It Was The Moon That Woke Me Up

Images flash across the television screen, brave people protesting for change. They tell of a corrupt government, people in another country treated worse than animals. Images of fire balls, of police with pistols shooting into the crowd. I find it hard to watch, my mind shoves it to the category of a bad dream or at minimum, a poor movie choice. Anywhere but reality…

A camera rises above the crowd and focuses on the moon, a sudden contrast, a relief to my eyes…

Wham! I’m struck, like a club out of nowhere. My thoughts spin. I try hard to regain my balance. The moon, a messenger disguised as reprieve, illuminates my mind waking me up to reality. Yes, however hard it is to watch, to acknowledge or accept, the images flashing across the screen are of people no different than me. They share “my” moon or do I share “theirs”?

I’m instantly stirred. What do I do with these thoughts that knock me off kilter? I look deep inside–the glaring answer reflects back like a full moon on smooth water. My mind floods with images of people in other times under “my” moon. Lives lost, mother’s sons, their hearts torn out–all for the cause of freedom, MY FREEDOM! The thought is painful but nothing of any depth, it can’t be, it’s something that can only be experienced to be truly felt.

Another image appears, a Man under “my” moon yes, the same moon I see tonight. He’s collapsed, laid out on the ground. His brow is drenched in bloody sweat. He’s revived. He stands and knowingly chooses the cross, the price set for freedom, MY FREEDOM.

Again the images are too much for me to linger on, I can’t. I get up and walk out of my back door into the yard lit by the light of “my” moon. I pause and bow my head. I ask for forgiveness, forgiveness for my indifference, my lack of gratitude and respect towards the freedom I enjoy. My prayer continues. I lift my head. I look up beyond the moon, beyond the stars with my heart reaching further than my hands could ever stretch. I pray for those under “our” moon who don’t enjoy the freedom that I was born into. I pray for the Christians; my brothers, my sisters… those for whom it means death to share the name of Jesus. I pray for their protection, for courage, for peace.

The night air is cold, the warmth of the house is calling… perhaps a metaphor? “…against its will, all creation was subjected to God’s curse. But with eager hope, the creation looks forward to the day… glorious freedom…” Romans 8:20 & 21 The “shivering”, the “chill” of this earth contrasts, the “warmth” of heaven beckons. “…when you see all these things, you can know His return is very near, right at the door.” Matthew 24:33