literature

Voices

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  The pressure continued to build, making him think he would soon burst from it all. The constant opposition, the constant struggle he had with the world around him. He felt as if it would soon be too much.
  “There is no meaning,” they would tell him. “There is no God,” they would cry. “Loose yourself from this bondage you have made for yourself,” they would say.
  And he would deny, ever deny vehemently. He would not give in! He would not believe the falsehoods.
  And then they would assault him all the more. They would give him evidence, they would tell him how utterly wrong he was, how everything he believed was a lie.
  And he would deny that too. He would deny, ever deny vehemently.
  But the despair would come upon him, seeking as a preying beast to drag him down. What proof did he have to show them wrong? What could he possibly say that would show him correct, that would show him to be in the right?
“There is no meaning,” they would tell him. “There is no God,” they would cry. “All you have believed is a lie. Believe it no more!” they would say.
  And despair would seek to tighten its grip upon him. How could he show them wrong? How? He said one thing; they replied with science. He said another; they replied with philosophy. He knew they were wrong. He had heard science that countered theirs, proving it wrong; he had heard philosophies, showing their words false. Yet he was unable to build the argument. He was unable to take all he knew, that he knew, and prove what he believed correct.
  “There is no meaning,” they would tell him. “There is no God,” they would cry. “Why do you continue to follow something that is not true? Why do you continued to believe a thing that has been proven wrong?” they would ask.
  And he could not answer, for he knew not what to say. He knew what he believed, he knew it in his heart, in his mind, in his body. In every bit of him, he knew what he believed to be correct. Yet he could not prove it so. He could not refute their arguments, he could not show them wrong.
  Despair and discouragement would assault him, attacking him as they so often did. They would pull at him, tear at him, try to rip him apart.
  He knew there was a meaning. He knew there was a God. He knew that he had to continue to believe what he did despite what they said.
  Their “science,” did not shake him. Their “philosophy,” did not destroy his foundation. Nothing that they said or could say would make him stop believing the truth.
  But how could he prove them wrong? How could he continue on, looked down upon, ridiculed? To them he was a bigot. When he might try to defend what he believed or say that what was ought not to be, he was told that he was foolish for suggesting such things, that it was none of his business. But though they said that to him, they would continue to say what they said. They would continue to say what he and those who believed as he did ought to do.
  And so the despair and the discouragement would beset him all the more. They would try to dig into his soul, they would try to shake his beliefs, they would try to tell him he was wrong, that he ought to give in to the words of the others.
  But he would not. He would not.
  But that part of him, that inner man would side with them, it seemed, taking up their cry against him. How can you know it is true? it would ask. How can you be sure? it would cry. All evidence is stacked against you. You have nothing to show them wrong, nothing to prove that you are more than an idiot reaching for the wind to support him.
  And sometimes it seemed they would rend him. Sometimes it seemed he could not continue.
  He did not know the words to say. He did not know the arguments to make that would show them wrong.
  They had all that, all that supposed science, all that convincing philosophy, and they had the consensus of all the world it seemed. So many took up their creed and their standard, crying all the day:
  “There is no meaning,” they would tell him. “There is no God,” they would cry.
  And so they had all that. And what did he have? All he had was simple faith.
  Nothing but faith, and what was that in the face of all the world united against him? What was that against the science they had made, and the philosophy they had contrived? What was that against all their arguments? What was that against all the debates he had lost, not knowing how to refute what they had said?
  What was it?
  A voice in him said “nothing.”
  The voices in the world said “nothing.”
  A greater Voice said “everything.”
  He knew not what to answer them. He knew not what to say. He did not know how to argue against what they said. He simply did not know. Others knew, but he did not hold their knowledge. And he knew that if they should tell all there was, that if they should tell them why they were wrong, and show the logic and the correctness of it…
  The others would still not believe.
  And then what did he have? Nothing but faith.
  And what was that against all they said?
  A voice in him said “nothing.”
  The voices in the world said “nothing.”
  A greater Voice said “everything.”
  What might be the end of following those voices?
  He could heed his own voice. He could do all that he wished, give himself all the carnal pleasures, lusts, and desires he might possibly have. He could live his life for the now, seeking riches and devoting his entire life to selfish gain. But what would that get him? He remembered his life before he heeded the Voice. He had seen and read about the lives of those who had been changed when they heeded the Voice. All he saw in him and others showed that to heed his own voice was to invite ruin.
  What voice then would he heed?
  He could heed the voice of the world. The world that told him there was no meaning to his existence. The world that told him there was reason for his being. It told him that he was an accident, that he was but the random culmination of millions of years of change, that he was but a higher monkey. They were but a smart animals to them. The world told him that morals were foolishness, that they simply bound man, keeping him from reaching his full potential. They told him that the Voice did not exist or that it was but a force or that it was a collective, or any number of things. But what would heeding the voice of the world obtain him? He had seen the world around him. He had read of all that occurred. He knew of the despair the world held. He knew of the death that was ever present. He knew of the constant struggle of man against himself and all things. He knew that to heed the voice of the world was to invite disaster.
  What voice then remained that he might heed?
  The Voice. The Voice that told him he was valuable. The Voice that told him he had potential. The Voice that encouraged him, uplifted him, that comforted him when he was afraid, that sheltered him when he was in danger. The Voice loved him. The Voice cared for him. The Voice was a friend to him when no one else was. When all the world seemed to shun him, the Voice had always been there, whether he knew it or not, or accepted it or not. The Voice showed him the path he ought to walk, and he knew that to follow that path was to invite… happiness. Goodness. Joy. Life.
  And so he saw it. To follow and believe upon God was to obtain everything. To follow and believe upon self or the world was to obtain nothing and lose all.
  He would heed God.
  “There is no meaning,” they would tell him. “There is no God,” they would cry.
  But he would not heed them. They might assault him, they might say and prove against him all they wished.
  He had faith. He knew what he believed, and nothing they would ever say would change that simple fact. He knew the truth and he would forever follow it. And with the Truth’s help, he would triumph. He might never prove them wrong. He might never refute their arguments as they wished. But he would triumph nonetheless.
  His faith was in God. He knew where his heart and his future lied, and nothing they could ever say would ever change that.

  Amen.
deviantMISSION member:
~speedyard
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Voices is about the man (his name is not mentioned... although he's really me) who finds himself besieged on all sides by those who oppose him and everything he believes. He then has to come to grips with the fact that it simply does not matter, that he has to have faith.
© 2005 - 2024 christians
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Skyphantom's avatar
A very nice piece of prose. I always find it so hard to try and express my beliefs and faith in God when it coems to talking to people, and I think many others find it to be the same. This piece perfectly captures what it is like, and how we should strive to follow God in our thoughts, motives and speech. Excellent job :)