Bible

[excel]

“Where is it? It must be here somewhere.” James frantically ripped through the piles of old boxes, bottles, and tools scattered throughout his garage, finally spotting his prize. An old, tattered sleeping bag stared at him from the corner. He stared wearily at it for a moment. He had always known to hold onto this old bag for some reason. Crazy, he thought, that it was for this. He remembered his first camping trip was spent in this bag, along with many subsequent trips, sleep-outs in the back yard, that trip to California…

Quickly grabbing the torn, old bag he stumbled back through the garage, tripping over a loose whiskey bottle. A grunt and a curse later he was finally back in the house. A spacious front room greeted him, dominated by a large A-frame picture widow overlooking a green lawn and surrounded by forest. Not too far in the distance, a mirror blue lake reflected back its brilliance.

James paid no mind to his luxurious surroundings as he unrolled the sleeping bag. Placing it directly in middle of the living room, he grabbed a Colt .45 and a fresh bottle of whiskey from a nearby table. Climbing down into the bag, he zipped it up tight leaving his shoulders free. From his breast pocket he pulled a letter free and pulling long on the whiskey bottle, he reviewed its contents one last time.

Janey,

Gotta go love. So tired…Just want to rest.

So sorry for all this. You were a good woman, better than I deserved.

I’m just so tired… tired of everything. Tired of the business, tired of the rat race, tired of the guilty feeling, tired of how I keep treating you, tired of feeling lost,

So tired…

James

P.S. Sorry about the carpet…

He carefully placed the letter under the lip of the bag and grasped the gun. Bottle of whiskey in the other hand, he lay there for some time thinking of how useless his life had been. High priced attorney, member of the country club, world traveler, he ticked them off in his mind.

Worthless, useless, and meaningless.

He had done and seen everything that everyone said held the promise of life. It was all empty. Life, he concluded was just a momentary blip surrounded by permanent futility. All was for naught…

Slowly, through his alcoholic haze, James drifted off, suicide just a trigger pull a way. He thought about life and death, what it all meant. His thoughts turned to God and his brother in law. Always preaching God, John was, yet James saw how he treated his kids and wife. He had to have a word with him after the last time his sister had “fallen down”. James threatened to have him arrested, all the while listening to John claim he was a Deacon in the church and how “dare” a pagan such as James accuse him of such things. Whatever. James knew abuse when he saw it.

Then there was Howard Peterson who was always preaching Jesus but couldn’t keep his hands off the office girls. Now there was a man who knew the meaning of the term, ‘roving hands are working hands.’

If there truly was a God, and these were the only followers he could get, he must be some sorry kind of God.

He had attended church once or twice over the years. The sappy worship leader and the lady dancing in the front row had just been a bit much, and by the time the pastor had gotten up and prayed for everyone to ‘dig deep’ for the morning offering, James had been ready to leave.

He thought about all his money, of how much it ultimately did not matter. It was the part that probably bothered him the most. All his life, this had been his pursuit. The ultimate drive for him. Success…power and now that he had it… It really didn’t make any difference at all. And now that he thought about it… neither did anything else…

The shot rang out. It’s finality clear, its message permanent.


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Who are we, us Christians? Do we go through life ‘acting’ the part? Or is it real? Is there truth in the inmost parts? All around us, people watch. Ask the children who’s mother teaches Sunday School down at the local church. Ask them what she is really like when no one else is around. Ask the wife of the deacon who stands at the door, have her tell you what her husband does when the door is closed.

Ask Jesus if your life holds truth.

It matters.

It means life and death.

Life to you spirit.

Death to your flesh.

And all about you they live and they watch…hoping just maybe…

Just maybe it’s real...

The world is literally dying to know….




Excel - Greg