A Prelude to Silence

Though I am posting A Prelude to Silence in November of 2018, it was initially written in June of 2015, before college. This has sat as an unspoken (ironically speaking) third part to the Novelette, and after rediscovering it, I figure… “Eh, why not?”

As a further note, after three and a half years of life events and God working His unfathomable plan, I will say that there are certain views about future spouse stuff and guy-girl relationships that have changed in my mind, but I am thankful that the heart of what this Novellete speaks of remains unchanged. The characters as well retain their shimmer and connection to my heart and dreams.

Take from this what you will, as will I.

The theater was silent, and rows upon rows of empty seats faced a pair of closed curtains on the stage. Meanwhile, a peculiar draft swayed the curtains ever so slightly, creating somewhat of a haunting presence. It was completely dark in the theater, until, at the sound of a click, followed by a faint reeling sound, streams of light began to escape from between the two curtains as they retreated to opposite sides of the theater, revealing a black, empty stage lit up by the many lights above.

After this ghost-like commotion had come to a conclusion, two pairs of footsteps could be heard coming from the backstage. These reverberating footsteps grew louder and louder until a young man and young woman appeared from the shadows. They slowly strolled across the illuminated stage, coming to a  stop at the front, and with an aura of nervous reflection, faced the empty seats. The air was still, yet perfumed with the aroma of confusion, and both had many things to say, yet were at a loss for words.

“I-..” started young man, letting out a quavering exhale, “I wanted to say goodbye.” He lowered his head, knowing that this was the right thing to do, and the young woman, taking a discreet glance to her left, linked her fingers together in shyness. A moment or two passed while she tried to collect her thoughts, and though she already knew the answer to the following question, she asked, “This won’t happen again?” “No,” he replied, shaking his bowed head. He paused to inhale a shallow breath, knowing the Divine Providence of such an occasion. “It wasn’t for me to decide.” The young woman lowered her gaze, pursing her lips. With a solemn composure of gracefulness, he looked up and to his right, gently smiled, and softly spoke the words, “Thank you.” The young woman turned to her left and smiled back.

The look in his eyes seemed to hold a thousand words, yet he had sufficed to say an unspoken farewell. And so with a humble nod, she turned towards the backstage and began walking to the exit door. However, with every step that she took, the distances in between grew smaller and smaller. She could tell that there was so much he wanted to say, but didn’t say anything; as though he had a grand explanation, but took up the sacrifice of keeping silent.

Sluggishly approaching the outskirts of the backstage, she came to a halt, internally crumbling under such ambiguity. In a most disoriented manner, she quickly turned around to speak, but before a single word could leave her mouth, a cold wave of anguish overwhelmed her. The stage was completely bare, and all that was to be seen in the distance were the silhouettes of empty seats. Yet at the exact spot where he had never stood, there laid an envelope with her name on it. For a brief moment she paused, staring at it with uncertainty, but none the less, she walked towards the front of the stage and gently picked it up. She opened it with delicate fingers, tenderly pulling out the piece of paper, and carefully unfolding it. It read a few, simple words, but they warmed her heart with encouragement, and they said all that needed to be said.

Beneath those few words, however, whether she noticed it or not, there was a subtle undertone. And within such a hidden concept, there was a certain principle to be realized, which is this: just as music does not always consist of sound, but the absence thereof, so does a play on stage. Just because no one is speaking or revealing their identity, does not mean the actors have missed their cues. It does not mean the Director made a mistake, nor does it mean the plot-line has become stagnant.

And although she stands alone in a vacant theater, it does not mean that the play has not already begun. For even though the audience has yet to arrive, the Director has been busy at work, preparing and producing a masterpiece that will echo through time, whether in the world’s knowledge or simply a humble family’s legacy, but certainly in the faith-full archives of heaven. For now, however, He only asks that His two main characters (aside from the Lead Role) seek Him with all that they are, and focus on the scene at hand.

Even so, the paths have been crossed, but not yet intertwined. The costumes have been sown, but not yet worn. The set has been built, but not yet placed. The lines have been scripted, but not yet said. The blocking has been directed, but not yet done. And the cast has been chosen, but not yet realized.

As for her, she only need enjoy the show,
Because God’s plans will move mountains.
The following scenes are of seeking the Lord,

And as for the young man, well…
Silence can speak louder than words.

First Camera! First Day! First Mistakes?

The Helen Keller Within Us All

I went to the last play by CB Productions that I will ever see: The Miracle Worker.

It was a play about Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller.

I have literally spent hours trying to put my introspection to words, meanwhile deleting everything that I type because I find it impossible to articulate not just how incredible the play was, (Kyra Heaps became Helen Keller: enough said) but how deeply moved I am by the comparison of Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller, to Jesus Christ and the Christian.

All of that to say: I give up.

However, suffice it to say this:
If only every Christian could see how desperately Christ wants to communicate with us. He literally gave His life so that He could be our eyes, our ears, our hands, and our feet. He continuously woos us to Himself, willing to go to whatever length it may take to show us that He is the way, the truth, and the life. His disciplinary measures are capable of stripping away everything that we have in order to simply show us that we must be fully reliant upon Him to live according to God’s means and will. And even when He does go to such measures, it is all too easy for us to flail our arms and mistake His love for hate. However, even when He disciplines us in the harshest of ways, although we can’t visibly see Him, audibly hear Him, or physically touch Him, we must remember that He does what He does out of love and not out of hate (Proverbs 3:12, Hebrews 12:6). When Helen Keller was learning to communicate, Annie Sullivan did whatever it took to teach her. Likewise, Christ died on a cross in order to become our only means to communicate with God, and communication with God is the only way for a Christian to successfully live according to the Word of God. Only when we realize our dependence upon Christ may we love Him with everything that we are, humbling submitting to everything that He and the Father would have us to do. All to say, we love Him because He first loved us (I John 1:19).

And even when we can’t see that, hear that, or sense that, we must never forget,

“We live by faith and not by sight” (II Corinthians 5:7).

Miss Umbrella

Miss umbrella, who you are:
A mystery beneath a star.
Oh, your silhouette shines bright,
Like a shadow out of sight.

Miss umbrella, how you hold
Your umbrella, oh so bold.
You are faithful in the rain.
You keep courage in all pain.

Miss umbrella, why so shy?
Your beauty glows beneath the sky.
And while you waltz as raindrops fall,
I hear your voice’s lovely call,

“Oh, my darling, hear me true.
I will truly wait for you.
This umbrella shelters two.
This umbrella welcomes you.”