Hi, Not My Enemy. Hi, there, in your room on a quiet street where my country intersects yours. They are calling for war. You and I are calling for pizza, for groceries, for time off and a good day. You walk. I walk. Do you walk with the Lord? Here we stand under the same sky with the same hopes and dreams, the same heart. Tomorrow is another day on this blessed Earth (does it seem cursed?) and we don't know exactly what it will hold, but I know Who does. Don't be afraid.
The LORD is king forever and ever;
the nations perish from his land.
O LORD, you hear the desire of the afflicted;
you will strengthen their heart; you will incline your ear
to do justice to the fatherless and the oppressed,
so that man who is of the earth may strike terror no more.
The snow came down and silenced all their sins.
In a great hush
theft,
deceit, and
those quiet untruths
that masquerade as acceptable
were buried in it.
The godly and ungodly alike were covered.
It was a blanket on the capital to keep it warm.
It covered that guy and the other one.
It covered grief and loss and tomorrow and yesterday.
It covered your hopes and dreams. Mine too.
It covered me. It covered you.
The snow has become the highest place to stand.
Every thing is under our feet.
Our blessings,
the guilt of others,
promises,
deception,
honesty and lies.
What matters now that we have overcome everything we feared?
What will we do with this freedom?
The Great War broke out. Not another one.
They planned for cemeteries in stadiums in the days to come, dust clouds and Hollywood movies. They would call the Saints and each of them would choose a flag to wave. It was senseless. Half the world would wake up in Hell and the other half would grieve. You don't think you'll grieve for your enemies? You will, because injustice reaches both ways and they will cry out from the ground. Even the guilty are heard by God.
"I have to protect us," the king insisted.
If he didn't pull the trigger the enemy would and he would lose.
"You'll lose anyway," his advisor said. "We will all lose."
"What do I do?"
"God's method of intervention is prayer, not war," the advisor quoted.
"What if God doesn't hear me?"
"He will."
So the king bowed his head, half certain the advisor would take it off. That didn't happen. Instead, the next Great War fizzled out before it began.
The world screams at us, "Be afraid!"
Men of Rohan,
tossed with tempest,
fear is the mindkiller,
give it no quarter.
Fear is a force of evil.
It paralyzes.
It is crazy-making.
It stymies. It controls.
Throw it off.
Listen instead to the Lord,
His sweet words of kindness,
His hope, His peace.
We were not made for fear,
you and I,
but life abundant.
The Lord has done great things for us; we are glad.
She stepped through the wall of her ordinary, clean, sparse, luxury apartment, then into and through the insulation and plaster of the same wall of the building it had been many years previous. Suddenly, she was in the office of the proud leader a great nation of which she had only a vague memory. He stood abruptly and reached for something in his suitcoat pocket. He demanded to know who she was and why she was there. She recognized the language but did not understand.
She said the only word of it she knew for certain, "Apples."
He replied, "Apples?"
He was confused, but comforted that at least she was only a crazy person.
He pulled a weapon from his coat and aimed it at her.
She smiled. She hadn't seen a device like that since her days working in the Museum of Antiquities. She didn't remember what it did until he fired. He missed, she thought, but looked down and noticed a tear in her bathrobe.
"Hey," she said.
The word made him suspicious. He stepped forward aggressively, "American?"
She nodded, not knowing precisely what he meant. She was descended from the American people and spoke their enduring language which had actually come from somewhere else. Was he accusing her of something?
Trying to convey to the suspicious man that she was from another time, but the same place, and that she had no motive other than getting back was almost impossible in her language, let alone his. Explaining that his once stately office and headquarters was now her apartment building, also impossible. Telling him all that had happened since, even less possible. She motioned for him to come with her. At least she could show him. Maybe he wouldn't shoot at her again.
"Nyet," he said strongly.
"Oui," she nodded and held out her hand. Wrong word.
He frowned and, thinking better of it, but now curious, went with her.
Now they were in the same room painted an odd shade of blue and decorated with soft couches and long drapes and skylights and empty coffee cups. He looked around, lifting cushions, opening doors. He looked her up and down. Slippers. Pajamas. He was offended by her lack of professionalism.
She looked him up and down. Sharp shoulders on a gray suitcoat.
A tie! Leather shoes. A secret pocket for a gun.
"Coffee?" She asked.
He wondered if she had any clean cups.
She remembered the translator and turned it on.
Now they could speak to eachother in the universal language of mankind.
"Hello," she said.
He said the same and poked her in the face with his finger.
"Hey," she said.
He smiled, "Hey!"
He found the whole situation amusing. She was surprised by that.
He had seemed like such a serious man while he was shooting at her.
He took a long sip of coffee, then spit it out.
He wanted to know why she had come to get him.
She hadn't. She had come through accidentally.
"You want to see how things have changed?"
He did, but more than that he wanted to know why she hadn't come to get him on purpose and if she remembered him and how everything had turned out.
"Everything is a lot of things," she said.
She knew who he was, but did not know much about him. Remembered wasn't even the correct word. Had read about or saw a painting of or, "Well, there's a statue," she offered. He brightened.
"I want to see it!" He said.
Before they could go outside she would need to explain.
"Something has happened," she said.
She led him to the window and pulled back the heavy curtain. Everywhere and everything all at once, but not a single shadow.
"What is this?"
"The sky is different," she said.
He looked but could not see for all the light.
"It rolled back," she tried to find the right words. "Like a scroll."
He recognized those words.
"Did Jesus return?" He asked.
"Yes."
They walked along the golden street to the waterfall at the edge of the city and there under a thousand year oak was the statue of a man kneeling before a cross.
"Is this how I am remembered?"
"This is all that matters," she said.
He didn't understand.
"People feared me."
"Some people loved you."
He nodded, though he preferred the image of power.
"I defeated my enemies." He said and leaned in, "I defeated some of your enemies."
He repeated, "People feared me."
She nodded.
He asked again, "This is how I am remembered?"
"This is all that matters," she answered.
