The Take Over

He was at the end. He had nothing to give, nowhere to go, nothing to say. This moment was the culmination of his life up to this point—a time to reflect. A time to regret. To regret not giving more when he could have. Now it seemed his one gift to the world would be to rid it of his presence.
He was not a man without love. No—he had more love in his fragile heart now than he had ever had before. He loved his world. He shared its pains and loads, heartbreaks and tender moments. He was like anyone else. But he could not help anyone else. He lost his chance. No one trusted him enough to even receive from him. He was an outcast. It was a world full of outcasts, though. This he now knew.
Oh how he longed, standing on the edge of the rocky cliff, to be able to do something great—to make some dent in the world. But his absence would be the biggest dent, for the people who knew him would be relieved. Relief was a gift so many needed. And the people who didn’t know him would never have to.
Wrong thinking? Maybe. But there was really nothing left. He could no longer see into the future—he had no future. He had tried everything and failed.
Spent. Empty. Lost.
He sank to the ground. The sun was setting, casting orange hues on the rock he knelt on. He could see his own shadow, taunting him. Why? Why didn’t you become a better person? Now you are only a shadow of your potential self, and you can never regain what you lost.
His now grown out hair blew in the wind. The air was fresh, but he didn’t want to breathe. The beauty around him threatened to tug at his heart, to pull him back into life somehow, but he resisted. Bowing his head, he slowly sank lower until his forehead touched the rough ground, no doubt leaving indents in his flesh. But that was the last thing he was aware of. As the memories flashed through his mind, the faces of the people he had hurt, the sobs overtook him, body and soul. He cried into the dust, his tears joining creation and becoming one more mark of a pained soul in this desperate world. Just one more. Would anyone care? Could his tears change anything?
He cried for the twins. He cried for Sarah. He cried for Mom and Dad. He cried for the homeless man whom he had always ignored until it was too late and he was found dead on the street. He cried for the brokenness of humanity, the brokenness of his own soul. He didn’t know how long he knelt or how long the sobs coursed through his body, but he didn’t try to stop it. No—something needed to be finished here. These tears must write the end of his story.
A sudden awareness of another presence awakened his heart. He took a deep breath and let out one last sob, a loud one. But he did not raise himself from the ground. He did not even have the strength to walk to the edge and jump. Apparently this would be his resting place. Maybe his own sorrow would kill him.
Stillness.
A whisper of movement, then a hovering.
Gentle contact.
Someone was on top of him, like a light blanket, almost comforting.
A perfect covering.
The man called Asher was no more. Another had taken his place. They breathed together as the wind stilled, and for once in his life Asher felt at peace. It was good to know he could not be seen, even if no one was around to see him.
Did he know this presence? It was somehow familiar, but new at the same time.
A voice came. Soft, but strong with conviction.
“My son, you have come to the end of yourself. This is how it must be. You must become nothing so I can become everything. Then, life will spring forth!”
Asher didn’t respond. What could he say? Wasn’t he already reduced to nothing?
“Let go, Asher. Let go of the regret and the pain. For even in holding onto those things you are still trying to grasp at meaning with your own effort.”
He began to cry again, this presence on his back becoming weightier. It was heavy, a relentless pressure but still comforting. Now a whisper.
“Surrender!”
The weight of the word caused him to lay flat on his stomach. Then—from somewhere deep inside, a guttural scream burst forth—
“I give uuuuuuuup!!” He said it into the earth, but it reverberated throughout the canyon, echoing back to his own ears. Then the strangest thing happened. It was as if the presence that was with him now became part of him. He had become something other than himself. He was lifted up from the ground and placed on his feet with a renewed vigor, a stronger heart. He looked down at the rocky surface that had recently become his altar, and one remnant tear escaped from his cheek and fell to the ground. Asher smiled, and it felt like breaking out of prison. He looked out to the beautiful horizon one last time, painted orange and purple and crimson, then turned and walked away into his new life.
Sometime later Asher, now reunited with his twin daughters and his wife Sarah, now living a life laid down for others, returned to the spot of his “take over,” as he called it. It was his first time returning to the sight since that night. And there, right where he had laid and cried, was a lone rose amidst the rocks. It was a color he had never seen before, as if from Heaven itself, and it stood out against everything around it. Life. Asher smiled to himself and thanked God that out of death had come life. He would make his dent in the world, and mercy would be the song he would sing.