By A Withered Plant

 Have I no right as one chosen to be saved? I was special, a great man chosen for great deeds. Yet to filth, I was sent, to the murderers of my ancestors. Stories passed down from dying grandfathers to starving children about deeds so vile done by Them. The slaughterers of my grandmother and sisters, to Them I was sent.

 They deserved to die a thousand times over, not be given words of peace. They were my enemies. Would any sane man travel for months through dangerous climes into the seat of depravity, where death was the most likely outcome? I was noble, above the darkness; how could I let myself be tainted?

 I wanted justice for the evil done against us! I wanted revenge, an entire nation burned by fire from the mighty heavens. Yet I was sent to bring forgiveness; utterly incomprehensible.

 And why should I suffer so, burning within with the sorrow of my people and the all consuming anger? It isn’t fair! I who remained pure, treated so unjustly, driven to desire death. They do not deserve grace. I do, by the blood that runs in my veins.

 But why, then, would I go through such things? Through a supernatural storm, then eaten by a vile beast of the sea but not finished, and though I then repented and did my duty, They were still not destroyed, as they so deserved. No, They repented and grace was poured upon them! Now they rejoice in their redeemed city while I rot all day in the sun by a withered plant.

 But now night falls and I…I see it now. As the night sky opens up, the depths of the starry expanse, and the wind turns from warm to cold, I see. Overwhelmed by the greatness, the magnitude of the universe and the Creator, I see how horribly small and meaningless my anger is. I see what a fool I’ve been, a selfish, self-righteous fool. I saw nothing beyond my bitter and angry self. Perhaps it is time to leave the withered plant and truly repent.