Bryan Davis: Eye of the Oracle

“You might have inherited it from a dragon. I’m not sure. But I do know this; your talent comes from God. However you choose to use your writing, make sure every word honors your maker. If you do that, I’ll be delighted to give you all the pens and journals you’ll ever want. I was just wondering what else you need.”

As they descended the front steps and pierced the curtain of falling snow, Bonnie looked up at the dark sky, blinking at the thousands of flakes. “As long as I can write prayers in my journal, I have all I really need.”

Gabriel floated near the ceiling in Bonnie’s room, admiring the new wallpaper wide vertical purple and pink stripes that matched the purple blanket and pink sheets on Bonnie’s poster bed. Ever since they moved to this new house, her father had promised to decorate her bedroom, mostly to assuage her pain at leaving Carly and all her friends at her old school across town. Finally, after four years of her father’s promises and excuses, a pair of handymen came in and slapped the paper up with little care for craftsmanship.

Using his glowing finger to trace a narrow gap between two sheets of wallpaper, Gabriel shook his head. At least the worst spots were up near the ceiling where no one else would notice.

He drifted slowly down toward the bed. With the thick blanket pulled up to her waist, Bonnie reclined on her side, propping her head on a stack of pillows and gazing at a spiral-bound notebook that lay open on her sheet. One wing rested on her arm and leg, while the other extended beyond the edge of the bed and touched the floor, her usual sleeping position since the age of ten when her wings truly blossomed.

She had just finished retacking her posters to the wall a unicorn with a long, flowing mane, and, adjacent to that one, a girl kneeling at her bedside in prayer while a winged angel watched over her. She chose that one years ago, a week after her first day at school.

Tired from her strenuous day, and with snow spoiling her plans for a walk, she had decided to go to bed early, opting for her short-sleeved nightgown in spite of the cold. Of course, Gabriel had excused himself to the hallway while Bonnie dressed for bed, and when he returned, he wanted to scold her for her selection, but, as usual, he had to complain in silence. Still, Irene had turned the heat up, and the blankets would likely keep Bonnie warm if a chill draft seeped in around the window. She would be fine.

Gabriel chuckled to himself. After only a few years, he had become a mother hen, yet without an audible cluck to nag his little chick. Sinking closer to the bed, he peered at Bonnie’s journal. She often left it out on her night table, and Irene came by now and then to read her latest entry even while Bonnie was in the room, so it seemed that she didn’t consider her daily missives to be private, at least to friendly eyes.

As her silver Papermate flowed across the page, leaving behind a beautiful blue script, Bonnie’s thoughts came to life. Gabriel read them slowly, pondering each phrase, hoping to feel the emotions with the same passion the young author poured into her words.

Dear God,

I descended into the shadowlands today. A specter of fear wrapped his cold, cruel fingers around my heart and led me into his chamber of treachery, a sanitary cube of torment that once again enclosed my mind in darkness. Can any instrument of torture deliver cruelty as savage as love betrayed? Does a dungeon’s rack stretch a body as sadistically as betrayal stretches trust? Can faith endure a traitor’s sinister hand as it turns the wheel, each notch testing conviction until the sword of despair separates peace from its rightful habitat?

He bared my skin. He pierced my flesh. He robbed more than my life’s blood; with his brazen face and callous dismissal, he robbed my innocence. He shattered my image of a father’s love.

Once upon a time, a tall, strong knight took my little hand and led me to the edge of a cliff. Comforted by his powerful grip, I felt no fear, for this valiant knight would never let me fall. Below lay the jagged rocks, the raging river, and a thousand feet of cold, empty air. As I leaned over the precipice, the joy of beholding danger with unflinching eyes flooded my soul. I have an anchor. I have a sure hold in the land of promise. My father would never let me go.

Yet, he did let me go. Nay, he pushed me over the side. And now I fall, staring up at him as he coldly walks away. The wind chills my heart, and the certainty of eternal torment rushes at me with no savior in sight.

God of wonders, catch me now in your loving hands. Fly down on your stallion and rescue me from this plunge into despair. Let us ride together, buoyed by wings of faith and energized by the love that delivered your only begotten son, for he is the king who catches his falling sparrows. Let us waltz together in this dance of death, for you have called me to suffer with you in willing sacrifice and to burn the image of your crucifixion in my heart. Let us live together in the light of your resurrection, for I cannot survive this walk of faith without the comfort of knowing that you will never let go of my hand.

You are Jehovah-Jireh, my provider in times of trouble. You are Jehovah-Shalom, my peace in the midst of turmoil. And above all, you are Jehovah-Shammah, the God who is always there, a true father who rises to my aid when the specter has taken off his fatherly mask and exposed his treacherous heart.

Ask me for my blood, and I will give it freely. Yea, ask me for my life, for you have already crucified me on Calvary’s hill and raised me from the dead, purging the life of sin I left behind. Ask me for my soul, for you have already paid for it with your own precious blood, the holy blood of Jehovah-Yasha, my savior.

And now I see it. I can give you nothing that you have not already given to me. I am purchased, a slave of love. I am your vessel to be used in whatever way you wish. If you make me an urn for ashes, a common earthen jar to bear incinerated bones, leaving me to collect dust in a forgotten tomb, even then, I will be content. For just as you would not leave your son forever in the ground, I know you will raise me up from the land of the dead. You have not ignited this fire in my heart to be wasted in Sheol’s pit. Though dead, buried, and forgotten, I will rise again.

No matter what happens, I will never forsake you, for you will never forsake me. You are with me, no matter where I go.

Love,

Bonnie Conner

Bonnie nestled her head into her pillow and stared at the window. Snow cascaded across the screen, some of the flakes dusting the glass with powdery splashes. A lamp on a table cast a dim glare on the surface, but it suddenly vanished in a shadow.

“Bonnie?”

It was her father’s voice. Bonnie slid her journal under her blanket. “Yes?” she replied without turning.

His outline shifted back and forth in the window. “I have to meet someone at my office. Your mother’s taking a bath, so I thought you’d like to know in case the phone rings.”

Bonnie cleared her throat. “Can you make it to the campus in this weather?”

“The radio said the main roads are clear. Once I get out of the neighborhood, I should be fine.”

“Okay.” Bonnie threaded her pen between her fingers. “Um. . Be careful.”

His shadow seemed to come a step closer, but it halted. “I’m. . I’m sorry about today. That really was the very last time. I promise.”

Bonnie closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

“Do you. .” He paused, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “Do you forgive me?”

Bonnie’s eyelids clenched tightly, and a pair of tears squeezed through. For a few seconds, it seemed that she wouldn’t answer, but she finally nodded, and her voice squeaked. “I forgive you.”