Those Eyes

Merry Christmas all!  I decided it would be wrong if we didn't have a Christmas post on Christmas.  So, without further ado, here is my Christmas (kinda) story for the year (and yes, it is very short :D).

          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.