He walks to the stage, smiles big,
head held high, and he introduces his dad.
His dad is right there beside
him. His dad is bigger and stronger than anyone in the room. His dad, owns the
building they’re in and all the land on which the building sits.
The child speaks to his dad,
unashamed, unrehearsed, from his heart. He invites everyone in the room to talk
to his dad; get to know his dad; ask his dad questions. The child is
certain his dad knows all the answers.
When the dad speaks, his words
are simple and few. He doesn’t wax eloquent with words of grandeur. He simply extends
an invitation, to everyone.
Someone in the room is mad…well, actually,
she won’t admit it, but really, she’s sad. And way down deep; envious.
She doesn’t know her dad. She’d
like to. She wants a dad. She listens to the invitation, and closes her eyes when
the man’s gentle voice says, “I’d love it if you were all my children…” for a brief
moment, she imagines what it’d be like to have him as her dad.
She squeezes the book in her hands
and tries to remember where it talks about her father. She scrolls through the
pages of her memory, looking for the spot in the book where it talks about how
her father loves her. The dad who carries her and protects her and provides for
her…alas, her memory runs dry, empty, no such place can be found.
She takes a small step forward
and the book slips from her fingers and falls to the floor. Her eyes open just as
her foot lands upon the cover of the book.
She gasps.
She cannot breathe.
She cannot move.
A cold sweat consumes her. What
has she done? She feels faint.
As if in a distant tunnel the man’s
words echo, “Don’t be afraid. I am, here to help you.”
She lifts her head and finds the
man is looking right at her. A gentle warmth blankets her. She is free again to
breath, to move.
The man smiles and nods.
She starts to move toward him. Feels
the book under her foot. Hesitates.
The man’s gaze intensifies, slightly
shakes his head.
She breaks eye contact and looks
to the floor…to the book under foot. The cold returns with a vengeance. A rage
consumes her.
The man let’s out a slow, sad
sigh.
Enraged and offended she snatches
the book from the floor.
“I am a Father to the fatherless.
Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take
My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you
will find rest for your souls” the Man gently pleads.
She cannot hear for fear, as she wipes
the spot where her dusty footprint covers the word “Quran”
1 comment:
Simply awesome, Doug . . .
Blessings!
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