Fiction

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The knock at the door had always been there, subtle but persistent. Only recently had it become louder and more urgent. Unable to ignore it anymore Joe went to the door.

“Who’s there?” He asked.

“It’s me Jesus,” a voice replied.

Surprised, Joe paused for a moment before asking. “What do you want?”

“I want you to let me in,” Jesus replied.

“Standing motionless for a moment as Joe closed his eyes and I tried to wake himself from what he knew had to be a dream.

Opening his eyes, he placed his ear to the door and asked. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Jesus answered.

Taking a step back, Joe felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, he found himself questioning everything he had come to believe. A man who he thought only existed between the pages of a book, now stood only a few feet away. Pausing for another moment, Joe grappled with what to do. While part of him wanted to walk away and forget this had even happened, he could not. He felt drawn to him.

Crossing his arms, Joe asked. “So tell me, why should I let you in and what makes you think that I even believe in you?”

“There was a time when you did believe in me.”

“Yes, when I was a child.”

“So what made you stop?” Jesus asked.

“I don’t know,” Joe snapped. “I grew up.”

“Ok, so one day you just decided you were too old to believe in Me?”

“Yea, something like that,” Joe replied. Annoyed, Joe lit up a cigarette and began pacing the floor.

“So tell me about that day.”

Joe stopped dead in his tracks. It had been fifteen years since that day. Taking a final drag from his cigarette, he fought hard to control the anger he felt welling up in him. The silence that followed only added to his rage. Clenching his fist, he spun around and glared at the door.

“Fine, you want to know about that day here it is. It was the day you took my mother from me.”

“Yes, I remember,” Jesus, replied.

“I remember, that is all you have to say? Why don’t you explain to me how when I begged you to heal her you didn’t?”

“I did heal her,” Jesus replied.

“How do you consider that healing her?” Joe replied as he shook his head in disbelief.

“Tell me Joe, what is the definition of healing?”

Joe walking over to a bookshelf pulled from it a dictionary. Opening it he looked up the word heal. “The dictionary defines heal as to make a person or injury healthy and whole. I still don’t understand how you can say you healed her when you let her die?”

“You don’t understand because you’re limiting your views and ideas to those of man and the physical world. If I had healed her, the way you wanted it would have only been temporary. I instead choose to heal her for eternity by bringing her home.”

Joe could feel tears beginning to stream down his face. Sliding his back against the door, he sat on the floor. “I loved her, ya know.”

“Yes I know. I love her too, that’s why I brought her home.”

Joe buried his face between his knees as he cried harder. “I needed her I was only nine.”

“Joe, would you say that you had a good life growing up?”

Wiping his face Joe answered. “Yes, my aunt and uncle raised me as if I were their own. They gave me everything I needed and more.”

“See, before I took your mother I made sure that you would be taken care of.”

“Ok, I get that now, but why do you want anything to do with me after the way I have rejected and cursed you?”

“I love you,” Jesus replied.

Slowly Joe rose to his feet. Pausing for moment, he reached for the doorknob. Then after taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

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