One Thousand Years
Genesage
“Thinking"
(Chp 7:7)
Reflecting back at those days staring in the fire,
Thomas was feeling a lot better.
He felt he had come so far. Changed so much from what he had been thru. He wasn't sure right now who he was… or who he had been…. so in some ways he was displaced still.
However he was glad for the changes. It just took some time getting used to it. His images had taken a beating and his mirror seemed broken.
Reflection was a lot like that; it depended on what was reflecting it, not who was in the mirror.
Tom was feeling like what others “see” was a lot different than the person he knew.
Today so much had happened. Sixty-plus years of relative calm than massive changes. A lot like that first day.
The Changes that is: He really had no time to think back then. No time to reflect, no time to look in the mirror of his soul.
Now suddenly, so many years later, too many things were happening too fast for his mind to take it all in. Again he needed time to think about what was occurring, what was happening to him.
It had all happened so fast. He never saw it coming. Was there clues ahead of time he should have seen?
Tom thought,
Probably.
And left it at that.
One thing he did know, He wasn't crazy.
So he sat staring at the fire.
In some ways he mused, he was even more insane now then back then. Insane yes but not crazy.
As much as he had tried to let go, let God, he just couldn't.
He understood the points being made. He just denied them to himself. They were fine as long as it applied to someone else. To anyone else. But to Him? No, that was different, it couldn’t apply to him.
Could it?
The land, the people, life, just plain everyday learning should have been enough to satisfy him. All really was wonderful, but he still felt empty in some ways. He really wanted to change to be the person he knew he should be. The person he thought he could be, but somehow he just didn't fit.
He felt like odd man out.
The kid…, well adult.., with the short stick. The lottery had been drawn. His number hadn't been called. He wasn't...., and he didn't know how to fill in the blanks. That bothered him.
He was still haunted by his memories. Memories like something left undone. Something he had suppressed, forgotten, or just hadn't figured out he needed to do.
Stabbing the fire he kept thinking, if this is supposed to be perfect, why do I feel so imperfect?
Isn't this supposed to be rest? Perfection? What is perfect, or are we the imperfect in a perfect setting? Thomas struggled with many concepts, ideas that had bothered him. These ideas he thought of often after he had healed of his outside wounds.
He drank what was left of the wine, then fell asleep.
He woke up or dreamed because as of late He was having a hard time telling reality from ahh… the real. His dreams had become more prevalent. They becoming more real than life around him. He remembered that in the old days, or at least during the Tribulation Period, the same thing had happened.
The nightmares were real, life was not.
Only when he no longer had the dreams and they no longer had a hold on him did he feel more alive to the Promised Land and it's reality. For now, this was not the time the time nor the place for him as his mind kept wandering, wondering , contemplating his fate, or future.
There had to be more to this life here than sitting around sucking your thumb, he thought.
Is this all there is?
Why am I here?
Why was I spared?
What am I supposed to do?
Why did Rose have to die?
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