Old Concrete and Rusted Iron

Jesus, the savior stands in complete white in the front of the yard. There is the concrete wall lined by black spikes that look as if they are reaching the sky. Is this heaven, where nothing can enter and nothing can leave without pain? Jesus holds his hands over his heart and has a tilted head, but he is also made out of concrete. Stepping any farther than his reach feels uncanny to the soul, there seems to be some type of force holding you back. Just the fact that you approach your savior with his back turned to you is certainly admirable, but why is his back turned to you, why would you place him on the ground in such a way?

Things like this you say that you did for protection from the unkind and dangerous. Looking beyond that spiked, concrete wall that keeps you rooted you feel curious. The curiosity arises from the need to know what is beyond and how could it possibly pertain to you, but you determine that it is better to see things from your Jesus’ eyes. No one will know what to do if one day your porch were to crash down upon you or the walls were to become submerged in water, no one but your soon-to-be underwater savior would know a single thing. What will you do if your spikes reach your heaven and you can never leave?

Will you think of your savior and of the reality of things? The irony of being hidden from freedom and feeling safe in the fear is much too overbearing for the summer night. The mosquitoes bite you, but leave your concrete Jesus unperturbed. Where is your heaven, the one that you built for yourself long ago when you were unaware of Jesus and of fear, when the concrete slabs did not stand between you and the world? The courage it took to throw it away only gave you a freedom with fear of the unknown, fear of the knowledge that maybe a concrete slab and iron spikes could never be enough to keep you inside when the flood comes.


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