The Con

     Please note that this is poetry. It does not tell the entire story. It does not tell a hopeful tale. It is meant to make you want read the real story. The true story is full of hope for us and tells the ending which is the best part - not for him though.



1: The Con Man
He plays the game well, pulling down the shades.
a smile with pure confidence in his work. True masquerade.
The stage is set, edging his way into the spotlight,
once only playing the bad guy, now sometimes the hero.
Master of coercion, likes to wear a black covering,
telling us that it is white. That evil is the new good.
King of cons. Greatest performer of all.
Not doing it for the red carpet, but to complete his collection of souls.
He carries many names, offers old lies in new wraps.
What's his story? Tell me of the Con Man.

II: Angel
When he began, he was a sort of prince.
Revered, respected, followed and admired.
For he was the best of the best. A powerful being.
A beautiful one. I dare say he was a favorite.
But it was not enough. He wanted it all.
He wanted to be king. He wanted to be God.
But there was already God. There could not be another.
And he could not replace God. So he was cast out.
He was an angel. An angel that defied God.
So now he roams Earth. A Beast in Beauty's clothes.
That's right. He was never surrounded by fire,
wearing red tights, red horns and a spearhead tail.

III: Monster
He's the master of disguise. He can appear as the light,
though he is the Prince of Darkness. The Con, stealer of souls.
It's easy to pretend he's not there. Even he does that sometimes;
walking through a crowd, no one noticing his pickpocket hands.
He chooses favorites, collecting "friends" to help him,
beautiful men and women, yet monsters inside.
For a time I was one of them. But I was irrelevant.
He left me alone. But that all changed.
I saw past his charade. Because God pulled me out.
And only then did the Con notice. I became a target.

IV: His Craft
He came then. The Con. Came knocking at my door.
Promising to make me a favorite. Prodding at my weakness.
I would get every desire if only I would come back to him.
But the Tempter could not take me. I was safe with God.
I saw past the mask. Saw past his lies and half-truths.
Looked beyond behavior. Saw the heart of the Con.
But he had one more trick up his sleeve. Reminded me of who I once was.
Where I do not belong to him now, I had before.
I had been of the Con. I had played the game.
"I am evil, so what?" said he. "You do not deserve good."

V: Devil
Your future, Devil, is not a pretty one.
No more masquerade. Forget it. It's over.
The lie is lost in the face of truth. The actor cannot compare with the real thing.
The thief and the traitor are found out. And the Con? Well, he'll end too.
He wants to be God. But there is already God.
He cannot replace God. And God knows it.
For now, the Con wanders, conning us all.
But his day is coming: When God will tolerate him no more.




Revelation 20:10

Proof

     People ask me to provide evidence of the existence of God. I could spend my entire lifetime pointing out the facts and providing sources but the truth is, those who believe in God and those who deny his existence have the exact same facts. And different viewpoints. We live in the same world under the same rules. Then how does a Christian prove that there is a God? What proof is there?
     Right in front of you. Look deep. Look inside. Look at one woman's life. A prostitute of the soul. A murderer at heart. Manipulating. Suicidal. A horrible life right? But looking at her you would not be able to tell that such was her past. She thinks nothing of herself anymore, only about others. Only about reaching out a healing, loving hand to the world. Offering words of hope to anyone who will listen. What has happened? What caused the 180? What brought about the radical turnaround?
     What is proof but the laying down of fact using the focal lenses of a worldview? When a dog wags its tail while looking at you, some people say that it means the dog likes you, while others say that it means the dog simply enjoys the attention that you give by looking back at it. Which is right? How do you know? Did you ask the dog? The only part that is fact is what was observed: Fido wagged his tail. The part that is not fact but rather opinion: the different viewpoints or theories as to what Fido meant by wagging his tail at you. Since Fido cannot speak our language nor we his, we must conjecture. It's the same with God, isn't it? God doesn't speak our language so we Christians have to prove that He is there right? That's the way it seems sometimes. That's the way some want us to think. But we don't have to prove it. The proof is there.
     Right in front of you. Look outward. Look wide. Look at two thousand years of history of the peoples. What people were the most caring when no one cared for them? What belief was the most laughed at, under-minded of them all? What faith professed love when the world hated? When the world was at war who called for peace of the soul? What kind of person, poor at best, shares all he has with one who has even less? What people were hunted down for simply saying a name? What kind of person can make friends with everybody and yet is hated (or not tolerated) by most cultures and religions? What belief causes people to live life to the fullest and yet look to life after death; who are not afraid to die, always living as if tomorrow could be their last and yet waiting for Eternity to come?
     All the proof you need is inside. Ask me for proof of a miracle and I will point to myself. I am proof. I have changed from a deep down nasty monster of a human to a person who cares. A true Christian is not one that grew up going to church, or lives a good life, or is practically perfect in every way, or tries to hide mistakes, or wears special clothes, or does certain things to be holy of make it to Heaven, but rather one who is changed within - and acknowledges that the change came from God.
     Sure you can use whatever evidence is out there. But the truth is, those who do not want to believe will always come up with an excuse to not believe. The greatest proof there can be found are in the millions of changed lives throughout history and your own changed life. If you began as a terrible person, and now live a life dedicated to letting God speak and live through you, with peace, with joy, with love, are you not changed? Some people wear a cross just because it looks pretty. But when I wear a cross, I wear a symbol that tells the story of my life, of every life changed by the One who died on a cross - a symbol of death become a symbol of life. The cross you wear should mean you've truly changed. Dear fellow Christian, you are the proof.

2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV) "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"

The Lost Letters of Annabelle: Fourth Letter

March 19, 1813

Dear Kitty,
     I fear that if this goes on for much longer I shall go mad. I feel pulled in so many directions, turning around and around. Two men, one me. I know that you think I obsess. That I think about my life far too much. I do not think about it constantly Kitty. But I am reminded of where I stand and what I feel quite often.
     I spoke with Matthias again. He seemed so pleased to have my company for a while more. As we talked, he spoke not of the other woman. But he said that he tired of women turning away from him after giving him smiles and appearing to prefer him over others. He told me that he longed for that special one - the one woman to stay with him. And then our dialogue turned to trivial things. I remember very little of it. For then he expressed in words what I already knew in my heart. He wants me. He longs for my lips, my kisses. I confess that my heart beat wildly when he said this. I wanted it too. My feelings taunted me to deny them. The temptation to put away all thought for beloved David, to give Matthias my heart grew so strong that my voice caught in my throat. I couldn't speak, such was the battle inside of me.
     Once more I saw clearly the choice before me. One man holds my desires. I long for him with such an intensity. The other man I love. I have no pangs for him like the first. But I love him. I understand that now. If it meant sacrificing my potential happiness by staying away from David that he may be happy, I would do it. And what is more important? A moment of happiness for me with Matthias, and possible - almost certain - heartbreak, of a life dedicated to God and loving David even if from afar? A love from only one, though he suffers, is more admirable. It shows faithfulness. True devotion. The world laughs at this. I have been told that to remain faithful to one that does not return love is a sign of poor intelligence - that I lack knowledge and understand nothing of the ways of men and women. That I am foolish. Even if this is true, I would rather be a fool and die unmarried yet still devoted to my love, than to pursue the object of my sinful passion and relive the life of so many wounded young women. You know what I speak of Kitty.
     God has revealed my path to me. That if I obey Him, He will give me the strength to love David regardless if David does not love me. As long as I hold onto God I will be able to say no to my passion. I want to sin no more. That's right Kitty. I know now what it is to lust. But God holds my heart. He will keep me from ever doing it again if I devote myself to His love.
     I have decided. Even if David never loves me, I will be there for him. Because God loves me. Even if David leaves and I never see him again, God still loves me. He lets me love, because He loved me first. He lets me love, because my greatest, deepest, strongest love is for God. God must always come first.

Your sister,
Annabelle

My Soul Cries

     I have seen it. I have seen the face of darkness, death, and destruction. Evil. Spreading like a cancer on steroids. Though I stand in the light, I look out into the dark. And remember...
     I remember when I was once of the darkness. When I delighted in stealing, lying, killing. I cheated. I used people. I prostituted my soul. And murdered in my heart of hearts. I was a monster. No. That word does not even come close. I was so much worse than that. I chose that life. I rejoiced in it. I was a terror. A horror. A nightmare in human flesh.
     The knowledge of what I once was fills me with anguish. I can hardly write. As long as I have these memories, as long as there are reminders out there, I will never be sane. I did not deserve another breath. But then my eyes were opened. For the monster inside of me looked into the Mirror of Souls. I cried out, "God strike me down! Kill me now before I do anything more!"
     Then I was taken by the hand and forgiven. Completely, utterly forgiven. I was filled with peace and joy. In one moment, as the monster of a sinful soul screamed out, trying desperately to regain control - it burned. The Consuming Fire entered in and burned it. I was free. I entered into the light a new person.
     For a time I was satisfied. It was enough to learn all I could about my new life. I had tasted paradise. Could I not just stay there? I reasoned. Then I began to realize that I was meant to return. To carry the light into the darkness to reach out to trapped souls. Fellow monsters whose hearts could be freed just as mine had been. I was told to carry the light, to hold out hope to anyone who would listen.
     But to leave - to go back out there - I would have to face my old life. I would have to go through the painful memories of what I once was, of all the things I had done. When I was enjoying my glimpse of paradise it was so easy to forget. I was forgiven, I said to myself, so I could live as brand new - forgotten past - as if it never happened. I'm glad that often I can still forget. But as long as I remain on this earth, the fact that I had done evil will always remain.
     So I stood at the gate, clutching the light to my heart for dear life, trembling, remembering. Then my fear ebbed away and I stepped out. Immediately the temptations came. To forsake the light completely, to become a monster again. Only this time I was offered power. To change ranks in the dark from a nobody to a woman who could have the world - who could simply flutter her eyelashes at men and have them all wrapped around her little finger.
     It was so tempting. I, who had lived most of my life adoring men to be offered the chance to control as many as I wanted. A queen in my own right. I said no. The love and forgiveness I had received had left me more than satisfied that the light was the place to be. The temptation grew stronger. Showed me just how many men I would have adoring me. I confess that I looked at it. I looked down the list. Then the light revealed to me names that were not on that list. Those would resist the power of evil. My true friends and brothers. There were only a few. But it was enough. It was more than enough.
     But now what has happened? I look out into the world and my soul fills with pain again. My laughter is tainted by suffering. My happiness marred by the sorrow within. But not for myself. I see others in pain. But so often there is nothing I can do. I want to give comfort to the wounded, the mourning, the orphans, the dying. I hear them scream to heaven, "Why God? Why?"
     Why does God let bad things happen? How can He tolerate evil? How can He put up with it all? Why is it that sometimes He lets good people get hurt and the same one who did the hurt to live on?
     If you ask those questions, the same ones that I asked and still ask sometimes, then you're looking at it wrong. Just as I did. We want to blame God for the bad. But all the ugly, the pain, the evil is because of the monsters. Humans that lie, cheat, kill, steal. Humans that use their gifts and talents to control and rule over others. Humans that make the wrong decisions.
     But why doesn't God destroy them? Doesn't it hurt Him to see people suffer? Yes. It does pain Him. More than you or I will ever know. But He still gives all humans a second chance. And He gives it over and over again. I know. I'm still here. When I should be dead a hundred times over. But that does not dismiss the tormented world. Go lets us see the pain to show us the consequences of choosing to do wrong. There is pain. There is death. And it's our fault.
     You see, we live on the most beautiful of planets and it's dying because of us. Admit it. Admit that you enjoy playing a prank or being naughty. Admit that you've given the "little white lie" before. But you knew it was wrong. The first people were given one rule and they still didn't get it right. So there was a change. Paradise was taken away. Pain, disease, death, and suffering came in. Blood was shed. To pay for what had been done. One command and we blew it. And then we became monsters. How God must have hurt. He couldn't even trust us with one rule.
     On that day, evil was the victor. Darkness won. Then God made a promise that He would restore paradise. The monsters laughed at Him. They laugh at Him still. I laughed at Him. Then He showed mercy to me. And I tasted that paradise.
     My soul cries out within me, cries out to see that the world still groans, cries out to God to bring peace and perfection back. My soul cries. With joy that I am free. With pain that there are still people who are not free. With knowing that the world grows darker by the day. With longing for the day that is to come. The day that God will end all evil and take those hearts that are free to new life.
     Tell me I'm crazy. Tell me that this is insane. But my own memory is my witness. Where once I was horrible, now I have hope. Where once I thought only of myself, now I think of you. When I say my soul cries, I simply mean that I pray. My soul cries both in joy and in pain. My soul cries to God for you.
     May you never be the monster that I was. May you never feel the pain that I have felt. May you only see from afar the evil I have encountered.
     My soul cries.
     May the trials you face make you stronger. May you receive the eternal joy that I have tasted. May God protect you and guide you and bring you to the promise.
     My soul cries.
     If giving my life could save you, I would do it. But that is not in my power. I could not even save myself, so how could I rescue another?
     My soul cries.
     If I was dying and I only had one final breath to say something to you - one final important thing to say - one word of parting, I would speak aloud the cry of my soul. I would tell the reason I am a monster no more. I would tell the reason why my soul cries. But would you listen? Or would you laugh like the rest of the world? I cry with joy because I am free. I cry with pain because that joy is ignored when it could be yours too. Because the promise was not just for me. It's for you too:

     Jesus loves you.

The Bible, Book of John, chapter 3, verse 16: "For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whosoever believes in him, will not perish, but have everlasting life."

"Borned"

     A newborn boy asleep in his mother's arms. A puppy curled up with his brothers. A foal standing on its feet for the first time. When you think of a baby (animal or human), you usually think of a smaller, considerably less developed version of its parents right?
     What does it mean to be born? Does it mean to "be brought forth?" To begin new life? Does it simply mean to start something new?
     If we limit the definition of being born to new life, to the mammal process of developing for a time inside the mother and then brought forth, tiny and vulnerable in comparison to the parent, then we are simply being scientific and analytical.
     But since we are in the realm of science for the moment, what of the other animals? What about plants? For birds and reptiles, which have eggs, you are not born you are hatched. For most plants, you either come from a seed or a root and you sprout. Yes. Sprout. Sprout forth and multiply.
     According to one child I encountered, if you were something new - if you had a beginning somewhere (regardless of how you began or what you were) - you were "borned." You had entered the world. Brand new. Brought forth. Borned.
     And that included ideas, thoughts, and beliefs. They all had a beginning. They all originated somewhere. I found that thought to be so profound. We humans come up with ideas and inventions all the time. So when an idea is created, it is born.
     If this is the case, cannot some things be reborn? Taken and changed around so much that it can be called completely new? Indeed they can. And it can be best observed in society and human life. For example: the United States of America. Democracy was not a new thing when the nation was founded. It had been around hundreds of years before in Greece. But, in the eighteenth century, when the USA was still known as a bunch of colonies, a group of men came together to recreate democracy into a republic. I'm not going to say anything about the state of the country as it stands right now, but when it started out, it was a fantastic idea. The USA was born.
     But what about a human? Is it possible to be born more than once? Physically no. But what about mental state or lifestyle? Well, ever heard the phrase "new man?" History is full of men and women whose lives have changed dramatically. Countless stories have the classic plot line of "the man who learned better."
     I have seen people, both men and women, who thought themselves good so overcome with guilt and shame that they were in anguish and tears - to the point that you thought they were being tortured to death from the inside out. Have you ever seen a grown man cry? Personally, it pulls me apart inside. My stomach twists up and I don't know what to do. (Usually I'm so empathetic I end up crying too.)
     And then have those same people come back, changed for the better. To have guilt flood your heart and mind - and then to be forgiven. The joy. The peace. Oh to see a life hit rock bottom and then become an amazing person. To witness such an event. There is nothing like it in this world. The one thing that even comes close is to watch a mother give birth. The pain and then the joy. And it still dims in comparison to watching someone be born again.
     To be born is a miracle. To be borned - that's a God thing.

The Cross' Conqueror

The suffering was too much for the Man's body.
No human body could bear the cross' torturous method.
Executions are usually so garanteed.
He did not last.
Death had claimed him.
His hundreds of followers abandoned him.
Only a few remained. A broken few.
They had hoped that he was strong enough,
that he was powerful enough to escape.
They did not understand that he was even stronger to stay.
To let himself be killed like that.
To die when he had done no wrong.
Some visited his tomb.
They did not understand that Death could not keep him.
Death had been established as punishment for lawbreakers.
And that meant everybody deserved it. You too.
Admit you've never done anything wrong.
But he had broken no law, no rules.
He was innocent.
They did not understand that there was something out there.
Something bigger at work.
The most perfect of men had died the worst of deaths. What now?
The cross had killed his body. But not his spirit.
He had given it away.
The tomb had held his body. But not his spirit.
He had given it away remember?
Those who visisted his tomb found it empty.
The Man could not stay dead. Death could not keep him.
He was innocent.
And yet he had chosen to stay. To die such a horrible death.
Because he knew he was stronger.
The wounds remained. The pierced hands were still pierced.
But they no longer bled.
The cross had left its mark.
But Jesus had conquered it.

The Cross' Captive

His body trembled -
Blood spilled freely around the nails.
Again and again the hammer drove them down
one for each hand and a third
to hold both feet; piercing through.
Now they raise him -
All his weight upon his gored hands.
Straining and tearing more flesh.
Every breath becomes a battle.
Each one harder to fight.
The crowd taunts him -
Demanding him to save himself.
How can they pile insults on such suffering?
But he asks his Father to forgive them
his voice cracking from the struggle.
Darkness falls -
A looming storm of evil and separation
come to claim the dying one.
He feels it draw near and cries out
"My God! Why have you forsaken me?"
The agony mounts -
And then with one final strain
he pulls himself up to speak
and offers his spirit to his Father.
With one word he breathes his last
"Te-tellisti" -
It is finished. It is done.

The Cross' Place

The Romans.
Mighty. Powerful. Ruthless.
They did not tolerate rebels.
They developed methods of torture. The worst kind.
Their enemies and conquered "friends" trembled when they learned.
To hang a man.
Not from the neck, no. Too fast. Too clean. Too easy.
No. A slow death. By the hands.
To drive metal or wood stakes through the wrists.
The arms spread wide to bear the weight of the body.
To suffocate. Slowly.
Your lungs scream for air
but to breathe you have to pull yourself up.
Try to pull up on the only thing holding you in the air -
a giant nail or splinter going through your hands.
Then you'll think the pain in your lungs isn't so bad as you first thought.
To hang from a beam like that.
A slow death. The worst kind.
The Romans knew.
They killed hundreds that way
and left the crosses after the sufferers had long died.
They littered the lands with them.
The cross was a symbol of death.
There. In the street.
A Man carrying a cross on his back.
He knows. It is meant for him.
Forced to carry the precursor to your death? Horrifying.
But that was the way the Romans did it.
Broke you long before they even put you on it.
What a way to die.