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She makes the decision in the deserted ladies room. The thump of the bass guitar and squeals of forced gaiety penetrate the walls as she peers into the discolored mirror. Reapplying her lipstick, she avoids looking into her own eyes. Unbidden, the mental image of her mother leading her in a prayer of salvation when she was eight intrudes into her thoughts.
“Where did THAT come from?” she questioned irritably to her dimly reflected image. Pushing it quickly aside, she nodded her head firmly.
“One more drink for courage, and then I will ask him back to my place. I’m tired of being alone, and lonely.”
Pulling open the warped, paint-chipped door, she left the smell of stale tobacco and the unwelcome nudge at her conscious behind.
***************************************
“Hey Derek! Whatcha doin’ after work, dude? Some of the guys are gonna head out to the basketball courts and shoot a few hoops. You oughta join us, man. We’re gonna have some cold ones on ice afterwards, and there’s always some ladies that hang out down there who are more than willing to cheer you on, if you know what I mean!”
Bored, and restless, new to town and knowing no one other than the guys he worked with, twenty-year old Derek considers the offer. He hasn’t met any other Christians here his own age, yet. He’s been so busy in the last three weeks trying to get settled in, he really hasn’t even had time to check out the local churches.
“Yeah, but is this the kind of company, you want to keep, Derek?” his inner voice questioned.
“But if I don’t go, they’re all going to think I’m a geek, or something, and all chances I have of being accepted as one of the guys are lost. Besides, I haven’t had the chance to shoot any hoops for almost two months. There’s nothing saying I have to partake in the other stuff.”
Decision made, Derek jogs after his waiting co-worker.
“Hey Mike! Wait up, man, I’m coming!”
***************************************
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for all the times when I failed you in our marriage, James.” Sarah spoke into the receiver.
His condescending laugh echoes over the wires in reply.
“And why would you want to do such a thing now, Sarah, five years after the fact? It’s a little late for apologies, don’t you think? “
“Well,” Sarah spoke hesitantly, “I felt the need to ask for your forgiveness, James. Christ has forgiven me of so much, and I just needed to tell you how much I regret the bad decisions I made while we were married.”
“Oh, THAT.” James said in a patronizing tone. “Well, I’m really happy your new found “religion” has done you so much good, Sarah.”
“It’s not “religion,” James; it’s a relationship with Christ. Since I’ve come to know Him as my Savior, I’ve finally known acceptance for who I am, and what true peace is.”
“Yeah, well, whatever, Sarah. In my opinion, religion or Christianity, or whatever you want to call it, is all just for the weak that can’t make it on their own strengths. But hey, if it makes you happy to believe in it, go for it. Just don’t bother trying to convince me. I don’t need any “Savior” to help me make it in this life. I’m doing just fine on my own.”
***************************************
The crowd jeers as he stumbles under the heavy weight of the cross. Flesh bruised and torn, the sweat and blood flowing from his scalp intermingle, burning his eyes as he tries to heave himself to his feet once more.
Arriving at the hill, they lay him down onto the wooden cross. One soldier holds his arm steady, and the second picks up a heavy hammer, and drives the spike deep through his wrists and feet. Pain flares through his body, bright, hot, and intense, as if his limbs have suddenly been set on fire.
The agony is indescribable. To breathe, he has to push himself up against the imbedded spikes. Each breath is agonizing, but when it becomes too much for him to bear, he again falls back into suffocation.
"King of the Jews," is written as a scornful tribute, above his head. Voices rise, all around him, ridiculing, leering, and taunting him to bring himself down off the cross. They jeer at his apparent inability, and mock Him to save Himself.
Their eyes are blind.
His blood drips down, rejected.
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