"The Awakening" by Elizabeth Grace Taylor

I don’t remember when I started hearing the voice. One day I just realized that it had been there for some time and I just now happened to notice it. It was like the ticking of a clock that you pay no heed to on a normal basis, but when all is quiet, it seems loud enough to drive you batty. At first I just thought of the voice as a nuisance, like the buzzing fly in the house that you can’t seem to find. After a while, though, I thought I must be going mad.

My friends looked at me strangely when I mentioned the voice to them, so I stopped talking about it. I tried to drown it out with the noise and business of life, but whenever I would take a moment to rest, there it was like a broken record, always saying the same thing: "Wake up!"

And so I kept myself running from morning until night, busy with everyday life, terrified to stop for even one second. The voice no longer just bothered me– it terrified me. I tried everything to drive it away, but even with all the noise and distraction, I could hear it faintly in the back of my mind, tickling my brain, like an itch you can’t reach.

The day I collapsed in total exhaustion with no energy to lift my head off the pillow I couldn’t escape the voice anymore. The now familiar words seemed to be screaming in my brain, "Wake up!" "I’m not asleep!" I shouted into the stillness. "Wake up!" I heard again. Several streams of foul words escaped my lips as I struggled to block out the sound but I couldn’t get away from it. "Leave me alone!" I screamed. "Wake up!" it said more insistently. "I can’t! How can I wake up if I don’t even know I’m asleep?" I asked, my anger subsiding leaving me feeling weak and helpless.

Like a breeze in my mind I heard "Wake up!" I couldn’t take it anymore, my carefully constructed calm broke like a dam, and the flood of tears came. "Help me!" I sobbed behind the tears.

It happened so quickly that I’ll never be able to explain it, but suddenly I was blinking as if someone had turned on a bright light. I looked around and realized that I was in a meadow with a small stream over to my right and flowers as far as the eye could see. What took my breath away was not what I saw, but with what clarity I could see it. I realized that what I had been seeing before had been shapes viewed through cloudy, twisted glass.

It was as if a film had been removed from my eyes, like the air had been washed clean with an afternoon shower. Everything was pristine. The sounds reaching my ears were almost unbearably sweet. I had never noticed how flowing water sounded like angels’ wings and how deeply moving the songs of the birds were.

After a long time of just soaking in the beauty around me I began to laugh, but the sound that came out of my mouth did not even resemble a human voice. It was garbled and hoarse. The grotesqueness of it was only amplified by the loveliness of my surroundings. I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop the dreadful noise, and when I did, I caught a glimpse of my skin.

I reeled back in horror at my own flesh, for it was rotting away from my bones. Huge, pus-filled sores covered my body from head to toe. I reached up to touch my head and a large handful of dry, coarse hair fell onto the ground. Shaking, I ran over to the stream to look at my reflection. What looked back at me didn’t even look alive.

Desperately, I tried washing myself in the stream, but it only opened more sores and made them bleed. I covered my ears to block out a hideous gagging sound; I soon realized it was my own sobbing. I lay there huddled on the ground rocking back and forth moaning to myself because of my gruesome appearance, hoping that no one would come along and see me like this. At the same time, I yearned for a gentle touch.

I saw his feet first, and then the hem of a garment– so white that it hurt my eyes to look at it. I realized suddenly that he had been standing there for a while. I didn’t dare move for fear that he would go away as soon as he got a good look at me. I heard the rustling of fabric as he stooped down to me. He put his hand on my chin and lifted my face until I was looking into eyes so filled with compassion and love that I couldn’t look away.

He helped me to my feet. I began to frantically clutch at the filthy, tattered garment that was hanging on my skeletal frame, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it to cover my diseased body. After a time he placed his hands gently on mine to stop my efforts. "Take it off" he said. I stepped back, eyes down, shaking my head. "You don’t want me to do that sir. It’s not a sight you want to see." "I’ve seen it all before," he said gently. "Trust me. Take it off," he repeated. I looked into his fathomless eyes, and for some reason I did trust him.

I began fumbling with the buttons to remove the garment. I dropped my head in shame as the full measure of the disease was uncovered, revealing the consequence of the lewdest of acts. I looked around me trying to decide what to do with the garment. "Give it to me," he said. I recoiled at the thought of my wretched garment spoiling his pure white one. "Please sir," I said, "I don’t want you to be contaminated." He laughed gently and reached out his hand. "You let me worry about that. Now, hand it here." Reluctantly, I handed over the rags.

I stood there speechless as he began to put the garment on himself, covering his white robe with mine. He guided me to the stream and stepped into the water beckoning me to do the same. Confused, I stepped in after him. He got down on his knees and began rubbing my feet with his work-worn hands. Pain, like fire, shot through every part of my body until I felt that I would scream and run, but I couldn’t move a muscle. Gritting my teeth I tried to keep from crying out as his hands moved up my legs. Slowly, methodically, he washed my whole body with his hands and the water from the stream. I shook my head at the uselessness of his gesture, for I had already tried to clean myself before and it had only made it worse.

Suddenly, I noticed that as he washed my skin, my garment began to disintegrate off his body and evaporated as if it no longer even existed. As he worked, he told me about his father and his family in a town nearby. "I will introduce you to them. They’re wonderful people." I shuddered to think what his family would think of bringing this hideous piece of flesh into their town.

Finally he was done, and he asked me to step up onto the bank. As I placed my foot on the soft grass, I gasped. My foot was restored! The sores were gone completely! Tentatively, I touched my arm and chest and hair. I began to laugh, and the sound was like the tinkling of bells. I kicked up my feet and danced and twirled, so filled with an overwhelming joy that I didn’t care how silly I looked or that I was still naked. He began to laugh and dance with me, and we danced until we flopped down on the grass in total exhaustion.

"What is your name?" I asked after a time of sweet silence. "Yeshua," he said as he sat up and motioned for me to do the same. "I want you to come meet my family." "Oh, Yeshua, I would love to, but I still need something to wear," I said, feeling it necessary to remind him that I was naked.

Without hesitation, he stood up and removed his outer garment. As he did, I gasped at the scars on his back– scars so evidently deep that I wondered how he was alive. I didn’t have time to ask, however, because the next moment he was leaning down and placing the robe around my shoulders. I began to protest, but Yeshua held up his hand to silence me. "I will get another one at home."

"Now, my friend," he said as he placed his hands on my shoulders and faced me so I was looking into his eyes. "I have something I need for you to do." "I’ll do anything for you, Yeshua," I said. I almost began dancing and singing all over again for the joy that I felt: he was asking me to do something for him! "What is it?" I asked.

He paused for a moment and looked deeply into my eyes. I held my breath as I waited for him to speak. Finally he said, "Tell everyone you see what I have done for you." I sighed in relief. "I don’t think I can help it," I said joyfully. He smiled and reached out his hand for me to hold as we walked together into his village.

by Elizabeth Grace Taylor