagger were flimsy representations of their former selves, and none too happy about it.

The motley crew wound down the path toward the nearest breach in the stone facade, a collection of muttering and grumbling malcontents who abhorred one another’s company. As he and Grandmother walked behind, Tony could now see at their backs a filament of dark light that bound each to the other. During the short march one occasionally would yank his arm, causing another to stumble, much to the glee of the group.

Tony noticed the winding trail continued through a maze of fallen boulders and into the dark forest beyond the standing walls. “Where are they going?” Tony whispered to Grandmother.

“No concern of yours, Tony. They are being escorted.”

“Escorted?” Tony was surprised. “But I don’t see anyone.”

“Just because you are not able to see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there.” Grandmother chuckled.

“Touché,” returned Tony with his own grin.

The two of them stopped and stood together at the perimeter of the looming walls, watching the now subdued company disappear down the footpath and into the first row of evergreens.

Grandmother reached up and put her hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You fought well today, son. But even though these in particular have been defeated, you must be on guard for the echoes of their voices that still remain within the walls of your mind and heart. They will come to haunt you if you allow them.”

Her touch felt empowering, and he understood her warning. “So, why are the walls still here? If the wall-keepers are gone, shouldn’t the walls be gone, too? Why don’t you just knock them down?”

They turned and walked back toward the careless bundle of vacated buildings.

“Because you built these facades,” Grandmother began, “we will not tear them down without your participation. In one’s hurry to knock walls down, one can cause them to fall on those they love. Freedom can become a new justification for disregard and a lack of compassion for the bondages of others. Roses have thorns.”

“I don’t understand. Why do roses have thorns?”

“So that you handle them carefully and gently.”

He understood. “But they will come down then, someday? The walls?”

“Of course, someday. But creation wasn’t spoken in a day, Anthony. Such walls aren’t erected overnight either. They were built over time, and it takes time and process for them to come down. The good news is that without the help of all those ‘friends’ you just kicked off your property, it will be harder for you to keep the facades standing.”

“Me?” Tony was surprised. “Why would I want to keep them standing?”

“You built these walls to keep you safe, or at least for the imagination of safe. They substitute for trust. You are beginning to understand that trusting is an arduous journey.”

“So, I needed these walls?”

“When you believe that you alone are the only one who can be trusted, then yes, you need these walls. Self-protective measures, intended to keep evil out, often wall it in. What initially kept you safe can eventually destroy you.”

“But don’t I need walls? Aren’t they good things?”

He felt the hug from behind. “You need boundaries,” said the voice of Jesus, “but not walls. Walls divide while boundaries honor.” Tony let himself relax into this tender embrace, his tears unexpectedly appearing and spilling softly onto the ground.

“Even in our material creation,” continued Jesus, “boundaries mark the most beautiful of places, between the ocean and the shore, between the mountains and the plains, where the canyon meets the river. We will teach you how to thrill with us in the boundaries while you learn to trust us with your security and safety. One day you will no longer need walls.”

Even as he spoke, Tony could sense more internal walls crumbling. Not disappearing, but tangibly impacted by an inner knowledge that he was utterly accepted, with all his flaws and losses, all his conditioning and pride. Was this love? Was this what it was like to be loved?

Grandmother spoke. “Okay, One-Who-Cries-a-Lot, you have more work to do, and the moment for you to leave is again approaching.”

Jesus produced a bloodred handkerchief for Tony’s nose and tears and then began brushing him off.

They arrived back at the loose aggregation of structures, so recently the habitation of deceivers. Curious about its construction, Tony reached up and touched the nearest building. It appeared solid and sturdy, but with barely a nudge, the edifice toppled into a pile of rubble and dust.

“Just facades,” he stated out loud to himself. “Lies with so little substance.”

Grandmother stood back, beaming. “It’s good to hear the changes in your voice,” she stated.

“What does that mean?” asked Tony.

“As healing happens in a person’s soul, their voice changes, noticeable to anyone with ears to hear.”

“Hmph,” Tony grunted. It wasn’t anything that he’d ever thought about, but it made sense.

“I have something for you, Tony,” Jesus said, interrupting his thoughts. “You will want this soon.”

He extended a large ring of keys, dozens of differing shapes, sizes, and textures.

“What are these?” Tony queried.

“They are keys,” grunted Grandmother.

Tony grinned. “Yes, I know they are keys, but what are they for?”

“To open locks,” she muttered.

He knew she was enjoying this. “What locks?”

“Doors.”

“Which doors?”

“All kinds. Lotsa keys, lotsa doors.”

“I give up.” Tony laughed, turning back to Jesus. “What do you want me to do?”

“Simply choose one key. The one you choose will become important at some point.”

Tony hesitated. “You want me to choose just one key? What if I choose the wrong one?”

“The one you choose will be the right one, Tony,” encouraged Jesus.

“But…” Tony stalled. “Why don’t you choose for me? You are divine and all, so you would know better than I do.”

Jesus smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes only adding to their brilliance. “This is about participation, Tony, not about puppeteering.”

“So, you… trust me with this choice?”

“Absolutely!” Both nodded.

Tony took the time to sort through the ring, carefully considering one and then another until finally he settled on a particular skeleton key. It looked older, as if from a bygone era, as if it belonged with an old oak door in some medieval castle in Europe.

“Good choice,” agreed Grandmother. “Well done.” From a pocket she pulled a string of blue light and slipped the key onto it. Then, reaching up, she put it around Tony’s neck, tucked it into his shirt, looked deep into his eyes, and simply said, “Go!”