Moonlight at Midnight

There was once a man who lived in a small cabin at the edge of a great forest.

The cabin held back summer storms, and its fire was warming in the winter cold.

Anyone watching would have said he had a good life.

But a good life isn’t the same as peace.

Every night at midnight, he left the warmth behind.

One night when the moon was high, and the snow crunched under his boots, he closed the door behind him.

The forest welcomed him as it always had. Its branches, heavy with snow, leaned close as if listening.

In earlier years, he brought his dreams with him.

Now he brought replays.

He walked deeper among the trees, turning over hatred and anger.

And somewhere between one step and the next, he whispered,

I am anger.

The words hung in the frozen air.

Frightened by what he just named himself, the man began to walk faster, trying to outrun the name before it stuck to him like glue.

As he ran, something fragile slipped from him.

God… please help me.

He didn’t want to take it back.

At last, the trees thinned into a wide clearing.
Moonlight sparkled across the untouched snow.
He stepped forward.

Nothing moved.

The cold filled his lungs.

He stood still.
God. Please help me.

He remembered what was true in Christ.

You are not anger.

His breath slowed.

A tear fell.

The cold was still cold.

Midnight was still midnight.

But he no longer let anger speak his name.

And that was enough for tonight.