The God Who Dreamed
Seated at the great desk, the Author opens the large book. It has no words. It has no words because no words exist. No words exsit because no words are needed. There are no ears to hear them, no eyes to read them. The Author is alone.
And so he takes the great pean and begins to write. Like an artist gathers his colours and a woodcarver his tools, the Author assembles his Words. There are three. Three single words. Out of these three will pour a million thoughts. But on these three words the story will suspend.
He takes his quill and spells the first. T-i-m-e.
Time did not exist until he wrote it. He, himself, is timeless, but his story would be incased in time. The story would have a first rising of the sun, a first shifting of the sand. A beginning...and an end. A final chapter. he knows it before he writes it.
Time. A footspan on eternity't trail.
Slowly, tenderly, the Author writes the second word. A name. A-d-a-m. As he writes, he sees him, the first Adam. Tnen he sees all the others. In a thousand eras in a thousand lands, the Author sees them. Each Adam. Each child. Instantly loved. Permanently loved. To each he assigns a time. To each he appoints a place. No acciedents. No coincidences. Just design.
The Author makes a promise to these unborn. In my image, I will make you. You will be like me. You will laugh. You will create. You will never die. And you will write.
They must. For each life is a book, not to be read, but rather a story to be written. The Author starts each life story, but each life will write his or her own ending.
What a dangerous libery. How much safer it would have been to finish the story for Adam. To script every option. It would have been simpler. It would have been safer. But would not have been love. Love is only love if chosen.
So the Author decides to give each child a pen. "Write carefully," he whispers.
Lovingly, deliberately, he writes the third word, already feeling the pain. E-m-m-a-n-u-e-l.
The greatest mind in the universe imagined time. The truest judge granted Adam a choice. But it was love that gave Emmanuel, God with us.
The Author would enter his own story.
The Word would become flesh. He, too, would be born. He, too, would be human. He, too, would have feet and hands. He, too, would have tears and trials.
And most importantly, he, too, would have a choice. Emmanuel would stand at the crossroads of life and death and make a choice.
The Author knows well the weight of that decision. He pauses as he writes the page of his own pain. He could stop. Even the Author has a choice. But how can a Creator not create? How can a Writer not write. And how can Love not love? So he chooses life, though it means death, with hope that his children will do the same.
And so the Author of Life completes the story. He drives the spike in the flesh and rolls the stone over the grave. Knowing the choice he will make, knowing the choice all Adams will make, he pens, "The End," then closes the book and proclaims the beginning.
"Let there be light!"
"I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving: To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it, but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor
~ Oliver Wendell Holmes
