On the third day, He rose again.

One heart entangled in a chaotic stupor of trivial errors. Breathing every moment made for uncertainty.

Violent unbelief scares off a young man's dream. In a famine of sleep and loss of speech, the warm kiss of nature suddenly turns to a bloody wrath of the wind. Blank walls raised from miniature lies, when the ones you ate with on the same table becomes stranger as a foe. There you find the soil with utmost worth.

God's beautiful grace made sure that the skies cover this earth, for in moments that there's no more right left to see on all sides, you look up to the sky as tears remain in your face and will never fall down to the ground, until you feel it transform to a tiny river gushing forth from your weary eyes down to your pale face.

True, pain can make you numb. But life is never painless, take heart it is never joyless also. Enveloped emotions are rarely fruitful.

Losing hope is easy, just let go of your conscience and its a done deal. The good thing about hope is although you thought you lost it all, it chose to remain inside of you and would surely make a comeback not for your own glory but for your worth by virtue of a wooden cross. “Apart from me you can do nothing” such kind words from the lover of your soul.

You screwed up this life, big time, there's no turning the spotlight to you again, you had it all, the applause of your peers is but a silent stare. Everyone wonders how so much mud ended up on your face without anyone noticing. No one to point a finger to, even the mirror might turn its back on you. Where do you go?

Some people jumped to their death. Some took a bath with their own blood. Some smiled. Some knelt down. Some did the same thing, even worse. Some defended themselves. Some wrote blogs. But the solid truth is, most of them died. The remaining ones are yet to die.

Death, so tragic yet sweet. Ferocious yet silent. Death has his own time, but never on yours, it would never knock on your door to warn you and make you pack your bags. It doesn't come with a return address in case you still want to live an extra day. It's there, it sure is.

If there is one thing about death that mortals should learn to live with is that – IT IS NOT FINAL!

There is a second verse to your life song, there is a victory proclamation to your life service, there is a coat of comfort to your yoke-swollen shoulders, there is “well done” note to the servant from the Master. But let us not forget, there is also a fiery fire to blaze a life lived in the dark.

There is no safer time than now to read those words again “On the third day, He rose again”. Praise Him for the blood. Nothing else could make you whole again. No one else to lift your head again, None can compare to how He loved you. Not for who you are, but because of what He's done, not because of what you've done, but because of who He is.

The Legend of the Thorn Sower

“Ladies and gentlemen this is your captain speaking, we are expecting partly cloudy skies upon arrival at our destination airport. I hope you enjoy the flight”

It was not your ordinary flight on time day, in fact the plane flew four hours later than expected. As the first group of passengers lined up for boarding, the flight crew was very warm in checking the boarding passes.

Everyone is seated. All trust are hosted on the plane's cockpit. No electronic signals are allowed to interfere with that of the plane's.

A young girl opens her book, reads her favorite part. Words that inspired her before never fail to inspire her still. It was a book given to her by her friend, it was a few years ago that her friend left her for good. She never knew what happened to her friend but every time she flips the pages of her book, she remembers the color of the night when they shared tears together.

Two seats ahead of the girl was an old man, in his age, he is very excited to see his beloved son. How many years was that? Five years! What have happened to his son, he never answered his letters, he never even tried to contact him.

“Mommy! How long are we going to fly?” Trisha asked her mom. As if she heard nothing, her mom just brushed her hair and quietly smiles, dreaming of the warm embrace of her beloved, none can compare to the feeling of being reunited to Randy, ah! None sweeter than her husband's name.

“Can I call you when we get there?” a young bachelor asking the beautiful lady beside him whom he just met. She just nodded. A simple nod, but for the young lad, it meant everything.

A few notches ahead, as the clouds swallowed the 150 plus seater, turbulence sets, engaging the beautiful view from the wing side to a ferocious grip of courage. A sudden surge would prove fatal, no one knows. Everyone is venturing in limbo.

Calming peace.

35,00 feet from the ground, doubts begin to pile up with the pressure rising up, something went wrong with the right wing. Bonnie saw it and she already told herself, “I'm gonna die”

Fear permeated an almost dim lit section of the plane.

Empty bottles and waste bags are scattered on the floor.

The captain remains silent, he knows what to do in this kind of situation. He never fear death, though it was his first time to encounter such arrogance of nature, he simplified his options.

“I have to keep the plane on the air as long as I don't see a safe place to land”

The plane started to plunge.

“God help us” the captain uttered in a near hopeless situation.

There was a loud roaring sound, the speed of the plane collapsing to the mountain top was so quick to introduce death to everyone. The other wing catches fire, a loud beeping sound surrounded the dying plane.

To hold their breath is what everyone can do the most.

It did not help either.

Smoke.

Blood.

Smell of gasoline.

You could witness a canvass of dead people and the carcass of the airplane. How many were dead? Who would know? Except one.

It was the captain of the plane. The master and commander of the deceased airbus. To some stroke of luck, he was the only one standing. He was the only one left to tell the story. But who would believe him? and who will be the first one to listen to him?

He tried to measure the magnitude of the damage done. But how? Does he need to count the casualties? Search for them? There are 180 of them, where would he start?

It's easier to walk around a parked plane than to walk pass the pieces of a demolished plane.

He can't stand the sight of lifeless bleeding bodies, he walked far from the plane, he could still see it, he walked a little farther, but he could still see it.

As he puts his eyes away from the plane, he saw fields of green. Beyond that are tall trees, maybe protecting a small wildlife community. Those trees could provide food and shelter for him. He walks slowly, his every step was heavy as if he is wearing an iron shoes.

A few steps inside the forest, he could see darkness, uncertain darkness. But at the heart of the forest, there seem to be a small light. Regardless of its size, it amplified something in his heart, something that was left intact amidst the bruises and pain that he suffered from the plane crash.

He is not sure where that light is coming from but amidst this twilight zone, there it is. It may take long before he gets there, but the one thing that remained in his heart was so sure he is never alone.

Hope.

The only thing that he holds on to.

He never know when his life will last.

He never know how many steps are left before hope dries up.

It's painful to be alone, without anyone to encourage him as he walks towards that light. But one great servant of God once said;

“The classroom I went to was so difficult, the lessons are so painful, but Jesus stood in front of the class. And that's why I learned a lot”1

There may be a hundred steps left, or even a thousand, but for the captain, it won't matter for he is not the captain of his life anymore.

The forest swallowed him.

There was no trace of him from where he came from.

Silence.

Footnotes (quoted italic text)
1. Corrie ten Boom, Door to Repentance, 1971