11-04-2013, 08:25 PM
Jensen remained still, and as John spoke, the stagnation that kept him unmoving for so many years seemed to blur slowly into serenity.
He thought of Paul again, blinded on the Damascus road. He thought of Peter who had three times denied Christ. He thought of King David's lamentations of sorrow juxtaposed by songs of joy recorded throughout the Psalms.
Jensen bowed his head, grief tearing like a veil, and when next he looked, he knew what he had to do. He'd made a lot of bad choices, and like John described, he'd known exactly what he was doing at the time.
Shame ripped through his gut. Not necessarily for past-transgressions, though he could disgrace a sailor, but for the ones that were ongoing right up until that morning when he'd met Tony. He'd never been so unbalanced with alcohol before, and he knew he was facing two possible futures. One was oblivion blended with days eternal until he finally faced rejection at the gates of heaven. The other, well the other was a lot scarier to face. He sighed, forcing his stomach to settle. In truth, even clinging to the robes of Christ, he was scared to death.
He couldn't hold himself to the standard of perfection, but he still had to make amends for the past. There was no way he could go forward as the servant John described, pure of thought and stripped of guilt, without seeking Jessika's forgiveness. But yet... was the search for her forgiveness yet another outstretching of a selfish ego? Only God's forgiveness mattered, but to not do so felt like he was walking free on another man's bond.
And now he was walking himself through mental circles. He sighed, weary. This was exactly why he needed to seek meditation. If Jensen had had the answers, he would have found them by now.
"Very well, my friend. I thank you for the kind words,"
he replied solemnly but sincerely. There was no smile to part his lips, and the bright flicker in his eyes was dimmed with doubt, but he clung to the dirtied reflection of hope like it were crystal clear waters of truth anyway. About to go, he turned back. "Thank-you.."
He started to say what for, but the immensity of it all caught his tongue, and he let the weight of their silence speak what he could not. The two men nodded in understanding.
He gathered the address of John's new home safely to one pocket, nestled the Bible against his chest, and made his departure.
He thought of Paul again, blinded on the Damascus road. He thought of Peter who had three times denied Christ. He thought of King David's lamentations of sorrow juxtaposed by songs of joy recorded throughout the Psalms.
Jensen bowed his head, grief tearing like a veil, and when next he looked, he knew what he had to do. He'd made a lot of bad choices, and like John described, he'd known exactly what he was doing at the time.
Shame ripped through his gut. Not necessarily for past-transgressions, though he could disgrace a sailor, but for the ones that were ongoing right up until that morning when he'd met Tony. He'd never been so unbalanced with alcohol before, and he knew he was facing two possible futures. One was oblivion blended with days eternal until he finally faced rejection at the gates of heaven. The other, well the other was a lot scarier to face. He sighed, forcing his stomach to settle. In truth, even clinging to the robes of Christ, he was scared to death.
He couldn't hold himself to the standard of perfection, but he still had to make amends for the past. There was no way he could go forward as the servant John described, pure of thought and stripped of guilt, without seeking Jessika's forgiveness. But yet... was the search for her forgiveness yet another outstretching of a selfish ego? Only God's forgiveness mattered, but to not do so felt like he was walking free on another man's bond.
And now he was walking himself through mental circles. He sighed, weary. This was exactly why he needed to seek meditation. If Jensen had had the answers, he would have found them by now.
"Very well, my friend. I thank you for the kind words,"
he replied solemnly but sincerely. There was no smile to part his lips, and the bright flicker in his eyes was dimmed with doubt, but he clung to the dirtied reflection of hope like it were crystal clear waters of truth anyway. About to go, he turned back. "Thank-you.."
He started to say what for, but the immensity of it all caught his tongue, and he let the weight of their silence speak what he could not. The two men nodded in understanding.
He gathered the address of John's new home safely to one pocket, nestled the Bible against his chest, and made his departure.