THE ANT AND THE CONTACT LENS
A true story by Josh and Karen Zarandona
Brenda was a young woman who was invited to go rock climbing. Although she
was scared to death, she went with her group to a tremendous granite cliff.
In spite of her fear, she put on the gear, took a hold on the rope and
started up the face of that rock. Well, she got to a ledge where she could
take a breather. As she was hanging on there, the safety rope snapped against
Brenda's eye and knocked out her contact lens.
Well, here she is on a rock ledge, with hundreds of feet below her and
hundreds of feet above her. Of course, she looked and looked and looked,
hoping it had landed on the ledge, but it just wasn't there. Here she was,
far from home, her sight now blurry. She was desperate and began to get
upset, so she prayed to the Lord to help her to find it.
When she got to the top, a friend examined her eye and her clothing for the
lens, but there was no contact lens to be found. She sat down, despondent,
with the rest of the party, waiting for the rest of them to make it up the
face of the cliff. She looked out across range after range of mountains,
thinking of that Bible verse that says, "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro
throughout the whole earth."
She thought, "Lord, You can see all these mountains. You know every stone and
leaf, and you know exactly where my contact lens is.
Please help me."
Finally, they walked down the trail to the bottom. At the bottom there was a
new party of climbers just starting up the face of the cliff. One of them
shouted out,"Hey, you guys! Anybody lose a contact lens?"
Well, that would be startling enough, but you know why the climber saw it?
An ant was moving slowly across the face of the rock, carrying it.
Brenda told me that her father is a cartoonist. When she told him the
incredible story of the ant, the prayer, and the contact lens, he drew a
picture of an ant lugging that contact lens with the words, "Lord, I don't
know why You want me to carry this thing. I can't eat it, and it's awfully
heavy. But if this is what You want me to do, I'll carry it for You." I
think it would probably do some of us good to occasionally say, "God, I
don't know why you want me to carry this load. I can see no good in it and
it's awfully heavy. But, if you want me to carry it, I will."
God doesn't call the qualified, He qualifies the called.
Yes, I do love GOD.
He is my source of existence and my savior. He keeps me functioning each and
every day.
Without Him, I am nothing, but with Him I can do all things
through Christ who strengthens me. (Phil 4:13)
The stinging wind gives me the sensation of tiny sharp needles being thrown at
me like darts. I barely even cringe at this pain, which seems so slight as to
what I have so recently gone through. Memories come rushing back to me softly
at first, and then like a raging flood, which starts at my toes and meanders up
my body.
I feel the cool, gritty sand underneath my worn feet. The light ocean breeze
hit me softly, but shivers still spread throughout my body. I yawn slightly,
but remorsefully, not to let it show to Shabaz. Oh, dear sweet Shabaz, how I
love him so. He was so unselfish and only wanted me to be happy. He only
wanted me to be happy. I was so excited about the day, that, even though I was
dreadfully tired, I dare not let it show. My happiness shined through in my
eyes, and I knew he saw it and was happy, but if I dare let a yawn creep it?lt;br>way through, he?urn around and make me go back to sleep. How I would not be
able to bare that! I wanted always to spend every waking moment with him. How
I love him so! He had planned the most dreamt of leisure activities.
We woke up early on that summer morn, to go and see the luminous sunrise across
the vast sea. We admired the colors, which shone on the dark blue ocean,
refracting a bit into our own eyes. No matter what, though, I could not bare to
close my eyes. I despised the fact that I had to blink. I thought Shabaz must
be bored, having lived on the beach for so long and being used to it all. But
when I looked at him, his eyes were intent upon me. They were like glass, and
filled with eternal joy and happiness.
How very childish I was during those days! I thought they might go on forever,
as I so many times wish they would. I know that there should be no time in life
that one should regret anything. Everything has a purpose, and I learned that
things change easily, but in a very difficult lesson. We used to speak of how
our lives would go on, and we would be together for all time. Nothing could
separate us, for our love for each other was so great. We often joked about how
one of us loved the other more. But, in our hearts, we knew it was equal, for
how could one love any more than either of us?
I was due back home the next day. How I dreaded parting with him! I remember
looking in the mirror on the train and seeing how red and swollen my face was.
We clung to one another for a long moment, which later felt like only a brush
against each other. Then the whistle blew and I stepped aboard at the last
second, not wanting to lose any second of time I had with him.
I traveled the long distance back home, back to my family and friends. I was
very happy to see them all, but I had left my heart in Virginia. I fell into
the daily routine of life, but without the same vigor before my trip. Oh, I had
more life in me, but it did not want to show itself, for I yearned to be with
Shabaz. One wintry day in December, I received a letter from him. How my heart
leapt for joy! In it was a short poem he had written for me. It read:
Shall I compare thee to a winter?ay?
Thou art paler and more fair
How the bitter wind shakes the blades of snowy hay
Though the days are too short to care
At times shines through does the cold light of heaven
Though often its brilliance is short lived
It hesitates no to shine through again
In one day those flashes are all it has to give
But it will not fade, you internal winter day eternal
Nor will it lose its gay appeal
Nor shall death affect this mural
For it come it will to seal
You in a frozen sea
Outside the gates for all to see
Love Always
Shabaz
I read that poem many times over, studying his handwriting, each curve in it,
and the words, I thought of how sweet they would sound coming out of his lips.
How I yearned to be back in that beautiful state, in his arms, spending my days
near the vast ocean, awed by it?agnificence.
That night, while I lay in bed reading the poem, for what must have been the
hundredth time, the phone rang. I sat straight up and stared at the phone in
dismay. It rang once more, and my heart began to beat rapidly. I sensed that
something had gone horribly wrong. I yearned for Shabaz?omforting arms. I
picked up the phone, and upon answering, heard immediately that my love is gone.
All hope was lost, the heavens had come crashing down, and upon that moment, I
could not breathe. No air would come to me, as I had such a great shock. My
knees felt wretchedly weak and I fell to the ground, clinging to the worn down
carpet of my room. I lay there many hours, weeping with all my heart, until
finally, exhaustion came to relieve me from consciousness. When I awoke, I was
on my bed, with my mother by my side. Even though a mother is very comforting,
not even she could help me deal with this torment.
During the few days impending the funeral, I became desolate. I wanted to be by
myself, and I became quite pitiful. I sat in my room all day and read all the
letters Shabaz had written me, while listening to recordings of him strumming on
his guitar.
Upon arriving to Virginia, I saw his mother at the station waiting for me. I
ran to her and we clung to one another. She had lost a son, and I, a love.
Only could we soothe each other?ppressor, for our love was so great for him.
As I stand here, with this smooth clay pot in my trembling hands, I wonder why
it had to be him. I would have taken his spot. Oh, how I wish I had been given
the chance! This man, who had brought much joy to many lives, particularly
mine, did not deserve this untimely death! I scold myself as I wonder vaguely
if I shall ever love again. What kind of lover was I, that I should think of
others upon his death!
I then look across the ocean, at the setting sun, and I faintly make out his
reflection in the water. This overwhelming peace floods over me, and I open the
pot and let the air carry away his remains, to the rest of the ocean, where he
belongs. Oh, how I love him, but I must not lament anything. I am gratified to
have known such a soul.
~~By Emily Beth~~ |
