Sitting in this chair, this most glorious chair, Jesus’s chair, nearly three years after my first visit to Peter’s, I come to the realization that so very far down a path I have come. A dance that was precipitated not all to long ago, could have been developed, oh so much differently had I but softened my heart and lightened my step. A dance card that has been more empty then filled, might have been traded for a warm partner to share nights fearful storm with, under the warm safety of her arm’s delight.
But here I am, still rocking to the beat of a quiet clock ticking slowly in it’s own solitude beat, just beyond the walls of recognition. God is so a God of restoration, and for the heart that ask’s, He will but grant, if we have but the courage to face our giant’s and put back those fear of yesteryear’s.
Who is such a man, that He would give such a gift as restoration to one but as foolish as I, for out of His loving hand passes only gifts of such unbelievable beauty and tenderness, that only fear of finally finding peace and happiness could keep one from jumping head first in to it’s cool refreshing waters. But so do more then a majority of fools stand, for gifts have been given, only to see the back of the one asking, as he walks, no runs away.
I had such a chance, for in she walked, with arm’s and heart open for but this simple man to rest his weary head. The joy’s of immediate recognition, an image pop’s out of a screen, and conversation erupts into a friendship that seemed endless. A friendship perhaps for eternity, even before eyes gentle light reflected off the cheeks of the other.
I remember with longing heart, the first day when ear and heart glanced her way, the vision of everything and nothing surrounding my view, was only in remembrance of a face. So sweet a smile, wide mouth of incredible beauty, a smile that never left a face for hours of time, no weeks, yes months. No recollection of what we ate or who else spoke, but merely the soft touch of a hand against mine.
I always liked the story of the Banyan tree, for strong are the great trees that our fine God has given us, sure and stable, lifting arm and eye ever towards God in simple reverence; “Thank you for creating me”, they most assuredly say. Many a majestic tree has deserved a word, but in my mind the Banyan tree stands out, for among the sandy shore of island paradise lives many a tree and flowers to delight every sight, smell, and taste. But alone is the Banyan for to stand if and when the storm comes.
There have been more then a few native islanders that have saved their own live’s and those of their families, by lashing themselves and said love ones to this tree, in a last desperate attempt to save them from the oceans fury when the larger storms come. This is because the Banyan tree reaches out and plants firmly it’s arms into the ground in reverent bow, making it but impossible to topple.
But even the largest Banyan tree’s are no match for the largest Cyclones of the South Pacific, storms of such magnitude they dwarf our own hurricanes in comparison. But the natives have found when they find a mated pare of Banyan tree’s, two in which they have intertwined their arms, even the largest Cyclones can not topple.
So such is a one that I had found, one that could not be toppled. Her being such as one that not only cares, but compliments, whereby making you feel infinitely better then you could have ever been alone, making you want to be better in yourself, this kind of woman is truly a treasure. One that wanted to see your own success and advancement before her own, and stood by with applause when the day came, such a woman would you face armies for.
A woman that you could pray with, seek God with, walk this journey with, in this life and maybe the next, because the thought of a best friend was something you had become intimately acquainted with, finally. Some one you loved to hold, more then life itself, and the warmth of her breath’s fragrance would fill your soul well into the night long after she has gone. This kind of woman you would die for.
But the giants were to new, the battles came on to quick, and the training of the warrior had barely begun. For she said it herself. Now many moons have passed and officer’s training has been nearly complete, and seeing the loss of a battle never engaged sends this man’s heart ever looking back from distant hilltop.
But now the lone Banyan stands, arm’s bowed in God’s reverence, for many and fierce are the storms that are coming, and unfortunately so alone must I stand.
How does one ask for forgiveness when he but turned and ran from giants of the past. For these unscalable mountains that have held him back from the very same happiness, from even well into the recesses of his youth. Pushing him ever to go around, or to turn back from every kingdom his heart sight, that which God may have placed in his path. Always the fear of finally finding God’s grace, how could he but be worthy, for to taste her sweet touch and to but again lose her would be more unbearable then his mind could hold. So was Goliath.
But as I walk around the shores of this clear lake and dream a dream of yesterday, remembering fond conversations of a life’s anew, I wonder if but a God can grant yet another chance for such a sad fool?
Great is the tasks He has given this lonely soldier, and lonelier still if he must face them alone, but push on though he may, with steps never wandering, furrowing along country road he will roam.
How does one say, forgiveness to plead, a fool though he has been, how does a man tell of his fear? Maybe this day, Good God will but advocate, and chance will but bring her again to him near.
So soon is it not, no more from those days, of long sleepless nights and cold winters day’s, for long have the memories of life’s long past dreams, leaving behind those cold nights awful scream’s.
A race still to run, and a job still but to do, given in orders by Him we freely accept a heart’s true, would but not falter in lessons to give, with hearts anger laughter make, to walk on in quiet step marching order’s to take.
How deeply did I know your heart did I break, when walking away, with no word did I make, but forget but I could, and walk on in stride, no man and no pride, I’d continue the path with but a glance back I would.
For stars have lost their wonder, even while lying them under, and all of God’s glory, mountain victories abound, but dull are their lamps glory, with but her soft hand not around.
For nothing can be done and no word can be said, for the lot has been drawn, so must he lie in this cold bed, for foolishly and with fear did he turn and make haste, into wilderness once more his lost love did he waste.
Wilderness is my post.
You know who I wrote this for!
By Peter Colla
“Dear Jesus, help Your poor son, if but one more time, a chance to leave the wilderness. This soldier is tired, he is cold, and it’s late, but I know if you would, that out there somewhere is another walking along the same path, going the same direction, and if You would but give one more grace, give me yet again the blessing, the wisdom, and the courage to reach out my hand and take hers, for this Banyan tree doesn’t want to stand alone.”