It Shall Be Life…

Thus, if there are afflictions, there are also comforts: great consolations, great chastisements. There is a comforter, and there is a chastener. Every man must taste of death: every man must taste of life. It shall not be all bitter nor all sweet for any. It shall be life. The unseen ministers of a stupendous equity have their eyes and their hands about every man’s portion; ‘as it is written, he that had gathered much had nothing over; and he that had gathered little had no lack.’

It is the same earth for all; the same earth for the dead, great and small; dust to dust. The same earth for the living. ‘Thorns, also, and thistles shall it bring forth,’ and God provides the flowers too. ~ Wylder’s Hand – Le Fanu

I woke up at three a.m. today, thinking I heard a noise. I couldn’t say what it was, but I had the strangest feeling. My thoughts were racing like I just had a cup of coffee. Rattling around in the forefront of my mind was a fully-formed suicide note. I couldn’t stop reciting it. For what it’s worth, it was some of my best writing, perfectly worded, succinct, flawless logic…

This is the second time I’ve experienced this phenomenon, and both times, when I think about it later, I cannot recall the specifics. The fever passes with the coming of the day and I only remember generalities. In this morning’s letter, I aired a number of clear grievances towards God, wondering at how small a step it is to go from realizing how little the name of Christ means today in either Heaven or Earth, to questioning how much, indeed, it’ll be worth in the afterlife. Oh the apologists can rationalize away any ill-fated turn of providence, and on their say-so, we’d have to believe both that God never answers prayers and that He is always answering them. They have it so that God is both sovereign and in control of all things, while also being in control of nothing.

Once I woke up and came under the power of a *wholly* different Spirit, I realized this was likely an early-morning demonic attack. But it’s a curious one. The devil has plenty of wily minions walking the Earth – why not have one of them knock me off? Why all the wrankling to have me end it myself? Well…I don’t care one way or the other about why Satanists (or Satan himself) do what they do, and despite the expert rationale of my dream-like demon letter, I think I’ll stay around.

And yet, how much of a Christian can I be if this is one of my problems?

I feel like the villain in a Sharidan Le Fanu novel. He’s so good at describing villainy and I can’t help but see myself in his villains. They have me examining and re-examining my own motivations and causes for action. More often than not, I’m just as selfish, cunning, and wicked as any of them. I can’t help it. I hate myself for it. And while I’d like to say that I sometimes am able to act with a higher purpose and fulfill the dictates of love, I can only do so by admitting that when it happens, it happens accidentally. More often, when I try to do good, it turns out terribly.

Love, however, covers a multitude of sins…God forgive me.

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