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Enjoy A Preview of "A VOICE" I was born. My mother still married, met and slept with my father who was also married. Though they were both married, it was not to each other. Simply put, I was born as a product of sin. How does one defend themselves of such? Both of my parents lived a life of sin, so what hope was there for me, a mere infant? Out of desperation my mother placed me in a foster home, a life in which I led for almost two years. With no parents to love me and take care of me, and to help mold the purpose of me in this life. Where does one, a mere toddler derive hope from in such a situation? From where does one find love and learn love from in such a situation? Somewhere deep inside of me there was a voice, a voice that said, “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has born? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See I have engraved you on the palms of my hands, your walls are ever before me.” And that voice then brought two parents who loved each other into my life to help mold me into the person I was to become. Because that same voice that guided me through out my life, told me, “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.” I always knew that there was some purpose for me in life. Some higher calling, some path to take that would lead me to somewhere great. Never feeling as though I belonged where I was, but always knowing I had a powerful destiny. The people in this world always made fun of me, taunted and despised me. But that ever knowing voice would bring me comfort in telling me that I indeed was not of this world, and that the world would hate me because of my heritage, and the one who came before me. This voice was always there. It was the same voice that would help me to determine right from wrong. It was the same voice that made me feel guilty when I would do something that would hurt or deceive another. The same still voice that would tell me to have compassion for and to show love towards others. There were times in my life when I would listen to that voice, as though it were calling me and driving me to go on, as though it gave me inspiration in a powerful almost divine way. No matter my actions I always knew when I was going against that voice. And despite the times I listened, there were more times in my life that I didn’t, knowing full well that consequences would come, yet being driven by a strong will of desire and a need to fulfill that desire. No matter how many walls I ran into, or how many pools of tears I would drown in, or how many scars I would collect along the way, this voice lingered and seemed to all but chase me along the way. This voice was never loud nor thundering. It was always gentle and kind, it was loving and patient, it never forced it’s guidance upon me, but rather persevered in peaceful directions as if to both encourage me and protect me at the same time. When I would listen and act accordingly harm never came to me. I was always a better person for it. And when I acted upon such, I was always esteemed by others as being wise beyond my years. The battle of my own desires was always my enemy, always standing between my friend and I, that voice inside my head, that stirring in my heart, that calm still path that I always knew I was meant to take. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. Now as a grown up adult I am to put childish ways behind me. Somehow I think that if I could only focus on that voice long enough to hear it, to hear what it is saying to me, that maybe I could put my childish ways behind me, that I could be spurred on towards love and good works in my life. But where is that voice? Where did it go? Why doesn’t it speak to me anymore? Did I ignore it too often? Did I not seek it out enough? Did I not want the guidance that it had to offer? Was I too busy following my own desires? Did I cast it aside like a friend left by the wayside? Did I toss it as though it were a piece of trash whenever my own desire became a stronger passion? Did it even matter to me that it only sought out the good things in life for me? I believe that instead I was busy in life with all the people who would at one point trample upon me, mock me, seek to win me over to their ways and have me join in with them in their passions and lusts and greed. I believe that I had been enticed by my own self seeking pleasures to be immoral, hurtful, and selfish and mean. To be cruel, to be hateful, and to hold grudges, to lash out and to satisfy my own hunger. But oh in the midst of that life I found loneliness. My heart cried out when no one was around, it cried out for a friend. A familiar face, someone to love me and be gentle and kind towards me, someone to spur me on towards love and good works, someone to give me hope, hope that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, hope that there is a better path to take, one that is with meaning, one that will not lead me to loneliness at the end of the road. I don’t know for sure that such a road exists, but I do know that if perhaps one does, the directions to get there must somehow lie in the guidance of the voice of my youth. Oh how hardened and hurt my heart has become. Oh the pain that it has endured. The fortressed walls that my heart hides behind, and all the shattered remnants of pain that lay everywhere in which I step as they work their way through my flesh and embed themselves into my soul. Oh the scars of this weary body, and the weakness of limbs that so prevail. And the heaviness of the burdens I carry, and the worry of it all, all of the back breaking labor that has come from the sweat of my brow and from the stubbornness of my ways. Thinking all the time how right I was and how wise I had become, when all that had ensued was nothing but a meaningless journey, a journey of my own passion. You say, “but oh you must have learned something along the way,” and as a I ponder on that, yes, yes you are right, I learned a great deal! Shall thoust sit back and marvel at from whence I came, and all that was taught to me? I will tell you of all I learned. I learned how to care for another, only to have my heart broken. I learned how to work hard only to have earned little. I learned how to strive for success only to be unsuccessful. I learned how to earn wages that only made me poor. I learned how to laugh only to be laughed at. I learned enjoyment but only by prostituting myself to another’s pleasures and being cast aside afterwards. I learned how to trust only to be deceived. I learned how to love only to be hated. Now did I gain from that which I learned? Yes I did. And what have I to show for such gain? Shall I tell you? I shall! I gained pain and I gained loss. And what I have to show for such gain, is fear. I am afraid. “Afraid of what?” you ask. Afraid to love, to trust, to give, to care, to enjoy, to laugh, to feel, and even more than all of these, I am afraid to reach out and to receive. Is there a release from such fear? Have I not become but refuse and the scum of the earth? Are not my rags so filthy that even a friend would not care to look upon me? Nor care to let me take hold of their hand as an attempt to stand up out of this pit in which I dwell, so that I can take a good look around me in search of any light that might be seen? Is it not light that would be my only comfort in the darkness that I am surrounded by? Without a light to guide me would there be any hope of finding my way out? Oh where, oh where I ask myself, did the voice that once stood by me in my youth go? Wouldn’t that voice if it were still there, provide me with comfort in the place that I am in? Wouldn’t that voice speak to me the truth, with the protection and love that it unendingly tried to provide me with? Would it erase any and all record of the wrongs that I have done and instead lift me up and wash me off and prepare me to go into the brilliance of the light that lies ahead? As I am at this moment having been made a spectacle of in front of the whole world to see, having made a fool of myself through being weak, dishonored, cursed, persecuted, brutally treated, ignored, hungry, thirsty and slandered. Shall I dare to call upon that voice? The voice I never even spoke to but rather just revered as my own little secret, the secret that made me feel so special. Shall I dare? And if I dare to call upon that voice while searching through the layers upon layers of sin that has covered up and crowded that secret path in this heart of mine, that leads to that special place where I was once young and free enough to listen and hear the voice of my beloved and treasured friend, whom I miss so much, and that voice doesn’t answer me, what shall I do then? To read the rest of "A Voice", order your copy today, by calling 408-794-5065
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To order copies of "A Voice" to read and/or to share with others, click here to order online.
To order copies of "A Voice" to read and/or to share with others, click here to order online. call 408-794-5065
$3.00 for single copy $12.50 for 5 $20.00 for 10
$3.00 for single copy $12.50 for 5 $20.00 for 10
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