"But I looked up- and she was still there. And she was still coming..."

Today was supposed to be ordinary. I had it neatly planned out: Breakfast, French class, math class, lunch, music practice, homework, supper, homework, and then bed. Pretty straightforward, right?
Only 'ordinary', somehow, never seems to work out for me. Up until lunch, things went according to plan. Things were as 'usual' as they ever can be.
But then there was lunch. When I arrived in the cafeteria, I put together a bowl of chicken and broccoli to be cooked on the Mongolian Grill (my favorite thing about our caf.), and then sat down with my friend Kristen, who was already eating. I chatted, and ate a banana to pass the time. I was last in a long line, so the food took awhile. Kristen left for her next class. Finally, I got my plate of food, some chopsticks, a napkin, etcetera, and was returning to my seat when a stranger said:
"Hello there, young lady!"
"Hello sir", I said.
There, seated at the table I had been passing by, was an elderly gentleman. I would guess that he was in his fifties or sixties- but he had not aged gently. He had a grizzled gray beard, still lightly threaded with black- wiry hair of the same color, mostly covered by a black baseball cap, bushy eyebrows, and a deeply lined face- dark, like tarnished metal. His gray eyes squinted at me through spectacles. His smile was sardonic.
At first, I thought that I must know him from somewhere, and was hesitating, unsure what to do, when he spoke again.
"You're a Pentecostal, aren't you?"
I nearly laughed! Of all the questions to ask a total stranger! But, I smilingly told him that though I was not a Pentecostal, and did not belong to any particular denomination, I was a follower of Jesus Christ.
"You sure LOOK Pentecostal", he said suspiciously. "Long, long hair, a skirt, a blouse, no makeup- and a real pretty girl, if you'll forgive me for saying so."
A compliment, even an undeserved one, is something few women refuse to forgive, so I stayed to reassure him that I was indeed a non-Pentecostal- and also, to confess that I WAS in fact wearing makeup. I think it was this information that persuaded him to believe me! :-)
Since he'd expressed such a surprising interest in my religious affiliations, I thought it only fair that I should ask for his. And I did, and he told me the following story. I am half afraid to write it here, because it is shockingly ugly, and unredeemably horrible- and yet, the details of it are already fading from my mind- and I find that I cannot bear that it should be forgotten, any more than I can bear that it is true. But the story, as I heard it, is this:
"My father was a Pentecostal minister. Growing up, the Bible was in every nook and cranny and corner of our house. Dad had a chart showing everything that happened in the Bible, in chronological order from Genesis to Revelation. You couldn't get away from it- and me, I never wanted to! When I was a kid, I knew that all I wanted to do was be like Dad- to teach people about God, and how to follow Him. I expected to spend my whole life serving Christ. So, when I graduated from high school, I headed off to seminary to become a pastor. I was there for nearly four years- was five months short of receiving my diploma, and becoming an ordained minister when fate, or providence, or Uncle Sam, or whatever you want to call it intervened. They drafted me, pulled me out of school, and shipped me off to fight in Vietnam." He grew quiet, staring at his plate. "I lose track of how many people I killed there. A lot, I guess- sometimes you don't even know for sure. But while I was in Nam, I saw some stuff- and I learned some stuff. And the time came when I decided that it was to HELL with God!" I must have looked surprised, because he tried to explain:
"I was in a situation, see, where I needed guidance- needed Him more than I'd ever needed Him before- and He let me down. He wasn't there. I asked Him something, and He didn't answer my prayer. Maybe there is no God. Maybe there was no one to hear me- but if there is, then He's got a hell of a lot to answer for! He can put me in hell for eternity- why should I give a rip? He's already put me in hell for the past thirty or forty years. Maybe I wouldn't know how to live anywhere else! But I know this for sure; if there is a God, then He owes me an apology! The things I've seen, the things I've been a part of- how DARE He allow that? If he were a man, and were within reach, and would meet me face to face- ah, I swear, I'd KILL Him!"
The man's hands were shaking- his shriveled old mouth contorted with grief and fury.
Of course, I had to play 'smart', I tried to be gentle, and soothing, to explain how much higher God's purpose and understanding is than ours, and the importance of trusting Him even when we're hurt, and don't understand.
The old man listened to my little sermon- perhaps as patiently as Job listened to the wisdom of his 'comforters', and then, fixing me with a glance half of malice, and half of pity, said: "I'll bet you're wondering what happened that time when I asked God for help to make me doubt Him- to make it impossible for me to trust His goodness, or power, or even existence any longer. Well, I'll tell. you. I don't tell a lot of people, but I'll tell you. It happened like this:
I was on watch that day. I was standing there with my MC13- do you know what an MC13 is, young lady? No? Well, just remember that it's a gun. And anyway, I was standing there, when I noticed a tiny little girl walking towards me. I would guess she was about six years old- black, silky hair- big brown eyes. She was walking towards me, saying that she wanted to sell me some fruit. I don't know how much you know about the way things went back there in Nam, but we couldn't trust anybody. Women, children, animals- they were all weapons, and used against us. We had to do some pretty horrible things, but I don't need to talk about that right now. The point was, this little girl- and I don't think she was more than six years old- was in an area she wasn't supposed to enter, approaching me. I wanted to give her a chance- you know? I told her to 'Halt!' in English, but she kept on coming- just faltering her way along real slow and nervous. So, I yelled at her to 'HALT!' in Vietnamese- and she kept on coming. Well right now, I began to be really, really afraid. I didn't know what to do. So I closed my eyes and prayed: "Lord, You are the God who said 'let the little children come to me'- You are able to guard and guide the little ones. You love the little, helpless ones Lord. I am asking, that in Your power, you would turn this child around, or stop her, and not let her come any closer." I kept my eyes closed a few seconds longer- but finally, the suspense was too much- and I looked up, and she was still there. And she was still coming."

He paused for breath, his face stonily expressionless. I could feel my stomach beginning to twist, and the tears blurring at my eyes as a realization of what might be happening began to dawn on me. The man sipped his water and resumed in a flat voice.

"She kept coming- closer and closer and closer- just inching along, staring at me with those wide eyes, like my face was a book whose letters she couldn't quite make out. A real small, cute little kid. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't let her come any nearer- it would compromise everyone's safety- and I couldn't get her to leave. My hands were going all sweaty.
You remember, I told you about my MC13- that it's a kind of machine gun?"
"Yes."
"When I fired, it sliced her in half- just split her into pieces. One side of her face was completely blown away. She was a real small, skinny little kid."

I felt like everything I'd ever eaten in my life was fighting to come back up again- as though I could start vomiting, and never stop. I had both hands pressed over my mouth, trying to hold it in. He continued in the same expressionless sing-song voice- as though he'd told this story over to himself a thousand times, and had forgotten that I was there. I was crying for real now- the tears battling their way out, and stumbling down my face.

"When I went over to see if she was dead- well, I mean of course- it was obvious she was dead- but when I went over to see- sure enough, there were the wires strapped to her little wrists, and the explosives. She'd been intended to be used as a bomb.
So what could I have done? If I hadn't shot her, she'd have killed us both- and maybe a lot of others! But, there was that moment when God could have turned her around- when He could have protected not just her, but protected me from having to know that I'd murdered her- from seeing that tiny, gory little body splattered against the ground. He could have stopped it, and He didn't. I hate myself, but young lady, I HATE HIM MORE! You asked me if I'm an agnostic- well, I guess I am. I don't know if there's a God. But if there is, He sent me to hell already thirty years ago- I guess eternity just couldn't come soon enough for Him. He stole my life, and my mind, and my faith, and threw my love for Him right back into my face-" [His voice was quavering now with suppressed emotion] "and I HATE Him! Oh, God, I hate Him!"
His eyes returned to me, and they were cold, like ashes of a fire that has burnt out, and cannot be rekindled.
"So, that's my story young lady, and I told you it wasn't a pretty one. Thanks for taking the time to listen to an old man. Be glad you can be silly enough, still, to believe in something."
I timidly ventured that I would pray for him- and left, trying to hide my tearful, horrified face behind my hair on the way back to the table.
And when I got there, I looked at my plate of food- still warm- waiting for me, and felt a deep, wrenching nausea. I wanted to hurl it across the room. Shudderingly, I gathered up the dinner things, shoved them onto the trash tray, grabbed my backpack, and fled.
The old man held the door for me.
"Weren't you going to eat, young lady?"
"I'm not- hungry-" I said shakily.
He looked at me with the detached,distant kindliness of a stranger- in fact, he was growing more distant by the minute- being swallowed up in the dark mist which was beginning to swim before my eyes.
"Yes, you are a real pretty girl! Only nineteen years old! What I wouldn't give to be nineteen, still! It was nice to meet you."
He vanished down a hallway which was growing wavy as the hot tears forced their way up to the surface again. I stumbled down the opposite hallway blindly, students sliding by on either side of me like fish in an aquarium.
When I was safely out of view, I began running, the tears building faster, until I reached the altar-place, one of my secret, special spots in the fields. And I huddled in the snow, and sobbed myself empty- and when the tears began to run out, forced myself to weep, still, because it was a thing that could not be too much grieved over- because I knew that now, while it was fresh and real was the only chance I might have to pour out a fraction of the grief which the event deserved. Finally, I walked on further, and prayed, and the only words that would come through the sobs were 'I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand. Lord, I DO believe- pardon my unbelief! But I don't understand...'
I realized, with crushing force, that I did not want to live any longer in a world where such things happened- where perhaps a little girl in Iraq, or Colombia, or anywhere in Africa might be undergoing the same thing, or something worse, even as I was standing here. In a world where men strap explosives to six year old children and send them out as bait. In a world where young divinity students destroy these children, and themselves in so doing. In a world where, even in my native country, countless children are victims of abuse.
The words 'HOW LONG, OH LORD?' seemed a cry of desperation wrung from history. 'Let Your Kingdom come' had never meant so much to me before. Oh, LET Your kingdom come! Lord, I don't understand! I'm bewildered by the evil lurking in the world! And yet, you came to a world as completely dark and sinful and broken as this- and You came, and You loved, and You healed- and by Your death, You bore God's wrath against evil. And by Your resurrection, You presented Your people to God, wholly and flawlessly righteous in His eyes- because You bought us, and clothed us in YOUR righteousness! Surely, where sin increased, grace increased all the more! You are mending so many 'broken hallelujahs', restoring so much that was created for beauty, and has been degraded to hideous filth. I am willing to say that all is to Your glory. I am willing to concede that the world, and myself, are Your creations, and that You may dispose of them as You please! Lord, where else- to who else can I go? YOU HAVE the words of Life!
And even on these days- these days when life is a nightmare from which I keep waiting to wake up, if You will teach me Lord, I WILL praise You! I will trust, not in my emotions, nor in human wisdom, nor my limited knowledge and vision, but in Your character, and the truth of Your Word.

'Thou art O Lord my only trust
When friends are mingled with the dust
And all my loves are gone.

When earth has nothing to bestow
And every flower is dead below,
I look to Thee alone!'
-Christoph von Schmidt