Sure Type Thing

Dark things won’t come calling here. They are shut out, shut off and removed from the solid mass of belief.

You are sitting in the lounge, flung on a couch with a weather-worn book held open in your hands. You smooth the curling pages, smiling at the wear they have endured. They are beautiful and soft, yellowing on the edges because of the pure love that you have put into the use of turning forward in the story. Strength sits across from you on a settee, hands folded neatly in his lap, watching the wall and smiling every time an emotion is experienced in the room. Your ears wide open for the sound of the door; Strength springs from the couch at the soft knock of notification and marches steadily to the entrance. The door is cracked and peeking through the space are two figures: one is in blue, the other is in black.

A quiet mumbling is heard from the lounge and you turn back to your book just as Strength comes back in.

Two rather unfortunate characters to see you. He thinks. You can hear him.

Who is it? You ask, curiosity getting the better of you as you slowly dog-ear your corner and fold the book closed. You begin to get up and you hear a No, don’t get up. If you want, I can show them in…

But who is it? You think back, insisting on the identification.

Sorrow and Doubt.

Your head turns away from Strength for a moment and you look at the mantle. On the frame there is a small picture of every place you have visited. You glance over the rainy beauty of England and the industrialized landings of Montreal. The warm sunshine of Mazatlan and shambly poverty of Belize. So much variety, so much difference. So much potential for good.

No, I don’t need them here again. They made a mess last time they were allowed in.

Strength walks over to you and kisses you on the forehead. Thats it, love.

He walks back into the hallway and with a soft snap, you hear the door close.

Through Christ Who Strengthens Me.