Bryan stood, unmoving, seemingly staring at the rugged cross that was placed into his hand. No one else in the congregation could see it, or if they could, they were not acknowledging it. Instead of beauty, that people said was the cross, there was only the harsh reality of the world.
Someone had died. Someone had lain down on those two beams and surrendered His life willingly for the world. Somehow, the world had forgotten that small fact once wearing a very sign of death became popular. How could he make the blind world see the cost that the cross really was.
His aqua white eyes stared unfocused at the two slats of wood. His nimble fingers traced the outlines, feeling the contours of the nails and wounds of the Christ that hung on the cross.
“Who will go for Me?” A voice whispered.
Bryan jerked his hand away from the cross. “W-who’s there?” The words tumbled out of his mouth. His other hand grasped the red tipped cane tightly as he slowly backed away from the cross.
“Who will go for Me?” The same voice asked again.
“Where I send you.”
“Lord?” Bryan’s voice grew in strength. “I would, but who would listen to me? I’m blind...”
The voice became stronger, “Who created man so that they can see. I will open the blind eyes and the deaf ears so that they might see and hear again. Let them with ears hear, let them with eyes, see. Who will go for Me!”
Bryan’s eyes grew wide, as he choked once, but then managed to get out. “I will go, Lord, just give me the words to say.”
There was a sensation of a finger being placed against Bryan’s lips and he tried to pull away, and the voice chuckled, “My son, I am placing My words into your mouth.”
“Yes Lord. Where am I to go?”
“To the highways and by-ways, to the cities and towns. Go to the colleges and high schools. Go wherever the people will listen.”
“But what am I suppose to tell them?”
The voice chuckled again, this time, it was more of a belly laugh. A contagious belly laugh and Bryan found himself laughing with it.
“Tell them all that I have done for you, I am the One who made you, and the One who will restore your sight...”
“When, Lord?” The words fell from Bryan’s lips before he could stop them. He instantly regretted asking, despite the comforting feeling that he was receiving from the voice.
“All in good time, My son...not yet, in My time.”
~*~*~ Several Years Later ~*~*~
Bryan was put onto bed rest. His doctors were worried about his failing health. He had followed God through the highways and by-ways, into the cities and towns, preaching everywhere, blindly. He still clung to his promise.
“God when?” He whispered, listening for the now familiar voice.
There was a smile in the answer, “Now…”
Bryan’s eyes opened wide as he saw the room filled with light. Angels, Seraphim, and Cherubim hovered, calling to each other, “Holy, holy, holy, is the LORD Almighty!”
Rich colors and ornate gold elements seemed insignificant to WHO was at the end of the room—the Owner of the voice. He was numb again, until a bubbling laughter built in his stomach and he began to run—laughing and giggling like a child. He found himself leaping into the air and captured in the voice’s arms.
Based loosely from Isaiah 6.
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