Obadiah

Three

Obadiah was awake.

Staring at the ceiling, wondering, hoping, even praying.

Could he be rid of the memories and nightmares that seemed to never end?

The question had been on his mind for thirty-five years.

Silence followed.

The Lord never answered.

Yet, somehow, Obadiah still believed in Him.

The faith he had was small, sometimes he wasn't sure how he held on, but it was his.

There was still a hopeful child within the forty-six-year-old man who believed the Lord would deliver him.

Obadiah didn't have the heart to look himself in the mirror and say, "There is no salvation for me. I am forgotten, overlooked, and invisible to the all-seeing eyes of the Almighty."

It wasn't true.

He turned over and tried to get some rest.

"NO!" He cried out, shooting up from his bed in a panic.

His heart raced and his body shook from fear.

It felt real.

It seemed real.

The words were real.

The memories were real.

The feelings were real.

Obadiah slammed his hands on the bed and growled in anger.

If only he could go back in time as he was now.

No one would dare to lay a hand on him.

No one could overpower him now.

He'd grown a total of twenty marks since he arrived.

He was taller, wider, and stronger than the other men in town.

And still, he felt like the smallest.

He could wrestle a mountain lion and overcome it. He could carry a lame donkey in his arms without effort.

But he could never stand strong and tall against the memories and nightmares.

Obadiah crumbled to the floor beside his bed in sobs.

He hated this.

He would never be a real man. He would never stand tall and overcome.

He was cursed.

This was the first time in years that he'd been visited twice in one night by the horrors.

It was as if the evil one was trying to destroy him further.

How much more could he lose at the hands of evil?

Heartwrenching sobs filled his bedroom, haunting the birds of the night and any creature that found themselves nearby.

What hope was there for deliverance for such a broken man?

"Please, d-don't forget me," Obadiah croaked, desperate for the mercies of the Lord.

-

The sweet song of the Mockingjay surrounded Obadiah as he walked through his flower pasture with a crate of jars waiting to be filled.

It was time to tend to his bees and collect their honey.

It was the highlight of his week.

And the only feeling that didn't send him to panic.