The Beginning


This is the story that signified the start of this new writing adventure in my life. I was standing at the back of the chapel when this vivid picture appeared in my mind and I knew in that moment that the only thing I could do. So I ditched my friend in the back of the chapel and ran to my computer where this story wrote itself. From that day on my desire to be a writer for God has grown and the stories he gives me only get better as I learn to trust His wisdom more.

Only a few moments ago I saw it, I saw my heart, it was sitting there in a cold stainless steel room. Metal was the only thing that could be found in it, metal floors, walls, ceiling, counter tops, seats. Large, cold heartless tools hang from the walls with sharp teeth of all different shapes and sizes, ready to strike. Everything was dead and cold and heartless. There was nothing warm to found in that room. In that very room sat my heart, it was on top of the stainless steel counter that stood, menacing and frozen, in the dead center of the room. Chills ran up and down my spine as I fixed my eyes upon the spot where my heart laid upon that table. Blacker than the coal in the mines and harder than any mineral ever to be found in this universe it sat, unmoving and unfeeling. There was nothing to it except the waves of dark hatred and mistrust that radiated from its very core rattling everything it met and turning every colorful, warm, bright, living, masterpiece into a lifeless, crumbling statue.

But then the strangest thing happened; suddenly I was on the other side of the glass looking in at that stainless steel, heartless room like a concerned mother watching over her child as he was undergoing an operation. There appeared a man, elderly and frail, with nimble hands on the other side of the glass in that frigid room. He carried a small chisel and nothing else and he approached my stony heart with great care. He sat upon the stool and was unfazed by its frozen metal seat and he began to slowly chip at my heart. Hours went by, then days, and then months and I began to lose hope. But one day, to my utter amazement a sand sized piece of stone flew off. And, little by little, piece-by-piece, the stone exterior was being chipped away to reveal a real, warm, beating heart. It’s a gentle and gradual process but what is being revealed as each grain sized piece of rock is chiseled away is a heart, a human heart. A heart full of love, trust, and hope and it’s beginning to radiate warmth instead of cold hate.

The room is no longer scary or menacing, but it has become a place that I quite like to go to. It’s comfortable, warm, welcoming and you can feel the joy penetrating your soul when you enter it. The man still sits at the table and he welcomes me every day I come and is saddened on the days when I don’t take the time visit. I hate those days, I never feel good at the end of them, I don’t have that penetrating joy and I start to forget what that precious man is doing for me and then I realize that I must return the next day if I truly appreciate him and the kindness and love he has showed me. And so the next day I return, and we sit together as he works on my heart, and we chat and we smile and he reminds me that its ok to love people but that I should always remember that he’s always willing and ready to give me advice on anything I run into. He sits and lets me verbally process, but then he asks me the right questions so that I can figure out what to do and how to live. And then before I leave, he smiles at me, wishes me a good day, and reminds me that he always just one phone call away.



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