Forsaken, alone, and dusty. It was beaten up and forgotten. It was in the back of the closet. Specifically, it was on the top shelf in the corner of the closet tilted sideways. The closet was under a set of stairs, a rarely visited place in the family household. It was so dark under those closed doors, one could not count their fingers in front of their face. In the dark, It would wait, waiting to be found and remembered. Sometimes though, It would gain a momentous excitement. When the doors cracked open, a little sliver of light would enter. It would prepare Itself and shine its gold reflective title. The Father or Mother would sometimes open the closet doors. On the seldom occasion, It then would be filled with anxiousness and excitement. The Man’s habit was to grab his coat quickly and then slam close the door. The Woman would reach in and grab a pair of shoes or grab a scarf and then close the doors. Every time this happened It would be saddened and often disappointed, but It never lost hope in Its owners. It would wait there until they were ready.
One time though, there was a rare occurrence. The Children came rushing down the stairs to the closet and swiftly opened the doors. Perhaps this was an opportunity. Again, It shines its golden-letters as bright as It could. The Children were looking for some lost toy or treasure. One was on her knees and other was climbing, peeking onto the upper shelves. The Child reaching up looked right at It. The Child noticed the golden lettering. Could this be the moment? Was It finally going to be brought out of the dark and carried to the light? Was It finally going to find Its place next to a bed or on a coffee table, rather than Its present dreary scenery? The Child store for moment and began to reach for It—but was interrupted by the other Child on her knees finding the old video game they had be on the hunt for so long. Just as quick as they came—they left. It was devastated. It thought truly that was the moment It would finally be embraced again. At this moment, It began to remember memories. It remembers being cherished, being studied, and even treasured. What had changed since then? Did It lose some quality it possessed in the past? Perhaps something changed in the life of its owners.
Several years had passed since that encounter with the Children. It was still on that top shelf, laying there without a purpose. Dust had covered It like snow settling on a dead tree.
The house grew cold. There was no more sound of Children running down the stairs. The only noises heard were the soft whimper of the Father and the loud sobbing of the Mother. Sometimes, There was the echoes of shouting or yelling inaudible words. It knew something was troubling the household.
One day the doors of the closet opened. The Father was standing there for a moment. His face was pale and his eyes were hovering over deep bags. His presence was resembling that of a dying flower, drooping and hunched over. His shadow casted a darkness over the floor and coats. He stood there for moment with no movement. He then collapsed to the carpet floor, desperately searching for something. He was making a combination of disconcerting sounds and grumbling loudly. He worked his way up from the floor to the shelves. When he reached the top shelf, he glided his hand across the wood plank until—he found It. He grabbed and held in front of his face, bending over and staring at It. After a long moment, his face changed from emotionless to one full of anger. He squeezed it tightly. The Father then looked slightly up and yelled “How could You let this happen! You let this happen. They are both gone and it is your fault! You could of sa—you could have saved them from that accident." His lost his breath and then said softly "Couldn’t you have?” His crying became only more bitter and he then continued “They were just Children! Why? Why? Why…” He then dropped It. On the impact of the floor, It opened, falling open to pages 1646-1647. On page 1647 were the highlighted words of John 14:1, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.”
The Man noticed the yellow marker streak and read the words. He read them repeatedly. Soon his bitter face changed. His lips started to quiver and his hands started to shake. He gathered himself and rose up. He walked down the hallway and approached his wife in the living room. She was staring into nothing and felt nothing. She was completely still and her face was blank. The husband brought the book to her sight and she read the words aloud in a quiet broken voice “Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.” She smiled.
It was filled with joy. It was remembered and It was being cherished. Even during Its owner’s pain, there was still meaning in Its Words. There is always meaning in His Words.
Let us never forget to open the Word of God, especially in times of distress. When darkness surrounds us and doubt, depression, and anxiety creep in, we need words of hope. We do not, on the other hand, need the silence around us only to be filled by the crowding thoughts of anger and bitterness. No, we need the words of joy and healing. Christians often forget that.