Into the Fire

Remembrance

I was 8 years old when I had an experience with Jesus Christ. I had run off to the woods behind our house, and he was waiting for me when I stopped out of breath, and started kicking up the pine needles and summer moss, my rough hands wiping the tears that weren’t supposed to fall for a boy my age. I picked up a dead branch and was about to heave it into the thicker underbrush and tree cover when I saw Him leaning against a thick fir.
I backed up so startled I tripped over forest debris and fell in my clumsiness, then scrambled awkwardly to my feet, never taking my eyes off Him. He didn’t move, but it was like I could feel the concern in His eyes. Those eyes were reaching out to me, although I’m sure his hands made no gesture in my direction. When I connected my fearful eyes with His, I stopped my thrashing and stood bolt upright. Still as the air which had become inordinately silent. I wanted to rub my eyes, sure they were lying to me. Almost like that other time.
I thought I glimpsed Him or Someone once before when I was 6 years old and hid myself in my bedroom closet just because I felt so alone. I wasn’t, but I ached that way. I remember I began to cry. It was when the muffled sobs erupted, a comforting hand rested on my shoulder accompanied by a whisper I couldn’t understand other than the scare I normally would have endured was absolutely absent, and the relief which pulsed through me gave me a calmness I couldn’t fathom in my young heart. I wanted to remain there then, no longer because of despair but because of this ally I’d somehow acquired. That time I looked toward where I thought the end of the hand would be, and all I saw was a glimpse, almost like an outline when you trace something on sheer paper. And although the peace of that comforting hand remained, the image was quickly gone.

Taken from Nightcrawler (tentative title) (2007–WIP by Nicole Petrino-Salter)