The Secrets of Eden

Imagine a group of six high school seniors going on a three-week hiking trip through the Appalachian Mountains. No adults, no laptops, very scarce electricity, and a ton of miles between where you started and where you're going. Imagine spending that kind of time with your closest friends, just exploring God's masterpiece endlessly and forever, with the sunlight filtering through the trees, and the clouds lilting over golden wheat fields all around you–falling asleep beneath the Universe every night nestled beside the people that meaning everything to you, without a single worry in the world. Doesn't that sound like perfection? What could be better than that?

We Are The Battlefield

There's an old gospel hymn that says,

"Oh when the Saints, go marching in! Oh when the Saints go marching in! Oh Lord I want to be in that number, when the Saints go marching in!"

This song was used for funeral marches, as a procession would escort the deceased to the cemetery for burial. It offers the beautiful thought of joining the Lord's host of Saints and Believers after death, and becoming one of God's Army once we return home.

The Donkey And The Lion

He looked a little like Golom, from The Lord of the Rings, or maybe Yoda from Star Wars, but he was completely black. He was permanently hunched over, like his spine was molded to the inside of a crescent moon. His skin was dark and scaly like a snake’s, his eyes were glowing a dull yellow-brown, and his pupils were as narrow as a cat’s. He sat clinging to the foot of my bed, watching me with his glowing eyes. In the darkness, I could make out his eery silhouette against he moonlit window behind him.

He had been there every night for the past month. The first night, I had started screaming. My parents had come in and assured me that nothing was there– even though I could see his eyes following me the entire time. They simply couldn’t see him, and told me to ignore it and go back to bed. The second night, I had tried to talk to him, but he just hissed and growled at me, mumbling sharp words in a language I’d never heard before. The third night, I tried to move him, but the moment I laid a finger on him, my skin started to burn. I couldn’t touch him without searing pain, even while wearing gloves. After the first week, I gave up trying to get rid of him. I left him there, staring at me for hours as I tried to sleep.

Mercy

     A moment before, Mercy was standing there. I turned around, and suddenly she wasn't. I was afraid to look down out of the window, to the bright green lawn outside. I just stared out of the open window, at the clear blue sky, and the apple tree orchard. Nadia came in behind me, but I didn't hear what she asked me. A second later, an aching screech unmistakably from our mother's throat echoed up the hallway, followed by shouting. I was rooted to the spot, my brain frozen.

     She had been in an irregular mood lately– wandering through the large house aimlessly, as a ghost. In fact, she had been pale as a ghost, too. She didn't speak much, but had begun to stare at nothing, as if in thought, much of the time since her return to the estate. Her normally effervescent voice would be so welcoming in the mornings, and quite animated after a glass or two of her favorite deep red wine from the Kenworths' vineyard. More recently, however, she was lackadaisical and solemn. We had all wondered furtively what had occurred at the Women's College to have affected her, but we didn't ask in the case that she might be offended. Her sudden introversion had put the house in a pensive mood, and we were all hoping that she might surface at some point, and perhaps awaken her usual self, never the wiser that she may have acted strangely at all. As this was not the case, however, I regret not questioning her reservedness immediately upon her homecoming.