Shootout at High Noon

It felt like

sitting at a table,

in the old Wild Wild West,

in a saloon.

with friends,

discussing the business of the day..

.making plans to build something.

All of the sudden the atmosphere changed.

It became toxic.

Out of the blue,

both of the other parties got up from the table,

walked ten paces in opposite directions

turned around and

shot their guns

I remained seated at the table between them

It felt like my soul and spirit were full of bullet holes and wounds gushing red

They ran for cover

While I lay there bleeding out.

But God was faithful.

He bound my wounds with His stripes.

Wounds are healed,

But questions fester

Spiritual agoraphobia threatens to envelop

If love keeps no record of wrongs, and believes the best,

Where did I go wrong?

Is life a Groundhog Day?

Am I relegated to reliving the saloon scenario over and over until my last breath?

A post mortem is in order.

Where did I go wrong?

I’ll tell you . . .

I didn’t speak up when the air turned toxic.

I talked more, laughed louder

to cover their silence

Instead of speaking the truth in love,

I filled the silence with noise

So . . . armed with this knowledge and the armor of God,

I let go of my spiritual agoraphobia

step out into the sun,

Walk over to the saloon

sit down at that table.

And when the air turns toxic,

I don’t talk more, or laugh to cover the silence.

I name the unnamed and

walk away if I need to.

Because yes, love doesn’t keep record of wrongs

but it also doesn’t shoot people.