Lost and Alone

a short story …

I sat on the sofa cleaning my Glock 9X19, 9mm semi-automatic handgun.  Having been to (what I called) the range, I sat sweating in my short pants holding the firearm (muzzle toward the ceiling).  My bare feet held down the over dramatic news paper I had placed there to catch the excess cleaning fluid, gun powder dust and gun oil mud.  Somehow, it was appropriate that the tabloid was used to catch the crap. 

Hurricane Andrew leaving a landscape that was similar to a nuclear blast had devastated the range area.  The Australian pines had all been toppled, their root systems forming large semi-circular backstops for the bullets.  The landowner had made clear more than once that he did not want people out here shooting but I did it any way.  Whenever the police came by they always joined in. 

I was alone now though. 

I had the television on ... but ... I had to be very careful what I watched.  Most television shows had some emotional content and I was an emotional wreck.  If there were any shows with little girls in them I would find myself in tears.  I hated that!  I hated myself!  If I watched a family show my heart break would interject its self and I would find myself sobbing.  I was in the deepest pit of depression I had ever been.  I could roll on my back (in this pit) and still not see the light of day. 

I was swallowed, no ... I had been devoured by hopelessness.  I had been devoured by it and then regurgitated into its layer.  My soul was sticky with its phlegm.  My fingers reeked of its breath.  My spirit was weighted by its spoliation.  My heart was conquered by its cunning.  The depth of its gloom blinded my eye.  In the distance Satan chuckled mirthlessly, and could not have cared less.

My thoughts turned toward money.  This was even more dismal.  Though I was working, my boss was insensitive and hateful.  He put me into situations that were not win-able and pounced upon me like a hungry lion when I was less than effective.  I worked at night so I would not have to deal with him all the time, but he would leave things for me to do that were increasingly distasteful. 

There had been a divorce ending a long and sometimes trying marriage.  Because of the intensity of the divorce that had left me in this situation, I had quit this job once and when I came back I had accepted a job of less pay, with less authority.  Fine, I didn’t want to work as a supervisor for this guy anyway. 

Still, I came home alone. 

I went to bed alone. 

I woke up ... alone. 

Even the cold air of a frigid relationship was better (somehow) than this.  Even when you are with someone though, you wake up with yourself, I mused under my breath.  I wasn’t blind you know ... I knew I had contributed as much to the demise of the relationship as she had.  I knew that as a man, I was responsible for the entire mess.  If I had been more controlled and more sensitive I would have been a better husband.

I doubted if it would make any difference, she didn’t want me any way! 

"Damn it!"  I shouted and clenched my weapon in fury.  I wanted this pain to end.  It had to end!  IT HAD TO END!  I could no longer deal with the pain.  I wanted it to end.  I could not see a way out!  Like a blind man in a dark medieval watchtower I battle furiously with the demon-dragon but the situation is hopeless.  There is nowhere to go and nothing I can do any way.  Every road down which I turn is blocked to some extent with the carcasses of the memories and regrets.  I turn and strike in my darkness at every thing that passes and continue in my fight, but there is no hope.  I have chased away my friends in my despair.  They don't see I really need them there! 

Ha!  The Christians!  Alas, one would think from their rhetoric that one could turn to them but ... I receive no solace.  Their shoulders are cold and their tongues are full of judgment!  I have been to their meetings but I am not made to feel welcome.  Those whom I have known from my youth, those whom I counted as friends, I hear no more from their lips ... they have moved on and forgotten me because I no longer fit the middle class mold they hold as the messier of holiness and worthiness.

The weapon is black and remarkably warm in my hand.  I hefted it for its weight and took aim at the actor in the television.  I think I will end it all ... not only am I not worthy of this life ... such as it is ... these idiots are not worthy of me either!  I couldn't do it though ... what would my eight-year-old think it they found her dad dead by a self-inflicted gunshot wound.  How could I inflict such a wound on her?  Even suicide was wrenched from my aggravated hands.  The hopelessness was now complete.  There was nowhere to turn.  My life had reached the depths of hopelessness and despair.

The pit of despair was deep and dark; and a dragon (called hopelessness) prowled its mouth prohibiting my escape.  I could not escape.  I was a prisoner in the depths of despair, and darkness closed its cold, clammy grasp around me.   It was squeezing the life from me.

As I sat there on the couch, gun in hand; I searched for a solution to the dilemma I found myself in.  Then ... as if by magic ... it came to me.  I could call a friend; I could be talking to the friend on the phone about cleaning the weapon when there would be a horrible accident.  Then there would be no doubt that it was an accident.  No one would think I had terminated my own life. 

I shook my head as I began to realize what I was imagining.  I couldn’t ... I shouldn’t ... was it really that bad?   I loaded the magazine ... with one round ... slipped the basically plastic magazine into the handle of the pistol ... slid the mechanism and chambered the round.  The Glock is a composite plastic weapon.  It is never cold.  It doesn’t glisten in the light.  It is not slippery or oily.  It’s not particularly handsome.  I held it in my right hand ... there is no safety.  My finger was on the trigger.  I reached for the phone.

There was no one to call.  The dial tone buzzed persistently.  The phone company’s way of telling me at least they were ready to handle the call.  Still, there was no one to call.  I had no friends to call and none that would be unimpeachable by the insurance company.  I could not leave my children fatherless and penniless. 

My life was over.

All I had worked for was gone. 

I was totally and completely alone.

I had nowhere left to turn, so I slid off the couch in depression and to my knees in desperation.  I prayed ... and Jesus was there.  No, it wasn’t something like you would find listed “Hoyt’s Book of Miracles” ... if there is such a thing ... I’m not sure it would bear a litmus test of scientific measure ...

but as sure as the pit was deep,

and as sure as the pit was dark, 

and as sure as there was no way out,

A hand reached to me in the darkness.  I took that hand and it pulled me out.  It was the hand of Jesus.  I have seen Him every day since then in one way or another. 

When my knees reached the floor I remembered what had been crammed down my throat as a child.  When I was a child I had been given all the laws and all the rhetoric.  When I was a child I had first believed and had no idea that I had believed.  For years I had not believed ... but now ... at the last ... I needed to believe...

I needed to believe that someone cared

I needed to believe there was something more there,

I needed to believe there was more to life than what I had lost.

My heart was cold.  My love was a charred timber on a campfire long since dowsed by a bucket of water.  I hung onto that hand with all my might.  That hand drug me out of the hole, past the mud, past the blood, and past the dragon of hopelessness, into the light of Love and Hope.  When the light shown on me, I could feel the rays of the sun warming my cold body,

I looked at the hand that had reached for me...

it was the hand of Jesus,

it had nail scars,

and calluses,

and I wept ...

because I had turned my back on Him ...

but He had not turned his back on me.

I cried like a baby in my distress.  He dried my tears.  In guilt I buried my head in my hands.  In forgiveness He lifted me in His hands.  I closed my eyes and sobbed, “I can’t.” He healed my soul and said, “I can.”  

I said  “... but, I turned away from you.”

He said, “You did not choose me, but I chose you - to go and bear fruit - fruit that will last.  Then the Father will give you what ever you ask in my name.  This is my command: Love others as I have loved you.”

Turn.

Look!

He is there with His hand out! 

Take His hand! 

Take it!