Cross Roads by Wm. Paul Young

Author:Wm. Paul Young [Young, Wm. Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781455516032
Publisher: Hachette Digital, Inc.
Published: 2012-11-13T08:00:00+00:00

11

BETWIXT AND BETWEEN

What one regards as interruptions are precisely one’s life.

—C. S. Lewis

Tony woke with a start, a little groggy and uncertain of his whereabouts. Stumbling out of bed, he drew back the curtain and to his surprise realized he was back in the bedroom of the ramshackle ranch where Jesus supposedly lived. But it was larger and better appointed. His bed was solid and crafted, a significant improvement over the springs and old mattress he had first experienced. Hardwood had replaced part of the plywood floors, and at least one of the windows was now airtight and double-paned.

He heard a knock at the door, like before, three taps, but when he opened it expecting to find Jesus, it was Jack holding a tray of breakfast and coffee and sporting a big grin.

“Oh, hi, Jack-from-Ireland!” exclaimed Tony. “I wondered if I would ever see you again after our first little encounter.”

“It is a delight and gift to see you again, Anthony.” Jack smiled and Tony stood aside, letting the man and his burdens into the room where he set them down carefully on an end table and proceeded to pour a black, aromatic liquid into a larger than normal mug. He turned, handing the drink to Tony.

“Black coffee, if I remember. As far as I am concerned, you can never get a cup of tea big enough.”

Tony nodded his thanks and took the first sip, smooth and sliding like silk. “And I am pleased to let you know,” added Jack as he took the cover off a plate of eggs over easy, some steamed vegetables, and a buttered scone, “that you and I are destined to see a great deal of each other, in time as it were.”

“I’m not sure if I should even ask what that might look like,” muttered Tony, enjoying his first bite of food.

“No matter,” sighed Jack, pulling up a cushioned chair and plopping himself down. “This moment contains all moments anyway, no need to be anywhere other than now.”

“Whatever,” Tony acquiesced. He had become more at ease with his own lack of comprehension, even for words spoken in his own language. “Let me ask you this, Jack, if I may…” He waved his fork in a spiral motion in the man’s direction, as if to make his question more pertinent. “This place, this in-between-time place where you and I are right now, is this the afterlife?”

“Oh, heaven’s no!” asserted Jack, shaking his head. “This is more the inner-life, not that it is independent of what you consider the afterlife, which you should know is more accurately the life-after.”

Tony still held his fork in midair, frozen as he tried to follow.

“You are caught, as it were, in between life-before and life-after, and the bridge that is connecting the two is inner-life, the life of your own soul.”

“So where do you live?”

“Well, I live wherever I am, but my dwelling is in life-after. Dear boy, I am only visiting you here, in between.”

Tony chewed his food but hardly tasted it, his mind awhirl.

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