The Shack

  “I still don’t understand,” Mack whispered again.

  “Mackenzie, the pattern of color and light is unique to each person; no two are alike and no pattern is ever the same twice. Here, we are able to see each other truly, and part of seeing means that individual personality and emotion is visible in color and light.”

  “This is incredible!” Mack exclaimed. “Then why are the children’s colors mostly white?”

  “As you near them you will see that they have many individual colors that have merged into white, which contains all. As they mature and grow to become who they really are, the colors they exhibit will become more distinctive, and unique hues and shades will emerge.”

  “Incredible!” was all Mack could think to say, and he looked more intently. He now noticed that behind the circle of adults, others had emerged, spaced equally around the entire perimeter. They were taller flames, seeming to blow with the wind currents, and were a similar sapphire and aqua blue, with unique bits of other colors embedded in each one.

  “Angels,” answered Sarayu before Mack could ask. “Servants and watchers.”

  “Incredible!” Mack said a third time.

  “There is more, Mackenzie, and this will help you understand the problem this particular one is having.” She pointed in the direction of the ongoing commotion.

  Even to Mack, it was obvious that the man, whomever he was, continued to have difficulty. Sudden and abrupt spears of light and color at times shot out even farther toward them.

  “We are not only able to see the uniqueness of one another in color and light, but we are able to respond through the same medium. But this response is very difficult to control, and it is usually not intended to be restrained as this one is attempting. It is most natural to let its expression just be.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mack hesitated. “Are you saying that we can respond to one another in colors?”

  “Yes,” Sarayu nodded, or at least that’s what Mack thought she did. “Each relationship between two persons is absolutely unique. That is why you cannot love two people the same. It simply is not possible. You love each person differently because of who they are and the uniqueness that they draw out of you. And the more you know another, the richer the colors of that relationship.”

  Mack was listening but still watching the display before them. Sarayu continued, “Perhaps the best way you can understand is for me to give you a quick illustration. Suppose, Mack, that you are hanging out with a friend at your local coffee shop. You are focused on your companion and if you had eyes to see, the two of you would be enveloped in an array of colors and light, which mark not only your uniqueness as individuals but also the uniqueness of the relationship between you and the emotions you’d be experiencing in that moment.”

  “But,” Mack began to ask, only to be cut off.

  “But suppose,” Sarayu went on, “that another person whom you love enters the coffee shop, and although you are wrapped in the conversation with your first friend, you notice this other’s entry. Again, if you had eyes to see the greater reality, here is what you would witness: As you continued your current conversation, a unique combination of color and light would leave you and wrap itself around the one who had just entered, representing you in another form of loving and greeting that one. And one more thing, Mackenzie, it is not only visual but sensual as well; you can feel, smell, and even taste that uniqueness.”

  “I love that!” Mack exclaimed. “But, except for that one over there,” he pointed in the direction of the agitated lights among the adults, “how are they all so calm? I would think there would be color everywhere; don’t they know each other?”

  “They know one another very well, most of them, but they are here for a celebration that is not about them, nor about their relationships with one another, at least not directly,” Sarayu explained. “They are waiting.”

  “For what?” Mack asked.

  “You will see very soon,” replied Sarayu, and it was obvious that she was not about to say any more on the matter.

  “So then why,” Mack’s attention had returned to the troublemaker, “why is that one having so much difficulty and why does he seem focused on us?”

  “Mackenzie,” Sarayu said gently, “he is not focused on us, he is focused on you.”

  “What?” Mack was dumbfounded.

  “The one having so much trouble containing himself- that one-is your father.”

  A wave of emotions, a mixture of angers and longings, washed over Mack and as if on cue his father’s colors burst from across the meadow and enveloped him. He was lost in a wash of ruby and vermillion, magenta and violet, as the light and color whirled around and embraced him. And somehow, in the middle of the exploding storm, he found himself running across the meadow to find his father, running toward the source of the colors and emotions. He was a little boy wanting his daddy, and for the first time he was not afraid. He was running, not caring for anything but the object of his heart, and he found him. His father was on his knees awash in light, tears sparkling like a waterfall of diamonds and jewels into the hands that covered his face.

  “Daddy!” yelled Mack, and threw himself onto the man who could not even look at his son. In the howl of wind and flame, Mack took his father’s face in his two hands, forcing his dad to look him in the face so he could stammer the words he had always wanted to say: “Daddy, I’m so sorry! Daddy, I love you!” The light of his words seemed to blast darkness out of his father’s colors, turning them blood red. They exchanged sobbing words of confession and forgiveness, as a love greater than either one healed them.

  Finally, they were able to stand together, a father holding his son as he had never been able to before. It was then that Mack noticed the swell of a song that washed over them both, as it penetrated the holy place where he stood with his father. With arms around each other they listened, unable to speak through the tears, to the song of reconciliation that lit the night sky. An arching fountain of brilliant color began among the children, especially those who had suffered the greatest, and then rippled as if passed from one to the next by the wind, until the entire field was flooded with light and song.

  Mack somehow knew that this was not a time for conversation and that his time with his father was quickly passing. He sensed that by some mystery this was as much for his dad as it was for him. As for Mack, the new lightness he felt was euphoric. Kissing his father on the lips, he turned and made his way back to the small hill where Sarayu stood waiting for him. As he passed through the ranks of children, he could feel their touches and colors quickly embrace him and fall away. Somehow, he was already known and loved here.

  When he reached Sarayu, she embraced him as well and he let her just hold him as he continued to cry. When he had regained some semblance of coherence, he turned to look back at the meadow, the lake, and night sky. A hush descended. The anticipation was palpable. Suddenly to their right, from out of the darkness emerged Jesus, and pandemonium broke out. He was dressed in a simple brilliant white garment and wore on his head a simple gold crown, but he was every inch the king of the universe.

  He walked the path that opened before him into the center-the center of all Creation, the man who is God and the God who is man. Light and color danced and wove a tapestry of love for him to step on. Some were crying out words of love, while others simply stood with hands lifted up. Many of those whose colors were the richest and deepest were lying flat on their faces. Everything that had a breath sang out a song of unending love and thankfulness. Tonight the universe was as it was intended.

  As Jesus reached the center he paused to look around. His gaze stopped on Mack standing on the small hill at the outer edge and he heard Jesus whisper in his ear, “Mack, I am especially fond of you.” That was all Mack could bear as he slumped to the ground, dissolving into a wash of joyful tears. He couldn’t move, gripped as he was in Jesus’ embrace of love and tenderness.

  He then heard Jesus say clearly and loudly, but oh so gen
tly and invitingly: “Come!” And they did, the children first and then the adults, each in turn for as long as they needed; to laugh and talk and embrace and sing with their Jesus. Time seemed to have completely stopped as the celestial dance and display continued. And each in turn then left, until none remained except the burning blue sentinels and the animals. Even these Jesus walked among, calling each by name until they and their young turned to make their way back to dens and nests and bedding pastures.

  Mack stood motionless trying to absorb this experience that was beyond his ability to capture. “I had no idea…,” he whispered shaking his head and gazing into the distance. “Unbelievable!”

  Sarayu laughed a shower of colors. “Just imagine, Mackenzie, if I had touched not only your eyes, but also your tongue and nose and ears.”

  Finally, they were alone once more. The wild, haunting cry of a loon echoing across the lake seemed to signal the end of the celebration, and the sentinels vanished in unison. The only sounds remaining were a chorus of crickets and frogs resuming their own songs of worship from out of the water’s edge and surrounding meadows. Without a word, the three turned and walked back toward the shack that had again become visible to Mack. Like a curtain being drawn across his eyes, he was suddenly blind again; his vision returning to normal. He felt a loss and a longing, and even a little sad, until Jesus came alongside and took his hand, squeezing it to let Mack know that everything was as it should be.

  16 A MORNING OF SORROWS

  An infinite God can give all of Himself to each of His children.

  He does not distribute Himself that each may have a part,

  but to each one He gives all of Himself as fully as if

  there were no others.

  – A. W. Tozer

  It seemed that he had only just entered a deep sleep of dreamless rest when Mack felt a hand shaking him awake.

  “Mack, wake up. It’s time for us to go.” The voice was familiar, but deeper, as if she had just woken from sleep herself.

  “Huh?” He groaned. “What time is it?” he mumbled as he tried to figure out where he was and what he was doing.

  “It’s time to go!” returned the whisper.

  Although he didn’t think that answered what he had been asking, he climbed out of the bed grumbling and fumbling until he found the lamp switch and snapped it on. It was blinding after the pitch dark and it took another moment until he could pry one eye open and squint up at his early morning visitor.

  The man standing next to him looked a bit like Papa; dignified, older, and wiry and taller than Mack. He had silver-white hair pulled back into a ponytail, matched by a gray-splashed mustache and goatee. Plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up, jeans, and hiking boots completed the outfit of someone ready to hit the trail. “Papa?” Mack asked.

  “Yes, son.”

  Mack shook his head. “You’re still messing with me, aren’t you?”

  “Always,” he said with a warm smile, and then answered Mack’s next question before it was asked. “This morning you’re going to need a father. C’mon now and let’s get going. I have everything you need on the chair and table at the end of your bed. I’ll meet you out in the kitchen where you can grab a bite to eat before we head out.”

  Mack nodded. He didn’t bother to ask where they might be heading out to. If Papa had wanted him to know, he would have told him. He quickly dressed into perfectly fitting clothes similar to what Papa was wearing, and donned a pair of hiking boots. After a quick stop in the bathroom to freshen up, he walked into the kitchen.

  Jesus and Papa stood by the counter looking a lot more rested than Mack felt. He was about to speak when Sarayu entered through the back door with a large rolled-up pack. It looked like an elongated sleeping bag, bound tightly with a strap hooked to each end so it could be easily carried. She handed it to Mack and he could immediately smell a wonderful mixture of scents arising from the bundle. It was a blend of aromatic herbs and flowers that he thought he recognized. He could smell cinnamon and mint, along with salts and fruits.

  “This is a gift, for later. Papa will show you how to use it.” She smiled and hugged him. Or that was the only way he could describe it. It was just so hard to tell with her.

  “You may carry it,” added Papa. “You picked those with Sarayu yesterday.”

  “My gift will wait here until you return,” smiled Jesus, and he also hugged Mack, only with him it felt like a hug.

  The two left out the back and Mack was alone with Papa, who was busy scrambling a couple eggs and frying two strips of bacon.

  “Papa,” Mack asked, surprised at how easy it had become to call him that, “Aren’t you eating?”

  “Nothing is a ritual, Mackenzie. You need this, I don’t.” He smiled. “And don’t wolf it down. We have plenty of time, and eating too fast is not good for your digestion.”

  Mack ate slowly and in relative silence, simply enjoying Papa’s presence.

  At one point Jesus poked his head into the dining area to inform Papa that he had put the tools they would need just outside the door. Papa thanked Jesus, who kissed him on the lips and left out the back door.

  Mack was helping clean the few dishes when he asked, “You really love him, don’t you? Jesus, I mean.”

  “I know who you mean,” Papa answered, laughing. He paused in the middle of washing the fry pan. “With all of my heart! I suppose there is something very special about an only begotten son.” Papa winked at Mack and continued. “That is part of the uniqueness in which I know him.”

  They finished the dishes and Mack followed Papa outside. Dawn was starting to break over the mountain peaks, the colors of early morning sunrise beginning to identify themselves against the ashy gray of the escaping night. Mack brought Sarayu’s gift and slung it over his shoulder. Papa handed him a small pick that was standing next to the door and lifted a pack onto his own back. He grabbed a shovel with one hand and a walking stick in the other and without a word headed past the garden and orchard in the general direction of the right side of the lake.

  By the time they reached the trailhead there was enough light to navigate easily. Here Papa stopped and pointed his walking stick at a tree just off the path. Mack could barely make out that someone had marked the tree with a small red arc. It meant nothing to Mack and Papa offered no explanation. Instead he turned and started down the path, keeping an easy pace.

  Sarayu’s gift was relatively light for its size and Mack used the handle end of the pick as a walking stick. The path took them across one of the creeks and deeper into the forest. Mack was grateful that his boots were waterproof when a misstep caused him to slip off a rock into ankledeep water. He could hear Papa humming a tune as he walked, but didn’t recognize it.

  As they hiked, Mack thought about the myriad of things he had experienced during the previous two days. The conversations with each of the three together and alone, the time with Sophia, the devotion he had been part of, looking at the night sky with Jesus, the walk across the lake. And then last night’s celebration topped it off, including the reconciliation with his father-so much healing with so little spoken. It was hard to take it all in.

  As he mulled it all over and considered what he had learned, Mack realized how many more questions he still had. Perhaps he would get a chance to ask some of them, but he sensed that now was not the time. He only knew that he would never be the same again and wondered what these changes would mean for Nan and him and his kids, especially Kate.

  But there was something that he still wanted to ask, and the issue kept gnawing at him as they walked. Finally, he broke the silence.

  “Papa?”

  “Yes, son.”

  “Sophia helped me understand a great deal about Missy yesterday. And it really helped talking to Papa. Uhh, I mean, talking to you too.” Mack felt confused, but Papa stopped and smiled as if he understood, so Mack continued. “Is it strange that I need to talk to you about it, too? I mean, you are more of a father-father, if that makes any sense.
”

  “I understand, Mackenzie. We are coming full circle. Forgiving your dad yesterday was a significant part of your being able to know me as Father today. You don’t need to explain any further.” Somehow Mack knew they were nearing the end of a long journey, and Papa was working to help him take the last few steps.

  “There was no way to create freedom without a cost, as you know.” Papa looked down, scars visible and indelibly written into his wrists. “I knew that my Creation would rebel, would choose independence and death, and I knew what it would cost me to open a path of reconciliation. Your independence has unleashed, what seems to you, a world of chaos; random and frightening. Could I have prevented what happened to Missy? The answer is yes.”

  Mack looked up at Papa, his eyes asking the question that didn’t need voicing. Papa continued, “First, by not creating at all, these questions would be moot. Or secondly, I could have chosen to actively interfere in her circumstance. The first was never a consideration and the latter was not an option for purposes that you cannot possibly understand now. At this point all I have to offer you as an answer is my love and goodness, and my relationship with you. I did not purpose Missy’s death, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use it for good.”

  Mack shook his head sadly. “You’re right. I don’t grasp it very well. I think I see a glimpse for a second and then all the longing and loss that I feel seems to rise up and tell me that what I thought I saw just couldn’t be true. But I do trust you…” And suddenly, it was like a new thought, surprising and wonderful. “Papa, I do trust you!”

  Papa beamed back at him. “I know, son, I know.”

  With that he turned and started back up the trail and Mack followed, his heart a little lighter and more settled. They soon began a relatively easy climb and the pace slowed. Occasionally, Papa would pause and tap a boulder or a large tree along the path, each time indicating the presence of the little red arc. Before Mack could ask the obvious question, Papa would turn and continue down the trail.

  In time the trees began to thin out and Mack caught glimpses of shale fields where landslides had taken out sections of the forest some time before the trail had been built. They stopped once for a quick break, and Mack drank some of the cool water Papa had packed in canteens.

  Shortly after their break, the path became more precipitous and the pace slowed even more. Mack guessed that they had been traveling almost two hours when they broke out of the tree line. He could see the path outlined against the mountainside ahead of them, but first they would have to traverse a large rock and boulder field.

  Again Papa stopped and put down his pack, reaching inside for water.

  “We are almost there, child,” he stated, handing Mack the canteen.

  “We are?” Mack inquired, looking again at the lonely and desolate rock field that lay ahead of them.

  “Yes!” It was all Papa offered, and Mack wasn’t sure he wanted to ask where exactly they almost were.

  Papa chose a small boulder near the path and, placing his pack and shovel next to it, sat down. He appeared troubled. “I want to show you something that is going to be very painful for you.”

  “Okay?” Mack’s stomach started to churn as he put down his pick and swung Sarayu’s gift across his lap as he sat down. The aromas, heightened by the morning sun, filled his senses with beauty and brought a measure of peace. “What is it?”

  “To help you see it, I want to take away one more thing that darkens your heart.”

  Mack knew immediately what it was and, turning his gaze away from Papa, started boring a hole with his eyes into the ground between his feet.

  Papa spoke gently and reassuringly. “Son, this is not about shaming you. I don’t do humiliation, or guilt, or condemnation. They don’t produce one speck of wholeness or righteousness, and that is why they were nailed into Jesus on the cross.”

  He waited, allowing that thought to penetrate and wash away some of Mack’s sense of shame before continuing. “Today we are on a healing trail to bring closure to this part of your journey-not just for you, but for others as well.

  Today, we are throwing a big rock into the lake and those ripples will reach places you would not expect. You already know what I want, don’t you?”

  “I’m afraid I do,” Mack mumbled, feeling emotions rising as they seeped out of a locked room in his heart.

  “Son, you need to speak it, to name it.”

  Now there was no holding back as hot tears poured down his face and between sobs Mack began to confess. “Papa,” he cried, “how can I ever forgive that son of a bitch who killed my Missy. If he were here today, I don’t know what I would do. I know it isn’t right, but I want him to hurt like he hurt me… if I can’t get justice, I still want revenge.”

  Papa simply let the torrent rush out of Mack, waiting for the wave to pass.

  “Mack, for you to forgive this man is for you to release him to me and allow me to redeem him.”

  “Redeem him?” Again Mack felt the fire of anger and hurt. “I don’t want you to redeem him! I want you to hurt him, to punish him, to put him in hell…” His voice trailed off.

  Papa waited patiently for the emotions to ease.

  “I’m stuck, Papa. I just can’t forget what he did, can I?” Mack implored.

  “Forgiveness is not about forgetting, Mack. It is about letting go of another person’s throat.”

  “But I thought you forget our sins?”

  “Mack, I am God. I forget nothing. I know everything. So forgetting for me is the choice to limit myself. Son,” Papa’s voice got quiet and Mack looked up at him, directly into his deep brown eyes, “because of Jesus, there is now no law demanding that I bring your sins back to mind. They are gone when it comes to you and me, and they run no interference in our relationship.”

  “But this man…”

  “But he too is my son. I want to redeem him.”

  “So what then? I just forgive him and everything is okay, and we become buddies?” Mack stated softly but sarcastically.

  “You don’t have a relationship with this man, at least not yet. Forgiveness does not establish relationship. In Jesus, I have forgiven all humans for their sins against me, but only some choose relationship. Mackenzie, don’t you see that