Dreams are desires stirring in our sub-concious

--or concious-- mind.

Hope, then, results from dreaming's courtship of reality.

And expectation occurs when she agrees to a date,

and they meet face to face.

By default, our desires and reality don't match.

But every so often the earth spins on it's axis,

It aligns with the stars and the timing is accurate,

For birds to take flight and then meet in the air

--in the great, blue sky-- where they just happen to

Cross paths for a moment,

And stare into each other's eyes.

For just a moment, in a whimsical cosplay,

That seems too good to be true,

I actually believe I can fly.

But I wake from my sleep with caramel in my hair,

A sweet nighttime comfort, but a morning despair.

When the fun house mirror shatters,

And your cell phone filter's are gone,

You are stuck in the reality of realities rejection

of dreams.

Where it's dark and scary,

And you're not sure if anyone is there

--or will be there-- to comfort you and hold your hand.

In these moments there lies the secret to life,

To walk forward in darkness

And remember the Truth,

That for God, even reality's a sham,

And He is more real

Than the fantasy person

I made "reality" out to be anyway.

The first thing I remembered was the eclectic group of people there. I’ve never been good at estimating numbers, but I think there were about 30 or 50 people, including myself. We were of many different backgrounds, nationalities, personalities.  Pretty much any other "-alities" you can think of, we differed in them. It was a beautiful thing really. There was an Ethiopian woman with a headscarf of red and gold wrapped over her hair and tied in front like a rose. She was talking to the man next to her who was a stocky Chinese man. She had to tilt her head down a bit to maintain the conversation because of his unusual shortness, but what stood out to me most was the fact that they were talking to each other. Could they understand each other’s language? They were too far away for me to pick out any words.

Looking around more, I saw Indians, Americans, Middle Easterners, Europeans, Latinos, Japanese; they were short, bulky, tall, skinny, masculine, feminine, loud, and quiet. Literally, it was the most surreal sight to see so many different people in one place all connecting and interacting with other.

I was about to approach the lady in red and gold, when the gates swung open and a man in a bright white robe walked out towards our group.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began, “Welcome to Zion. My name is Michael and I have the pleasure of being your guide. I’m so happy to see you all.”

We stood there a little stunned either by the brilliance of his robe or by the weight of the word Zion. Maybe it was both. I waited for him to continue.

“As you may have guessed, you all are the newest Death Class; those who have all died within the last five minutes of each other.” Michael looked across the blended crowd of humans before him and proceeded to walk back toward the gate.

“There’s so much to see!” he said excitedly. He was quite bubbly and had a small hop to his step. He definitely wasn’t losing any time. He turned around before entering through the city gate and beamed at us. Once again he said, “I’m so happy you all are here. Follow me.”

We marched on through the gates.

*

Looking around the city was surreal. It was just like any city that I had ever known in my life, but it was different. It felt mature. It was like what the city was always supposed to be like. It had all the art and architecture, bands playing music on the street, people laughing and talking with each other. It was diverse and integrated. There were incredible trees and plants everywhere, and the sky was so bright and clear, like the perfect mid-summer, mid-autumn day in Colorado where I was from. There were even mountains in the skyline! Just like home.

Everything that the city was supposed to be was here and everything that the city was not supposed to be was gone. There was no trash, no dead rats, no violence, no poverty, everything was clean and fresh, and everyone seemed content. Interestingly, I noticed movie theaters on almost every block. Sometimes two or three! I wasn’t sure why, but they were seriously everywhere. I stopped to look at one of the movie theaters that most grabbed my attention. It was made of pure marble and had sentences from thousands of different languages engraved all across the street side wall. The entrance was decorated with lots of statues and flags from all over the world. I looked over some of the movie posters hanging on the wall:

NOW PLAYING:

Paul: From Tarsus to The World directed by YHWH

Taylor: The Man with the Chinese Heart directed by YHWH

Sundar Singh: A Life of Faith directed by YHWH

These were just a few of the signs that caught my eye. I couldn’t help but notice that the same person directed every single movie. Not a single one was from a different director. I looked up into the sky and stared into the source of light which appeared to me not like the sun that I knew before, but rather a sort of glorious stage light from a movie or like the sign of the bat from Batman (another great movie by the way).

“The Director,” I thought to myself. “The Director is the light of this city.”

I’m not sure how the thought came to me. This city was perfect and everything was so unified. Just as everything in our solar system centers around the sun, I just knew that there had to have been something, or someone, that was keeping everything in this perfect city in order. The Director seemed to be the common thread.

*

“Everyone come into this theater,” Michael said to our group. “There are just enough seats for each of you, sit wherever you like.”

We gathered into the theater and found seats just as he told us to. I sat down next to the Chinese man I had seen earlier. The African lady was up in the front row. Would I get to know these people better? If this was going to be anything like high school, I better start praying now. That being said, did people even pray here? I saw no churches and no symbols of worship. There was a temple that could be seen in the distance before we entered the theater, but it seemed to be different than what I was used to. The temple seemed more like a palace. I decided mentally that I’d go visit the temple after orientation was over. I have plenty of time, right?

Without any instruction and with no movie previews, the lights dimmed down and the crowd quieted down. The first movie began. A ladies name appeared on the screen in clear bold letters: Abeba: The Flower of Ethiopia directed by YHWH.

*

Now, I knew very little of African culture. But the empathy developed while entering in to a story, I think, is one of the main goals of stories; that, and to communicate truth. Both, developing empathy and communicating truth, is what makes the world spin around and is what the Christ did perfectly during his physical life on earth. The story began…

Luscious green trees and grass appeared on the screen sprawled across rocky plateaus. Two land masses were separated by a river that God had used to carve a deep crevasse between, and a waterfall dumped its soul from the upper river into the lower. It was beautiful. Birds flew out from the trees, and a rainbow could be seen from above the fall.

Abeba appeared as an infant, nursing off her mother’s breast who walked from the upper river back to the village. Pictures flashed before our eyes of beautiful scenery and creation, but the story quickly turned dark. At the village, the men were all equipped with artillery. The women participated in verbal quarrels with one another and everywhere they went it was apparent that the peaceful fabric of village life had many tears and holes. As Abeba grew up, she too was abused physically and verbally. Rituals were made in the name of tribal gods to ward off evil spirits, yet a spirit of darkness seemed to be ever upon them as men murdered their brothers and slept with their wives, children were kidnapped by labor and sex traffickers, and small businesses failed due to the supply of foreign resources given in plenty, leading to the rise of lazy and dependent hearts and an increase in men and women without work to support their families.

Abeba lived in one of the poorer homes. Stricken with the fear of her child never finding success in her life, as she herself longed for, her mother sent her daughter off to stay with her brother who had a nice job, good food, and clean clothing. Her brother, a nice looking man to be sure, with a pressed purple button down shirt and a cigarette shoved above his ear, reaked of African piety and had a well-known reputation for something that nobody really understood. It was his charisma and image of wealth that gave him influence in their minds. “Whatever he’s doing, he must be doing it well,” the people thought.

Abeba, now in the back of her uncle’s truck was nervously excited for the road ahead. This was an exciting new chapter in her life, though it was scary to leave the village. She looked through the back window behind her for almost 20min straight as her village slowly diminished from the horizon until at one moment it was gone.

*

Some time later, 17 year old Abeba was on the busy city street selling her body to men of all nationalities and backgrounds. She was a prostitute and stayed in the brothel her uncle sold her to. Forced as a slave, she made her uncle rich, yet suffered pains unimaginable to common man. Uneducated and stripped of dignity and attractiveness, Abeba was dead inside. Each day she faithfully lay victim to men’s filthy agenda so she could return home each day with the money to provide for her daughter’s well-being. Her fear was her daughter would face the same hell she faced once she became of age. How old that was, she had no idea.

It was a miracle that happened one day as the police and NGO workers came and set the women in the brothels free. Though the pimps bribed their way out further prosecution, Abeba was freed, along with many others. Placed in a home run by Catholic nuns, Abeba found security and a place to restart. The journey wasn’t easy though. She often was skeptical of the intentions of others and it took years for her to talk casually with a man. The nuns taught her to read and how to sew. They also taught her the Bible and the stories of Jesus the Messiah. She found hope in Jesus’ life. The God of the universe, perfect in power, came here on earth and was harassed, beaten, mocked, and scorned by his own creation. Yet, he stood up for a woman caught in adultery. He healed the crippled man and gave sight to the blind. He cast out demons from a man. He experienced fear of all types and oppression from those in power, yet he never sinned. He never once retaliated against them and instead sought to forgive them and pray for them. Ultimately, he died at their hands, but when he rose again he proved his power over even death itself and his Spirit of power continues to live within all who call on his name in faith and total dependence. Abeba learned all this and was struck by the image of the crucified Christ which hung on the wall in the room where mass was held each morning at 6:00am. It was this hope and power that gave her the ability to move past her traffickers’ torture and actually develop a heart of pity towards them. She was furious at them. But the more she prayed each morning, the more she found herself saddened by the plight of the world and how men could be so deceived into thinking of their jobs as satisfying. We all felt a strange sensation of anger and pity with our sister in the theater and couldn’t quite describe the feeling we felt.

Her life came to an end not too many years later to a disease she contracted while enslaved. But her testimony was made known throughout the city and her daughter received a good education and became a passionate believer herself.

The lights came on and we were all in absolute amazement. The struggle and pain that she suffered in her life… no one would have guessed it by the smile and brightness of her face now. We wailed with tears and cheers and we hugged and kissed as our sister’s testimony brought so much faith to our hearts. As if the city were on top of a giant heart, we could feel the rising pulse of intimacy in the room as we joined in together in sweet chorus of song.

*

I was taught growing up that different people see the world differently and many times the things that we think of as normal are informed by our cultural lens of life. One pair of characteristics I heard that's often used to distinguish cultures from each other was the task-oriented culture vs relationship-oriented culture dynamic.  In a world like Abeba’s, as we just saw, the relationship-oriented individual may prove much more acceptable in that society, whereas a task-oriented business man in the tribal village would be ostracized for stressing out over the tardiness of his clients and the prolonged duration of the meeting.

It is of the task-oriented man, we now turn to. The man sitting next to me was a stocky Asian man from China. After a series of beautiful stories, it was his time to be known. He looked stoic with his eyes locked in straight ahead at the screen as the lights slowly faded away.

*

Beijing is a huge city. Towers and skyscrapers cover the sky, with bright city lights, gray smoggy clouds, a matrix of cars covering the streets like moss, and the construction of more urbanized creation in the distance. It was awesome. People were everywhere and there always seemed to be something exciting going on.

Jiang was the oldest male child born to a middle class family in Beijing, China. From the time he was born, there was talk about his future and the prosperity he would bring his family. He was his parents hope. It was he who would get a good job, become an expert at his craft, make a lot of money, and bring honor to his family’s name. Yet even in grade school he felt somehow different than the rest. While true that most children in his classes were excited to get a job someday and make their parents proud, he found that in the times where they were just beings kids, playing around outside and teasing each other, he didn’t connect.

“Hey Jiang,” said one of the boys as they all entered the school for morning classes. “I hear your parents just had another baby. What, are you not good enough for them or something?”

“Hey Jiang, what’s it a boy or a girl?” another said jeeringly. “Because if it’s girl, they must’ve run out of good fortune.”

“It’s a boy.” Jiang responded plainly.

When they made jokes he would answer them simply and directly, not getting it was a joke they were telling. He thought they were merely asking questions or making uninformed comments. When they would laugh at him afterwards, he would find a strange combination of confusion and shame. Abstract ideas like love and popularity confused him too. Similarly, navigating social situations was like sailing through sea storms in a canoe.

His strength was in Mechanics. He could see a machine and understand how it works and thus be able to fix broken equipment accordingly.

Humans are more complicated than machines. As Jiang got older, his body and his interests began to change. Soon his active mind was preoccupied by the idea of companionship in the form of cute girls in his class. A teenager now, his role in social settings was pretty clearly defined. He struggled in responding to the wind of human emotion and rhetoric and it clearly placed him on the outside of the “cool” crowd. What he struggled to understand was what deemed a person “cool”? From his understanding of the mechanics of “coolness”, a person becomes cool by wearing clothes a certain way, performing certain handshakes in certain situations and saying particular things at the right time to statistically improve the probability of a certain favorable responses.

There was one girl in class who was always kind to him. Though he felt on the outside of every social situation in the school, when he was speaking with her, he was in the inner circle. This connection, this intimacy he shared with her every afternoon when she said, “Hi” made her the most beautiful person in the world.

“You need to ask her out.” A kid said to him with a nudge one day as Jiang came back into reality from a momentary daydream, awkwardly gawking in the girl’s direction.

Teenage Jiang pondered excessively in the inner recesses of his head for days.

We then watched with anticipation as Jiang made preparations in his school bag one day and came to school the next. Upon arriving to school he found the acquaintance from whom this idea was given.

“Hey, uh, I was wondering if, uh, you could take this, uh, tape recorder here,” he pulled out a little grey recording device out of his bag, “and, uh, you know, talk to a girl for me, and then, uh, give it back to me?”

“HAH!” laughed the kid. “No way, dude! That’d be creepy! I can’t do that!”

“Oh! Yeah, ha, of course it would be. Sorry about that… dude.” Jiang responded with embarrassment and just moved on without pressing the issue. How else was he going to study the science and art of talking to this girl?

*

Over the course of the next few years as we watched Jiang’s life unfold through successful endeavors in science and education, we simultaneously watched him flounder in the realm of friendships, romance, and social interactions. Where we may used to have laughed at some of his interactions with people, we now found ourselves not laughing much. Instead, we felt the immense shame he felt. At times it was almost intolerable! How a man, over and over again, would be labeled a social outcast.  It was like Kafka’s Metamorphosis story where he turns into a cockroach over night and every time he tried to explain himself or communicate to his disgusted family, all they could hear were insect hisses and chirps. Every time he got close to someone, a stream of sticky insect excrement would ooze from his mouth and limbs, and frighten the person away without fail.

That was Jiang’s life and that was what we felt.

The dark depression of isolation and the shame of public disgust followed him like a homing storm cloud and it covered over all of us in the theater for awhile.

Finally, it hit the tipping point. Despite his success in the university and in landing a nice career as a robotic engineer, Jiang hit rock bottom when his younger brother got married. Jiang saw his parents more proud than he had ever seen them before. The look on their face was unlike anything he had seen before. He went to congratulate his brother and his new wife, along with his parents, and once again he quickly realized that he was the outsider. Nobody could connect with him. Nobody would want to marry him. He could never make his family proud in this way. What if he was the only male child, like so many of his peers? He could only imagine the shame he would have brought upon his family name: the bug family.

That night he decided he would end his life. He would take a rope, put a nail in the wall, kick out the chair from beneath him, and hang himself. It was the fastest and most logical way to end this torture of a life he had been living for so long.

Then, walking through the rain on his way home, a man approached him. It was a foreigner, probably a missionary. Jiang had never thought much of religion and was confused whenever he heard of these white men from another land coming and speaking about some random cult religion from their culture and way of life. They were usually scorned by society. It was actually because of this that Jiang found a sort of connection with the man. Awkward and out of place, the disheveled foreigner asked him if he could spare a couple minutes to hear about the life of Jesus Christ. He offered a spot under his umbrella too. Jiang agreed and stepped under the umbrella with the stranger. “At least he is direct.” Jiang thought to himself.

The foreigner explained to him how there is a God in the universe who created everything we see. The plants, the trees, the oceans, the sky, and the mountains, all of it was God’s creation. “He even made us!” he explained. “He made us to be a part of His family. He is the King, our Father, and we are his most prized possession. But, we’ve been tainted with the poison of sin. It’s our natural tendency to look at other things in life and desire them more than the God who created them. Because of this, God handed us over to our own desires and consequently were cast out of God’s family. Have you ever felt like an outsider before?”

Jiang’s eyes lit up. How did he know? How did he know that he’s felt like an outsider? 

“Yes.” Jiang replied.

“Well,” the foreigner responded, “I have good news for you.”

Jiang was now fully engaged.

“Though we were outsiders to God, God sent someone to us to bring us back into His family. That person was Jesus. God came down into our lowly place on earth, as a man named Jesus, and lived a perfect life. He never sinned, never disobeyed his parents, and always gave credit to God for all of his actions. Even the miracles he performed such as healing the sick and blind, controlling the weather, and raising people from the dead, were never used as a means to boast about himself, but were used to point people to the power of God. Jesus, though proving his worth through these things, was executed in conjunction with the Roman government and the religious leaders of the time. This death however, was the necessary thing to do to bring us into the family of God. By innocently dying on the cross, he took on the shame and the penalty that he never deserved. While we expect to be shamed for dishonoring our families, Jesus did nothing to deserve this shame. In fact, we as the creation of God, have shamed our Father by disobeying His rule and authority in our lives, yet instead of publically shaming us and punishing us for our rebellion, he decided to take it on himself through Jesus Christ. Where we ought to have been cast out from his family, God comes to us and says, “I’m preparing a marriage banquet with me and the Church, and I want you to be my best man.” Where we deserved shame, we received honor. Where we deserved punishment, we received freedom. All of this is offered because of Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross.”

Jiang’s eyes again lit up upon mention of the word, “marriage.” But he was a little hesitant still.

“Now, I’m sure you’re wondering how we can know this to be true.” The foreigner pulled out a leather book. “This is called the Bible. It is the documentation of Jesus’ life on earth and the story of humanity since the beginning of time. It is the most translated, most sold, most global book in the world.  In this book it tells us the story of God, our human rebellion, Jesus’ life and death, and even…” he paused for dramatic effect, “…even his resurrection from the dead. It’s in here. It’s documented by over 500 witnesses who saw him alive after death, and even up to this very day nobody has found his body.

"This book evens tells us how we can start a relationship with God. Romans chapter 10, verse 9, says, “If you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” You can be saved and start a new life right now. Do you believe these words?”

Jiang gazed at the book for a moment and gathered his thoughts.

“I want to.” Jiang replied.

“Then brother,” said the foreigner with a warm smile stretching over his face, “you can be a part of the family of God. Have you prayed before? Let’s pray together to our Father in heaven and thank him for his love.”

The two prayed and Jiang continued on his way home, a Bible in hand that the foreigner gave to him as a gift. Jiang spent the rest of the night reading passages of the Bible, from John and Romans, and Proverbs. All these passages were like water to a dried soul. He spent the next week reading his Bible and writing down all of his thoughts. He slept peacefully the whole week and felt like a new man. The thought of ending his life, seemed to have vanished away like the swipe of an eraser on whiteboard.

One day, a week after his encounter with the foreigner missionary, Jiang got hit by a bus on his way to work crossing the street. He was killed on impact. This was as far into his own life that Jiang had ever seen. What unfolded next however, even brought him into surprise!

The following days and weeks after his death, he saw how his family grieved his lost. There were memorial services held in his honor and many people grieved his loss. He was missed dearly. Then, as his family was cleaning out his house, they came across his writings and his Bible, along with a special note the foreigner had written to him on the inside cover, “From your brother in Christ, and fellow groomsman...”

They were amazed at his writing skills and were saddened to hear the reality of his inner world for the first time. They had no idea how lonely he had been. At the same time, they were astonished to hear of his relationship with God! They had never given it much thought themselves, and as they read his writings and reflections from the Bible, they felt as if they were reading into their own fears and dissatisfactions in life. His mother went first in attending a church, and soon became a Christian herself. Then came his father, then his brother and his wife, then soon, faster than you would expect, Jiang’s story started to spread around the city and hundreds came to faith as his writings were put to paper in a book and sold across the country.

We all were flabbergasted. But Jiang, sitting next to me in the theater, was jaw-dropped. He couldn’t believe it and was drawn to the most incredible awe you can imagine as he raised his hands and head toward the sky and proclaimed, “Praise be to the Father and to the Son, Jesus Christ, and to the Holy Ghost through all generations forever and ever! Amen!”

We all sang in unison and laughed with tears in our eyes and smiles stretched across our faces. For just a moment I glanced over next to me and thought I saw the foreigner missionary singing with us in joyous praise. But when I looked again I couldn't find him.

*

After the final movie finished, the lights came on and the audience erupted in applause, just as they did for everyone else. We all have these incredible stories in our lives that The Director intentionally planned out just for us. He was the real star, and it was just then that I fully realized how all of our applause for each other was not merely for the protagonists in the room, but for The Protagonist in the room who guided and molded each of our stories into the overall narrative of life that he solely directs and acts in. In fact, by watching each of the stories of our brothers and sisters, we were getting to know the character of the God of the universe better one film at a time. The creation of God now reflected the Creator perfectly. In our old lives, we may have been tempted to worship the selves we now knew and saw, but here in this fantastic place we only knew the Ultimate Self who created all of us in his image and we simply, yet purely, enjoyed the company of one another as we worshipped the God who brought us all into his wonderful family.

*

At that moment we were let go to travel around the city according to our own will. The angel hugged and shook hands with everyone as we exited through the main doors and we went off on our way. One would think we’d be like lost sheep wandering aimlessly at this point, but instead we were more like children at an amusement park where we knew exactly where we wanted to go next and without hesitation or folly we went off our own ways. I went toward the temple.

Looking around, as I mentioned earlier, there were theaters everywhere. Now I understood. There was a movie for each person who had entered The Director’s Kingdom. You could see the movie about the Apostle Paul, you could see Moses’ movie, Stephen’s movie… my grandma’s movie was even there!

Literally, we could go and watch all the movies of every person whose life was made new by The Director. Sure the films were long, and the list was continually being added to as new death classes entered in, but we had eternity to do it! The movies never got old either! Each was gripping, as they reflected the redeeming character of The Director, and was a continual adventure down into the depths of his Mystery.

*Details in the comments section

CHAPTER 1

     It was once said that we can know food exists because we all experience hunger. How else could a man recognize its absence if it had never existed in the first place? Or how could an orphan miss his mother, if his mother died at birth? Similarly, if a man had the unquenchable longing for a home beyond this home on earth, namely heaven, a sort of nation where our intrinsic feeling that we don't belong, or our insatiable thirst for authentic joy are truly and wholly met by the love and peace of its Divine King, could it not be said then that heaven too, must exist?

     What about the dream of finding hidden treasure? Explorers sail the seven seas fighting pirates to find the place on their brown papyrus where "X marks the spot". It's been the plot of story after story, ever since I can imagine. Does this treasure not exist though one doesn’t find it? Not every explorer succeeds in his journey, but surely that does not falsify the possible existence of the treasure. Perhaps, the unsuccessful journeyman went looking for the wrong thing? Perhaps, the explorer found his treasure, yet still felt a longing for something more?

     This story is not like any other treasure hunting story, but in other ways exactly like them. This is not simply the story of a young man who found treasure waiting for him buried in a field, but more like the story of a treasure that found a young boy and the young boy’s experience of true joy and contentment.

     The year was too long ago for me to remember the date, but not so long ago that I can't recall the important details. Nobody who was there could forget this story, and it's been passed down from generation to generation ever since.

     The town Shepherd lived in was one of political unrest. Like a battle of the clans, the parties made their cause known through flags, clothes, public showings, and well... I guess you could call them parades. The latter, were processionals of town folk, usually from the same neighborhoods, who supported their particular party. They would walk down the streets of the opposing neighborhoods with flags of their so-called clan, wearing matching hats, holding signs, and chanting together slogans and cheers. The Liberals lived in the center of the nearby city and strategically found themselves both inside and outside the city protesting unjust social norms, chanting for change. Their leader was Bow and her symbol was the Lotus flower. Bow was a woman of pride and cunningness, but nevertheless true prowess. These traits were coupled with a picture perfect smile, political correctness, and overall public politeness. If she were transparent she'd be a great leader, but nobody could see through her facade of pleasantries and frankly, were scared of what was underneath the mask.

     The Conservatives used to hold significance in the center city along with the Liberals, but as of late had diverged into two groups: the Fundamentalists and the Neo-Conservatives, also known as, the Idealist party. Teddy led the Fundamentalist party. After the partition Teddy found less and less support in the city and thus moved to the dusty suburb-village hybrids, called towns, around the edge of the metropolitan area. These towns were home to blue collar families and service workers like police, teachers, and fire fighters. Shepherd lived in one of these towns. Though his family refused to affiliate with a particular party, the stakes in this upcoming election were too high to ignore. Now, Shepherd's parents would stay up late at night bickering over taxes and human rights. It seemed pointless to the young 18 year old adult. Of course he wouldn't say that, as he knew there had to have been some sort of significance in it. Why else would people get so emotionally tied to it? There was something about politics that was connected to the human heart. It was a very complicated and messy topic. Maintaining ethos in political conversations was hard as Shepherd was the type of guy who understood the point on both sides of the argument. "Both seem to be right," he would often think. Out of frustration and impatience, he grew to the point where he would now simply tell people that politics was "pointless".

     One day Shepherd found himself outside a political debate unexpectedly on his way to the market. Though he usually found himself exhausted with politics, he couldn't seem to ignore a good controversial debate. From a distance the crowd looked like a sea of trees and birds. Up close, he recognized the images to be political symbols sewed onto hats, flags, and t-shirts. Shepherd himself was unfamiliar with these symbols, but we have a slight advantage over him since we get to hear this story from my perspective. The Tree was the symbol of the Fundamentalist Party, led by Teddy. The "Tree", as we call it, was a simple caricature of a spruce tree with roots underneath, symbolizing the party’s platform of going back and re-establishing our "roots", that is, our basic moral guidelines, before progressing further into development and economic growth. The Bird was a little blue bird overlaid in front of an "equals" sign. For the Idealist Party, the two short black parallel lines indicated equality amongst all people regardless of race, occupation, gender, caste, or creed. Even financially, they argued for more evenly distributed funds amongst the people. The blue bird represented their desire for this equality to come from a greater power source that “flies high” above all the rest, in other words, the Leader. The Leader of the Idealists was a younger man named, interestingly, Bird. Doubt not the inspiration behind his symbol.

     The crowd was loud and passionate. Men and women alike had sweat droplets dripping down their faces as they yelled coarse chants and curses. From behind he felt a force against his shoulders knocking him forward. Turning around he could see two men pushing and fighting each other. One of them had just been shoved into Shepherd’s back. Shepherd kept moving forward, but felt his emotions rise as he stepped closer inward among the throng. Sweat was now rising through his arms and forehead and his heart was beating so powerfully it caused his veins to pop and face to heat up. What were these people so concerned about anyway? He could hear his parent’s argument from the previous night in his head.

     "Isn't there something more to life than this mindless bickering?" he thought.     Out of rising irritation, Shepherd ran out from the crowd climbed up onto the surrounding fence. Finally, up on the fence and away from the crowd, Shepherd felt more at ease. (It's amazing what a little fresh air can do for a person's emotional life.)  Now, having collected himself he looked out among the crowd and listened in to the debate.

     "The dream I have for this city is the collaborative vision of the people," Bird started. "There should be no doubt among the people that we are not happy. We need a hope that all can hold on to! We need a hope that is durable, yet also accessible. We need a hope that is actually hopeful for all people! We need a hope that doesn't walk around with fake smiles and pleasant propaganda! We need a hope beyond what we can see from human eyes. We need a hope from above. A hope from the Bird!"

     The crowd screamed in cheerful adoration. 

     "Moving on," the mediator chimed in, "I want to hear each of your thoughts on the controversial issue of creating of a National Bank: should we or should we not?”

     “It’s clear,” Bird started without hesitation, “that this issue is an issue of utmost     importance for our nation. We know that our chosen currency, the Shekel, carries within itself a unique quality. If by design or by curse, we know not with confidence, but, we can assure quite confidently, the effect of shekels transferred upon the human spirit to be formidable.

     Therefore, I defend passionately the absolute need for the security, protection, and care of society through the monitoring of and measuring of the shekel by way of a government owned National Bank. Any alternative will lead to quick destruction and a civil war between families, friends, and ultimately, our nation. Now’s the time to stand together…”

     "Time’s up. Thank you, Bird,” interrupted the moderator, “What are your thoughts Teddy?"

     Teddy looked out amongst the crowd, and looked back at his opponent. He replied with a quite, but authoritative voice, "Bird, tell me, are you God?" Bird stayed quiet and let him continue. "Your plan sounds nice. It really does. But how can we be sure your monopolistic government can always be trusted? You make nice promises, but can you deliver? When power and wealth enter your courts, will you be strong enough to overcome temptation and stay true to your word? If you get voted into power, what will you not be in charge of? Who will keep the Bird accountable when the whole city in your--"

     "Teddy, the debate is about the National Bank. Please stay on topic."

     "Yes sir, I apologize."

     Teddy looked out among the crowd one more time. He placed his eyes on a young man sitting on the back fence. "You, sitting on the fence in the back! I have a question for you... Hey you!" Shepherd's heart sunk. Was he seriously getting called out among the hundreds in front of him? Was he in trouble? Thoughts of climbing down the opposite side of the fence and running crossed his mind, but he was paralyzed stiff with fear. What would he want to hear from me? I know nothing about politics!

     "Candidate, please stay on topic." reminded the Mediator.

     Teddy glanced and quickly replied, "Yes sir, I understand. I just need one second."

Then, with his eyes fixed on Shepherd he said audibly, "You on the fence, will you answer my question?"

     "Yes?" Shepherd responded quizzically and loud enough for all to hear. Being chronically unsure of himself, he quickly felt sweat bead up again. The question came:

     "Who do you put your ultimate hope in: humanity or government?"

     Shepherd thought for a moment. The point Teddy was trying to make was right, a single man in charge of the government was a pretty risky chance. They don't call the Idealists idealistic for nothing. It may be a nice model to live by if in fact we lived in a perfect world, but we don't. Humans were fickle and shekels indeed had some dark mystic quality to them. Which, Shepherd thought to himself, was a fascinating and mysterious topic itself. Shekels were used every day as money for groceries, transportation, and debts. Literally everything in society revolved around the trading and saving of shekels. It definitely sped up the growth of society, as without them they were stuck with trading goats and wood like generations before. The problem with such a barter system however, was its inability to store up wealth for later use. Goats die, wood and vegetables rot. Shekels, in contrast, would last multiple life times taking only minimal wear and tear. This increased trading efficiency and capacity. This was the birth of modern economy and urbanization and completely changed the course of history. But, unlike the goats and wood, shekels carried with them an inherent dark power, a mystical energy like black magic. More on that later- Now, the hustle and bustle of the debate soared back into view as Shepherd saw the sea of trees and birds staring back at him with expectation. The question came rushing back into his mind:

     "Who do you put your hope in?"

..

     Meanwhile, a small burst of light blasted momentarily not too far away in a field nearby. Someone, or something, was waiting for him.

Albert White was 40 years old

But Mrs. White had passed away

Concealed adultery made their love turn cold

Delirium put his conscience at bay

Every night they slept a room apart

For love was a term long lost and gone

God helped the Mrs. turn from a selfish heart

Heavy drinking kept the Mr. from seeing the dawn:

"I know we can connect" the lady White employed

"Just one more request that you would forgive"

"Kissing won't fix what my choices have destroyed"

"Lamenting my err might allow love to live"

Mr. White was unaffected by the comment of woe

No comment from her could sort out this mess

"Open your mouth again, you despicable hoe!"

Pools of hatred arose in his swelling red head

Quiet. The place got suddenly still

Roses had wilted in the garden within

Symptoms of withdrawal and the desire to kill

Together with visions made his mind turn dim

Under the counter was an old meat carving knife

Vacancy sounded like a good idea for once

"Woman" he said with a tone like ice

Xenophobic frustrations then shot out like guns

~~Moral~~

Yesterday's event was the end for one

Zealots may live but martyrs have love.

Sitting on a bucket, head down, nearly asphyxiated, I pulled up my mask to get some fresh air. I took my smart phone out of my pocket to see if I had any new notifications.

Nope.

I slipped the phone back in my pocket and stared up at the moon, with the tips of corn husks filling my peripherals. I was sitting in a corn field, waiting for something exciting to happen. It was only 8pm and that early in the night there weren't many customers who came through the haunted corn maze, except a few families with small children who want the monsters to go easy on them and will let you know as they walk through the never ending twists and turns.

"Alright monsters, we're coming through! But we have a young one with us, so don't scare us too much!"

In these instances, I'd stand up off my bucket, pull my wicked facade back on, and stand at the corner waving creepily as I give off a ghoulish laugh.

Tears would start rolling down the kid's face, petrified by the clown now staring into his soul with perverted smiles and giggles.

"It's ok hunny, it's just waving at you. Let's just walk on by. Say bye to Mr. Clown!"

"Bye..." the children would always mumble, as tears roll down their eyes.

This happened a lot.

And this was my job every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday for the month of October 6 years ago: Dress up as a clown, sit in the middle of a corn field, and pop out every once in awhile when a customer walks through... plus anything else I think would be hilarious to do.

Have you heard of Coulrophobia? It's a fear of clowns and is a legitimate fear that many children and adults have. I always felt bad scaring the innocent kids, knowing that there's a good chance that I am the one who has scarred them for life. But, anyway, the exciting stuff happened later in the night when the high schoolers and college students came in with their friends.

One night, as I sat on my bucket, I heard some screams from the axe man's part of the field.

"That's my cue," I thought to my self and rose to meet the occasion, "Now the real work begins."

I pulled down my mask, hunched over, and metamorphosed into Smiley the Clown- your new best friend.

The patrons approached the corner of the maze I was at, though invisible to them I was.

It was a group of High School friends: three guys, two girls. As they approached the bend I slowly revealed my presence to them, blocking their path to freedom.

"Oh shit!" said the token black guy in their group. "I hate clowns!"

"Hee he he he... but I love you!" I squealed back at him.

He seriously darted back the opposite way and wouldn't come forward. His friends went back and tried to coax him into continuing. Then, one of the friends who stayed looked at me with fear and threw a piece of corn at my face!

"Okay, what the heck dude." I was back to my normal self now, "If you're going to start throwing corn at me, I'm going to kick you out of the maze."

He ran off and went back to console his friend with the lasting childhood clown issues.

I decided in the meantime to give them a rest and retreat back to my bucket to regain my evil senses. Besides, i needed to get my secret weapon...

When they returned, they slowly rounded the corner, looking every which way for the distorted humanoid creature.

After they made some distance, they thought they were probably safe. So, that's when I made my move. I hopped across to the other side of the walkway, tucked myself in between two rows of corn and sprinted straight ahead toward them. Though shielded from their sight by corn, they heard the leaves rustling and the footsteps beating fast, and without hesitation they started to scream and run away.

But I was faster.

Right as they were turning a corner, I jumped out in front of them, laughed terribly, and pulled out my secret weapon- the air horn.

"HOOOOOOOONK!!" It screeched through the chill night.

"AHHHHHH!!" They all squealed and sprinted past me. But as one girl ran by she slipped in some mud and fell to the floor. I took the opportunity I saw to stand over her and laugh my wicked laugh,

"HEEE HE HE HE HEEE!!"

Braced and screaming, she scrambled to her feet and ran off to find her friends who had abandoned her.

I walked back to my bucket. Took off my mask and couldn't help but laugh out loud. I was covered in sweat and totally out of breath. But that was so funny.

"Alright, scare number 1." I said to myself, "Let's do this again," and I put my mask back on as I heard the screams from the axe man coming once again.

If I could choose a body part to be

The lungs would call, or breathe at least, my name

They aren't the most important part to me

For hearts or brains deserve to have the fame

A heart it pumps and makes the body move

Without its strength no human could survive

The brain's our mark from creatures up above

Uniquely made reflecting God's own mind

Yet lungs, like mirrors, reflect the functions of

The heart and mind in scientific frames:

O2's the gift addressed as bloods choice love

If blood is God and chemical's my name

They aren't the most important part to me

For hearts or brains deserve to have the fame

If I could choose a body part to be

The lungs would call, or breathe at least, my name.

The entire world was created so she could have a place to dwell and live happily. Plants and animals and seas were gifted to her with love; a promise as a ring around her heart. Yet there she stood by the trees ashamed of herself, with herself, by herself.

The forest she hid in had a small opening of dew covered grass where the sun found its entrance amidst a sea of trees with fruit. Natural shrubbery decorated the outskirts. Out of the sun and in the shade, the woman leaned her forehead against the bark of a tree.

“Idiot!” she told herself.

Tears welled up in her eyes, the eye of the hurricane approaching its end.

“What am I missing that everyone else seems to have?”

At a distance, a complex figure approached the other side of the opening, waiting.

“Why do they like him? What does he have to offer that I don’t? They don’t even know me, I, my truest self! They don’t know my longing to explore the world, my love for the chickadee birds that sing songs to me each day, my delight in harvesting fruit that grew from a tiny seed, and my fear of living my life alone with no friends. Are not the desires and fears of my heart the same as his? What is it that makes him the cool one, the popular one? What is popularity? What makes a person more likable than another? Why don’t they like me too?”

The serpent slithered away from her and disappeared into the green sea. The hurricane arrived. Her wailing sounded like hail on flat rocks as she was crippled to the floor on her knees. Animals fearfully departed from her surrounding and she continued to wail and wail. Her world became black. The sun disappeared from her sight. Darkness covered over her like a homing cloud. Nothing could be seen. No one could be known. Nobody cared for her. Nobody liked her. She was naked and dirty. She was disgusting.

The man suddenly rushed into her space, running. He tripped, in fact, on her hunched over, crippled body but he managed to get up again quickly. Fear was running through his blood. Irritation swept over the woman’s face and she looked up for the first time since she disobeyed and ate the fruit. Their blame-shifting correspondence was briefly postponed by a noise they heard from the meadow. A figure walked into the sunlit opening as the two watched from the sidelines in hiding behind the trees. They could see who it was and they were overcome with fear.

“Where are you?” said their Creator from the dew sprinkled meadow. And as these words were spoken, the woman’s eyes were suddenly locked upon the eyes of God. He could see her completely and she suddenly felt…