Death and Dying

eHe, the stronger, walked beside me, his backpack larger, heavier but borne with ease. I struggled. My weight, though less, burdened me, made me sweat and pant; too many desk days; too many breakfast donuts. His silence spoke volumes. I knew he knew the journey was too much for me. I knew he was well able to bear my load and his, but stubborn pride taunted me coercing just one more mile. He broke the silence, “I can take it, you know.” “Yes,” I panted, “but I’ll make it just a little further, thank you just the same.” He smiled, nodded and continued to walk beside me at a snail’s pace compared to his usual stride. My back bowed, my legs trembled. Sweat rolled into my eyes, adding their insulting sting to my humiliation. I collapsed. He knelt beside me, offered water from his own canteen. I drank greedily, thoughtless of his future need. I attempted to stand, but could not and knew the journey was far too far. He held out his hand and I shrugged out of the backpack straps and let him take it. Far lighter now, I knew I could make it. He bore the pack atop his own without strain. Then, in my dream, the scene shifted. Laid out naked, with arms stretched to their limit in a grotesque parody of a welcoming embrace; nails fixing him in place, he writhed in utter anguish. My pack, seemingly heavier than ever, no longer rested on his shoulders but on his chest. It melted, merged into his heart. His agony increased. Then, without warning, it was I who was merging into him. I felt his pain, his sorrow. He was lifted and dropped into the vertical. A fresh wave of agony crested and broke over him. He cried out in desperate pain. Then, from the far horizon, I saw, through his eyes, a looming darkness. I knew it to be Death. Almost instantly it stood before us, hideous in form and intent. It reached its bony hand toward us. I shrank back, but felt its icy fingers clawing at my heart, snatching my breath from me. Darkness overwhelmed us and we died. Sudden light wakened me. I felt him stir. We woke together, took a breath together, opened our eyes together. New life, a far different life, coursed through my veins and arteries. Colors unimaginable dazzled. Sounds beyond human ears in glorious harmonious chords filled all my senses with joy. The air tasted and smelled of cinnamon and cloves. Now, dead to what once was life, I live in that constant death that is true life. His wounds healed me; his pains soothed mine; his sorrows made my tears into laughter; my sin into righteousness. and He Himself bore our sins in His body on the cross, so that we might die to sin and live to righteousness; for by His wounds you were healed. 1 Peter 2:24, anthropomorphized 10/3/13