When All Else Fails (A Push of a Button Novella)

Chapter Eight

What was he trying to imply? Did he think Seb didn't want to use what he'd been given? He remained by the window and watched the man leave. Then he went and sat at Viv's bedside, watching the light play over her fiery curls. Mr. H's words kept replaying in his mind. Someday, you will come to a point where you and you alone must decide. Decide what? He dropped his head into his hands, and, for the first time since he'd first come face to face with the Maker, he prayed.

Well, maybe prayed wasn't the right word. He didn't know what to say, and what came out ended up being a tangled mess in his head. He slid off the chair to his knees on the thickly carpeted floor, the position just feeling right. Something inside him cracked, and he bent until his face pressed into the shaggy gray carpet. He needed to make himself small, to show that he understood who he was and what his place was before the Creator of all things.

He didn't understand how, but somewhere deep inside, a still, small voice asked what he thought he was doing shaking his fist at a God who had sacrificed everything for him. Couldn't he sacrifice even the smallest comforts in exchange? Couldn't he give up his home for the One who never had an earthly one? Couldn't he set aside his pride, which was so unwarranted, to kneel before the One who watched His own Son die for he who deserved it less than any?

The voice never grew louder than a whisper, a breeze through his soul, but the One speaking may as well have shouted into the void inside of his heart. He flinched and sobbed at the accusations even though they weren't physical blows or even spoken words in the silence.

They may as well have been, though. Coming face to face with his own ungratefulness tore through his chest like a sword cleaving him in two. He wanted to retreat or shut out the voice, but how would he do that? The voice was inside of him, not outside. Escape wasn't an option.

He curled his fingers into his hair, and his chest tightened. Mr. H had been right. He didn't see things clearly at all. The only things he saw were the pain and misery. Nothing inside of him was grateful for this or saw any opportunity to rise above the trial. He burst into tears. How wrong was that? He'd been given everything he needed, after all. He was safe right now, even, which was more than he was even promised, now that he thought about it.

He huddled there on his knees, arms around his middle and sobbing like a child. A pain that went deeper than any physical pain lodged itself in his very soul, and he pressed a hand to his chest. A grief deeper than any he'd ever known settled over him. He had no words to say. Nothing of his own was left anymore, or what was seemed flimsy. Still, something did come out, even if he couldn't put anything into words anymore. The bitterness, anger, and fear dissipated in the face of an overwhelming peace, one that brought him back to the brink of tears. Only one thing came to mind in that moment: confess and be washed clean.

When he finally opened his eyes and returned to reality, dusk was falling, and he saw. For the first time, he could see God. After an encounter like that, nothing could ever be the same. He brushed away his tears and stared blankly at the white wall across from him, drained but at the same time so alive.

What man could ever see God and live? Somewhere in that little book Mr. H had given him, he could remember reading that no man would see God and live, but that the Son was the exact image of the Father. Well, he could certainly attest to that feeling. Granted, he hadn't literally seen God, which was probably a good thing if he wanted to keep walking around on Kalanun. But in a spiritual sense, it felt like he'd come face-to-face with the Father, and spiritually, some part of him was definitely dead when it hadn't been before.

He grinned and shook his head. Mr. H, as was usually the case, had been right. Silence and the quieting of one's own heart really did let the Father speak. And speak He had. Seb smiled and bent over Viv, who was still asleep but breathing normally. He pressed a kiss to her temple and then headed out to find Mr. H. He wasn't ready to talk about the time that had passed here yet, but his stomach kept growling to remind him of the time, so he'd give in and figure out what needed to be done to put food on the table. Then, later, maybe in a few days, he would be ready to talk to Mr. H about the soul-shaking, life-changing time that had passed on that little bedroom floor.