“It Is No Longer I”: A Testimony
By Christopher Randolph
I think it was the shriek that caused my eyes to spring open, but it was the moaning that kept me awake. I pulled my thin blanket and sterile sheet over my head and resumed my fetal position. Some one screamed incomprehensibly. Someone else swore. An acrid taste welled up into my mouth. I gulped. This has to be hell.
Some one entered my room bringing with her hallway mumblings and a heavy chlorine stench. “Hey,” whispered the nurse, “time to take your vitals.”
“Weren’t you just here?” I asked.
“That was four hours ago.”
Four hours ago? Well, at least their drugs were working.
“How you feeling?” she asked as the thermometer entered my ear.
“Okay,” I sat up so she could finish doing her thing and leave. Her light auburn hair was tied back in a pony tail and her lavender scrubs brought out the kindness in her eyes. The devil does have the best looking nurses. She smelled of lilacs.
“You came back here from the Middle yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Yea.”
“That’s not how it usually works.”
“I’ve got to get outta here.”
“Get some more sleep and do what your doctor says and they’ll probably move you back up.”
“Right.”
She finished recording my vitals and then left. The door barely clicked behind her. I curled back up into a ball and, head covered, I sunk into dark oblivion, serenaded by the wails and moans of my fellow inmates. Why hadn’t I pulled the trigger when I had the chance? Maybe I had. Now there’s a pleasant thought. . . .
“Dude? You Chris?” I recognized the voice as belonging to one of the orderlies from the day before.
“Just call me Holden,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Never Mind. What do you want?” I cracked my eyes.
“You have a visitor.”
“It’s too early for visitors,”
“Yea. Well, she’s got connections.”
“She?”
“She.”
“Can I get some clothes, then?”
“Sorry dude. Not back here. Hospital issue only.”
“I’ve got to get outta of here.”
“Ed” led me to the vacant visitor area. Yesterday’s vice around my head returned with a vengeance. “I’ll go buzz her in for ya. You go take a seat, ‘kay dude?”
“Yea, whatever. Thanks.” The grey cloud was threatening to engulf me entirely this time. I closed my eyes to block out its roar.
“Chris? Are you okay?”
It was a voice I had heard a thousand times. But. it was definitely out of place here.
“Reverend Jean?”
“Hi. What are you doing in here?”
I looked at the floor and shrugged.
“Can I sit with you?”
I nodded and swallowed hard. The cloud was getting heavy. Couldn’t anyone else see that the room was getting dark?
“Chris?” Her voice echoed like a whisper in a bathroom.
“Yea?”
“I asked you what happened.”
“Oh.” Did I say that aloud? It was hard to tell. The roar was getting louder. Sleep. Sleep would be good.
“So?” There was that voice again.
“What?”
“What’s going on?”
“I tried to kill myself.”
Looking down at my feet, I noticed that my shoes were missing.
“I couldn’t do it.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
I shrugged. Shouldn’t I want to cry or something?
“You’ve always seemed to have it all together, Chris. The youth all look up to you.”
I shrugged.
“Nothing matters.”
“You do,” was her strangled replied.
My eyes filled to overflowing. I was glad that I could barely focus. I sighed and swallowed. She rarely showed her emotions around me.
“Nothing ever works out,” I mumbled.
“They do for God.”
I smirked. Now that was funny. “Where’s God now?”
“God’s right here.”
“You’re s’posed to say that.”
“It’s not just my job, you know”
“God doesn’t care. Just look at me. I’m a wreck.”
Through the engulfing grayness, I thought I saw a tear run down Reverend Jean’s cheek. “Let’s pray.”
It wasn’t a request. Her voice split the fog and pierced the roar, registering clearly in my muddled mind.
“You pray,” I forced myself to whisper.
She held my hands in hers. It didn’t hurt but I could tell that I would be hard pressed to extricate them. She didn’t look so strong. Maybe she plays piano?
“Let us pray…” she began.
For the life of me, I have no idea what Jean said after that. What I do remember clearly is that the roaring vanished from my ears and that grey fog that had been threatening to engulf me or even consume me entirely was melted away by a golden light. A silence accompanied the light. Not a dull silence but more of a pregnant stillness. Then there was the warmth like you feel when you’ve been inside all morning and then you step into the heat of a July afternoon. Every cell in my body felt like it was moving at hyper speed. The best way to describe it is to call it some kind of cosmic hug.
I smiled and opened my eyes. “Thanks,” I croaked.
She handed me a tissue. I hadn’t even known I’d been crying.
Seven years passed. One Sunday evening I sat near the back of the sanctuary consoling my two year old son with one ear attentive to the guest missionary. He was delivering a powerful message about healings and other miracles he’d witnessed in the field. And God was there in that country church. His presence was palpable in an almost visible fog-like apparition. There was a miraculous tingle in the air as people joined together for the alter call.
“All you have to do is ask.”
I turned my head to see who spoke to me but I was sitting on the aisle and no one appeared to be there.
“Okay,” I said, “Let’s have a miracle.”
Immediately the fog was lifted and the missionary dismissed the gathered crowd. Everyone began talking and gathering there belongings except for one woman who I hadn’t noticed before.
As the humanity parted, I realized that I knew her. She was an acquaintance of mine, Ann. What an awesome ministry she had had up until about a year earlier when she was struck by severe back and internal pain. Those had brought her music and speaking ministries almost to a standstill. Nor could she sit for long at her computer to write.
And there she was, flat on her back, twitching. Even from as far back as I was, I could see that her eyes were closed but she actually had a smile on her face. She was giggling. I could hear her naming each body part and internal organ in turn as it was being healed. I sat transfixed by what I was witnessing.
“Thank you, Jesus,” was all I could think to say. My heart leaped inside of me.
Christopher Randolph holds a Master of Divinity degree from the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary in Dubuque, Iowa. He currently lives with his family in Colorado.
Christopher's devotions and articles can be read weekly at EZRAWeb.com (ezra.ezraweb.com)
write: ccrandolph@hotmail.com
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