Darkness swished around me as if I was
flying down a dark tunnel. Rushing past
me where scenes from history. People
moved about in them and I could hear the whisper of voices. How strange.
I reached out a hand and caught one.
A whooshing sound filled the air as I was sucked into the scene.
Rocks bit at my feet as I made my way
up a hillside. Darkness filled the sky, and
an overwhelming sense of fear filled the chilly air. Near me a woman wept, her face in her hands. What was wrong? There were other people about me as
well. Some were crying as well while
others stood there smirks on their faces.
I didn’t understand. Then I saw
it, a cross. On it, a man hung limply.
I clamped a hand over my mouth not wanting
to comprehend what I was seeing. How could anyone…? I
could not complete the thought. It was such
a horrible sight.
The man weakly raised his head. Blood covered his body, and he looked near
death. But his eyes. They looked at me. I looked away from the piercing gaze. My heart throbbed.
“I-It is finished.”
The words were not spoken to
everyone. They seemed to be spoken only
to me.
Once again I was flying through the
dark tunnel, the awful image still filling my mind. Please. Let me see something better. I reached desperately
and was plunged into another moment of history.
A stable. Animals packed it, shoving for room. The stench of manure was overpowering. I gagged and shoved my way through the horde
looking for a way out.
A baby’s cry filled the stable. What was a baby doing in here?
He lay in a manger, his mother bending
over him, weariness filling her face, yet pride at this healthy baby boy. Something unexplainable pulled me
closer. My whole being focused on the
baby. He was no longer crying. Instead he was looking about as if exploring
his new home.
Then he saw me. I looked into his eyes. I knew those eyes. “No . . .” I whispered. A solitary tear ran down my cheek. “No!” I cried louder. “It’s not fair!” They were the eyes of the man on the cross.
I wanted to run, but I was afraid of
what I would find. I knelt, sobbing in
the dirty hay that littered the ground.
I couldn’t understand.
Look. The thought wisped through my mind. I raised my head. I was no longer in a stable; I was in front
of a large rock with a hole carved in it.
Next to it a woman sat weeping. A
man approached her. She sobbed something
to him that I could not understand, and he replied softly. She looked up and gasped. He lovingly laid a hand on her shoulder then
turned and looked at me.
He smiled a gentle loving smile
filling my heart with warmth. Then, once
again, I saw those eyes. The eyes of the
baby; the eyes of the man on the cross.
He stepped near me and reached out a hand, a hand that had been
pierced. I took it and rose to my
feet. Somehow, I understood.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
