TWO ROADS - By: Linksquest (PLEASE READ)

[Mr. SmartyPants]

My good friend John (linksquest on these forums) wrote this. They are sorta like "flashbacks" and... it's really good. I was with him at the "Princess Royal" thing and it was awesome. I got saved there, and... just read!


TWO ROADS
by John Mathis

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both…" ~Robert Frost

"The world is what you make it," they tell you, "You are the future!"
They never take the time to mention that you are what the world makes
you, and that the future will eventually go on without you.
Sitting in the warm and noisy auditorium of the Sight & Sound Theatre,
they are getting ready to show the final act of the story of Jesus'
life. I watch the curtains slowly open, to the shimmering scene of
light and joy, the scene of Jesus' ascension into heaven. Warm tears
flow down my chubby 6-year-old cheeks.
"Jesus," I whisper gently, as my eyes become a cascade of emotion,
"come into my heart." As I sit in the car and look out the window to
the clear blue sky, I know that something's changed. But it's not a
bad change, like having to go school, or loosing you teeth like Joseph
did yesterday. This is a change that feels good in my stomach. I feel
warm, I feel safe, I feel… loved.

The bright, blinding sun beams through clear glass windows as the
grotesque aroma of gram crackers and apple juice wafts through the
stuffy air.
"Now, what happened to Noah? Does anyone know what happened to Noah
and the Arc?" A large woman booms from a corner of the room, her smile
seems wavering as she sees that little Kathy Turner has upset her cup
of juice, which is now spilling over the short tag-board table in a
golden stream.
Her assistant quickly grabs a paper towel and then wipes up the mess,
and gently scolds Kathy. Kathy is in tears, and the large woman in the
corner of the room stands up and begins her questioning again.
"Don't any of you remember what happened to Noah and the Ark? We
talked about it only last week." Her voice seems to be changing,
either to helplessness or frustration, I'm not sure. Her voice fades
away. Kathy's crying fades away.
"I've heard the story of Noah 100 times!" I say to myself. Every kid
knows that story. Does she think we're stupid or something?"
And on and on the large woman drones as Caleb nudges me and points to
his gram cracker. "Dip your gram cracker in the apple juice," he says.
"It tastes great."
I look at the two golden substances, both meant to enter the body. I
take my cracker, dip it into the juice until it expands to twice its
width, and then take a big bite. I spit the soggy mess into my flower
napkin. "You should never eat crackers and juice together," I think to
myself, as I struggle to gulp down the last of my lukewarm apple
juice.

I walk the dimly lit soap-smelling corridors of Franklin Middle School
after hours. Pop music echoes from some distant cleaning-man's radio.
The black backpack weighs heavily on my 8th grade back. I climb the
steps warily to the 3rd floor.
"Why am I even here?" I ask myself looking at my watch that blinks
5:32. "I should have walked home from the library. Why am I here? I
know I'm here for something. Oh yeah!" I hit myself scoldingly on my
own forehead. "I need to get some help from Mrs. B-D for my history
report. I can't believe I forgot that!" Tenseness seizes me. What if
Mrs. B-D isn't here? What if she went home already? I walk up the
echoing stairs that tomorrow will be filled with friends' voices and
enemies' voices.
"It must be nice to have friends at school," I think to myself, "or
even enemies. That way, at least you're noticed. You can't fall into
insignificance among the shadows."
A tear falls down my right eye, like fire, it burns my face and then
drops off and hits the floor. I watch the small puddle accumulate and
then mix with the dusty floor. I wipe my tears with my long-sleeve
shirt, and then enter room 304. Mrs. B-D sits at her computer as large
as life itself.
She smiles and laughs, "John, what are you doing here so late?" She
glances at the clock just to make sure she isn't mistaken about the
time. "So what do you need John? Oh John, are you ok?"
I realize the remnants of salty moisture on my face and wipe it off
with my sleeve. I take off my backpack and place it on one of the
front desks. "I have… I question," I hesitate. I suddenly have found
something real to talk about, and I don't want to miss the chance,
when I have lost my nerve. "What do you think about Jesus?" I ask her,
looking at her drop her pen in astonishment, and then draw her chair
closer to where I was now sitting.
"I think," she says, with no hesitation, "That Jesus was a great man.
Do I think he was the son of God? Well… John, who wrote the bible?"
Moses, and Matthew, Mark, Luke, and Jo…" "All men right? They were
men, who wrote down what Christian's believe. Think about that John."
A small invisible tear falls not from my physical eyes, but from the
eyes within, that have just closed tightly shut. Mrs. B-D continues to
help me with my History Project, but I feel that something in me has
changed. Something in me has died.

Music slowly floats around the room. I pray, and pray, and pray some more.
"Dear God," I pray as hard and with as much fervor as ever I have done
before. "I want to believe, I want to believe. But how can I? I want
to believe because I believe, not because of what my friends believe.
I want to believe not because of what my teachers say, what my parents
are, what my brother's say, what television says, what books say. I
want to believe because I believe. I want to know, if I hadn't grown
up in a Christian home, would I still have become a Christian."
Tears stream down my face; I can't seem to stop praying. A force is
pulling me, pulling my deepest thoughts, my deepest feelings out into
audible words that I can scarcely understand.
"God, I know that you're real. I've seen you do things in the lives of
others. I've looked at other religions, and no other one has someone
clam that they are the ONLY way to heaven. I guess I've been
struggling with that concept, that there is only one way. But all I
want to do is believe. I want to have these doubts out of my mind
forever. I want to go to heaven God; I want to go to heaven. Dear God,
I believe in you, come into my life."
The dark room of the Princess Royal Convention Hall A is filled with
other voices of prayers calling out to God; I am flat on my face, on
the ground. I feel an unearthly force in me. It is a power, greater
than any love, any promise, or any friendship that man can give. It is
the love of God who made me. This love fills out all the sadness, the
crying, the questions, the doubts, the worries, the heartache, the
sorrow, the emptiness, the depression, and the pain of the past,
present and future. I know where I'm going when I die.

The silver cross slowly swivels as I pick up the silver chain and
attach it to the back of my neck. I look across from me at Carrie, who
looks as glum and as depressed as ever. "Do you believe in Jesus," I
ask her solemnly.
She looks up at me, fire burning from beneath her eyes. "No," she
states. A small tear seems to form at the bottom of her left eye.
"Why not," I ask, I can feel the pressure on spirit: I need to talk to her.
She looks up at me, "Because God doesn't exist!" I am taken aback by
this sudden outburst of pent up emotion. "He doesn't exist because, if
he really was there, he wouldn't have let my two friends die in the
same year!" I looked at her, fighting back tears myself, feeling
empathy for her that I never thought humanly possible. I feel her
pain, her sorrow, and her grief.
With all my strength I muster, "God loves you." The buzzer goes off; I
get on the bus, and hold back tears during the entire trip. I get
home, run up the stairs, and throw off my backpack and tears flow from
my face to my pillow. "Why God?" I pray. "Please God, Show her your
love… show her your love."
I look up and realize that all of us have to make decisions in this
world. "I'm one of the few Christian's I know who are Christian's
because they want to be," I think to myself. "The worlds filled with
people who are what they are because of the family they were born into
or the friends they've had. They say, 'I'm half Jewish and half
Christian because my mom's Jewish and my dad's Christian. Some
Christian's these day's are becoming atheists, because they have been
given enough of Christianity that they are immune to it. But, I'm a
Christian, because I know it's true, and because I choose to believe
it.

[Locke]

Amen man

Amen....

[Linksquest]

I wrote that for my writing class in my public school.... i wonder what my teacher is going to say??? Maybe she'll become a christian because of this?