Spots of Everywhere

    "I dreamed you went crazy."

    The girl with wild brown hair took a step closer. "That you legitimately lost it, and couldn't help us find our way back."
    The boy sighed, digging his hands deeper into his pants pockets. "That's funny. Cause it wasn't so much a dream on this end. …Or maybe it was too much like a dream. A nightmare."
    Concern flooded the girl's eyes, but all she could think to do was nod. That was all that she needed to do. The boy felt all the comfort she meant to give, even if she couldn't say it. His mouth twitched. Then he smiled, and laughed. "But you know what? God never let go. I could feel him, never letting go of me."
    She laughed too. "No. He won't do that. He might let you go through a hell of sorts. But he always pulls you out in the end; whiter than snow."

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    I sat in the doctor's office, waiting. It might have been a little too cold in the room. …Or a little too hat, I'm not sure. All I knew was I was waiting and had been waiting for a decent amount of time. Doctor's will be doctors, I mused amiably. Nothing could upset me. I'd like to think I was ready for the worst, but it was more likely the headache.
    They had been coming more and more frequently. Either that, or I was becoming more and more aware of them; I'm not sure. That's one of the symptoms, a general state of foggy-headedness. For me, it's like the world has turned soft and vaporish. The nearest I feel to something when I have migraine, a bad one, is a thousand miles away. Unless, of course, it's one of the painful ones.
     Imagine an awl being driven into your brain. Pain killers usually don't help when it's that bad, and all I can do is lie back moaning; pulling as hard as I can on my hair. For some reason that helps, a little bit at least, but I wonder what I'll do when all my hair is gone?
    The doctor finally arrived. I scrutinized his face for any hint of the verdict, but it was blank and his eyes were hard. Is it bad news? Or is he just seared to the emotions of any news?
    I held my breath as he cleared his throat to speak. "I'm pretty sure the abnormalities are only scarring on your right frontal lobe. Nothing to worry about. Over fifty percent of people have scarring on their brain."
    There was an instant after he said that - as I digested the news - when I felt the floor fall away. Like that moment on a roller coaster when you reach the top of the first hill and stop. Your gut shifts up, your feet want to dangle; as if you're suspended between earth and sky, right before you plummet into oblivion.
    The doctor kept talking, but I'm not sure what he said. I don't think I heard most of it.

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The average IQ is one hundred. The average American house is composed of one and a half parents and two and a half kids. Somewhere between forty and eighty-eight percent of evangelical kids leave the Church when they reach college age and over fifty percent of people have scarring on their brain. Some of those numbers are just guesses made up by yours truly - based on past knowledge - but, if I'm reading Matthew 7:13-14 right, then it's also average to go to hell.
    "For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few."


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    I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. My head was made of throbbing pain. I walked in and out of dreams of my own design, trying to distract myself from the migraine. Then the demons came.
    They whispered failure and fear. Regret over things they knew would hit home with me, nailing me right in my weak spots. "They don't need you. They don't care. See?" they'd say, bringing to mind painful memories. "None of them understand you. They never will."
    Now I tossed and turned to get away from them; subconsciously trying to shake the blotches off skin that they said were there. Sleep descended; troubled and restless.



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I wandered out in the woods that day to talk to God. Rather, to be consoled by him. Trouble never seems to cease crashing over me, and all I wanted was for him to say it was alright; to touch me. Instead, I ended up thanking him for all of. I gave up my emotions, saying that if I never felt joy on this earth again it was okay by me. Jesus has bought my life, and, knowing that, I was able to be okay with the sadness.
    A few days later I went walking again, for the same reasons. This time, I cannot for the life of me explain why, I ended up forgiving people instead. I went down the secret list of my long held grudges and scratched them out.
    It was the last thing I expected to help me feel better, but suddenly I was so free. I felt as light as a breath of fresh air. Something in my heart had changed as I said my, "I forgive you"s aloud, and I knew, deep down, that the wrongs done to me were gone. Come judgement day, when every action is taken into account, I knew I would not testify.
    Let the trees and the birds and the bees tell what happened. Let the rocks and the walls and the dust cry out. I only know Jesus Christ crucified, the Love that that entails. And that is all I shall ever give a testimony of. That is all I want to know.


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Do the spots make the leopard? Or the leopard the spots? …God makes the leopard, and through the blood of his Son, Jesus, washes the spots white as snow.