The Good Samaritan

It was a balmy August evening.
Four students stand in a college dorm room.
From the outside, it appears to be a typical scene- students discussing a new semester, dreams of what will be, rules, or dinner, but it is nothing of the sort.
Inside, you will find a battle.
One of the students sits in a chair, weeping with despair and begging for an end to the pain in her head.
Two others stand in the far corner of the room, looking on the scene with fear.
The fourth, a quiet, somewhat shy student bridges the gap.
Like Ceasar crossing the rubicon, or the Samaritan who stopped to help, she crosses the room to help the weary screaming student.
She holds out her hand offering help.
The two students in the corner look on in surpris, their faces reveal thier shock and awe at the event.
The student in the chair calms a bit- still in pain, but no longer alone.
In that moment, a friendship was born.
In that moment, the parable of the Good Samaritan was reenacted, a prayer was answered, and I saw the face of God.
It was a balmy August evening and four students were alone in a dorm room.

Poem: The Call echoes

The call echoes down through time,

The words are the same “Follow me” says the voice,

“Follow me and learn of life, despair, hope and redemption”

“Follow me and you will know me” said the still, clear voice

And so I followed, drinking of the cup of wine, eating of the bread that is life itself

And I tried to follow that voice.

I followed it to seminary, and I learned of life and of despair,

Of disease, and the strength to overcome it, of hope and bitter defeat.

I could not serve you then, for others and an unknown disease prevented me from wearing the outward signs of the ministry, I still followed. 

But though the cross grew heavy on my shoulders, and the voice seemed quiet, I knew you were leading me still. 

So I prayed and hoped and still I followed you. 

I went home, and learned more of life, of hope and of joy.

And slowly I am learning that it is not in books or schools or collars, but in defeat and hope that the voice still echoes and I still follow.

So Lord, let me follow once more, taking up the cross with the strength you have given and let me live and love you always. 

Poem: Falling Sickness

Falling Sickness

I know well that this term was used to describe epilepsy,

Though I don’t have the diseases, I now claim this term for my own.

Everything is fine, the world is bright, and friends are living life, but here I am again.

I stand in the sun and suddenly, it happens- I turn pale and slowly fall to the ground.

I come to and wonder if I will rise again.

But the one who gives life, gives me strength to fight again.

And so I live in fear and hope.

In fear that I am not ok, in fear that one day I will not rise, that the ground will be my home- that I will lie with my family near a deserted church founded by an ancestors,

A life that is too short, a victim of disease that none can cure.

I live in hope that I will rise, that this disease will be banished from my body and I will fall no more, or if I do, I shall fall in the loving arms of angels and friends and saints.

There must be some purpose to this disease and so I ask once more for you to lead to me Lord. 

Poem: "the spirit is willing"

They say that the “spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak”

I do not understand this paradox, though it sums up my life.

Lord, why do you do this?

Why did you call me, give me a willing heart, allow me to follow, and yet allow my body to betray me?

What kind of test is this, that so taxes the subject-

That makes me scream in pain-alone and tortured,

That takes away the sun and strands me in the dark,

That subjects me to the criticism of others? I am called a liability, an “inconvenience to others”, a detriment to society, and a burden, all because of this horrible disease.

Yet, without your spirit, I would completely waste away- my body would no longer betray me because my spirit would have given up long ago.

But, somewhere in this dark, terrifying, and chaotic wilderness, I see the light that the darkness will never overcome.

I walk towards it, looking at the trees and remembering that terrifying, tragic, and wonderful battle that overcame death to give us life.

As I gaze at the light, and feel the wind, I remember that I am no longer alone, that I have never been alone. And next to me, someone takes the weight off my shoulders and reminds me that, even if my body betrays me to death, my spirit is yours.

As I walk, I am purified, refined, like the best gold, and one day, I will drink from the healing stream, be washed in blood, and then my body will no longer betray me and I shall be free.