The Small Room

He had never seen anything beyond the walls of his tiny chamber.  He didn’t have much room to move, and all was darkness. Tubes which supplied his air and food connected him to the wall; he knew not where they went. The small room had one door, tightly sealed, and he couldn’t recall it ever opening.

He was completely dependent on those tubes, but he was content.  He was young yet, and sometime perhaps he would grow strong enough to find what lay on the other side of the door.

One day the door opened, letting in a shaft of light.  An enormous shiny thing entered.  It moved forward steadily and poked him, which hurt. Puzzled, he backed away; the Thing followed him.  He twisted to the side, but the Thing pursued him. It touched him again, and gave a sharp pain.

He scrambled into the corner farthest from the door, the Thing driving relentlessly after him.  Backed against the wall with nowhere to go, he tried to watch the Thing in the uncertain light.

The Thing thrust forward, and he felt excruciating pain.  He had never experienced pain before.  He looked down to see half of his leg lying on the floor, blood pouring from what remained.

Shocked, he tried to worm farther away.  But the Thing pushed on and took off one of his arms.  The pain was overwhelming.  Blood gushed out of his body, running across the floor and out the door.  He didn’t know what to do.  Where could he escape?

Then the Thing moved away, upward.  In an instant it severed the tubes that brought his life support.  He was left gasping, his body desperate for oxygen in the face of his wounds.  He couldn’t breathe.  His new world of blood, pain, and light swam around that merciless, sharp, shiny Thing.

The pain began to numb as his cells died from lack of oxygen.  Darkness crept over his consciousness, hiding the Thing.  Maybe his life was returning to normal after all.  The pain disappeared.  He couldn’t see the light.

The last thing he remembered–perhaps he heard it or sensed it–was weeping.  Someone weeping.

This room–was it of death or of life?  It was called his mother’s womb.

-Miss Darcy

P.S.  I would be utterly remiss if, after telling this story, I failed to tell of the hope that may follow such tragedy.  If any woman reading this should recognize her womb as sometime being “the small room,” she may know for certain that Jesus has her baby now, secure in His care.  Nor does God hate her.  It is indeed wrong to take a baby’s life in the womb, just as it is wrong to kill a grown person in cold blood, but for all sin Jesus offers forgiveness.  “For God did not send His Son into the world to bring condemnation, but that the world through Him might be saved.” (John 3:17)  No matter what the sin, Jesus’ blood can carry it far away from you, “as far as the east is from the west.” (Psalm 103:12)  “But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)  His love is the kind that never fails. (1 Corinthians 13:8)

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