Religious

While I consider myself a deeply spiritual person, I rarely write about religious issues.  Except for the odd occasion when I'm asked to speak in church, my writing focuses mainly on fantasy and sci-fi universes that I've thought up on my own.

Still, I admire people who are able to put their faith into words, hence the prompt for this week:  Write something that touches you. 

Please note that it doesn't have to be religious in the sense of church-going and scripture-reading.  Just something that stirs your soul.

Enjoy!

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My response:

(This is an idea I've played around with in my mind, but I've never actually tried to write.  It may be a mess, but that's the point of this blog, to stretch and try new things.)

The end came like the swell of a wave in the ocean, except instead of lifting her feet off the sandy bottom and dropping her back down, it lifted her up, off her sick bed, and the fall never came.

Mary had been asleep until the wave lifted her, but now she saw the dim room with perfect clarity.  Her daughter sat next to the bed, holding Mary's hand.  The tone of the heart monitor brought tears to her eyes.  Mary's son-in-law put a hand on his wife's shoulder.  On the other side of the bed, in various metal and plastic chairs, her other three children and their spouses sat. 

Ten years of fighting cancer, and Mary knew there would be no nurses rushing to save her, no doctors and last-ditch efforts to keep her alive.  That was the purpose of her living will, and she noticed with a flicker of satisfaction that they submitted peacefully to her choice.

Then she noticed the orderly standing in the doorway.  She might have looked right past him, except he was looking right at her.  Then he smiled.

"Mary, are you ready?"

Mary cocked her head.  "For what?  And even if I wasn't, I don't see much of a choice."

She almost regretted her tone, but the man only smiled wider while his eyes gleamed.  "Come with me, then, and I'll get you ready for your report."

He reached out an incorporeal hand, and Mary took it, surprised she hadn't left her sense of touch behind with her body.  The man led her down a hallway.  It was white with doors on either side and gleaming, gold doorknobs. 

"Are we still in the hospital?" Mary asked.

"No."

"Well, where are we, then?"  Mary hated to be caught unawares.

The man stopped at a door, his hand on the knob.  "This world is in a form that you will understand right now.  Very soon, you will understand more.  Be patient, please, and everything will be explained."

Mary frowned, but as he opened the door, curiosity drew her in.  She peeked into the bright room.

It was a storage room.  From floor to ceiling, rows and rows of shelves had cardboard boxes, filing cabinets, plastic storage bins.  It looked like her own basement, except easily one hundred times the size.

"What is this room?" Mary turned to her escort.

His eyes glowed with reverence and awe as they traveled over the boxes.  "Mary, this is your life's work.  Everything you ever made is in here.  Your first kindergarten pictures to your last journal entry.  The meals you prepared, presents you packaged, everything you put together or created in life can be found in this room."

Mary's mouth opened as she stared in wonder.  "What is it all here for?"

"You will need to choose," the man explained.  "Choose the best thing you made in life to present to God.  Thereby will you be judged."

Mary turned to object.  "Choose?!  From all this, I have to choose just one thing?!"

Again, the sparkling smile.  "You may have all the time you want.  There is no rush, here."

Before she could object again, he was gone, and Mary found herself alone in the room.

Mary was not a woman of sentimentality or distraction.  She moved through the shelves of her youth fairly quickly, the scribbled first letters and abstract art done in crayon.  She paused here and there as she moved through her preteen and high school years.  English reports and clay pots, completed tests and hair ribbons.  Her first few attempts at sewing.  Still, she moved on.

The food grew more abundant when she married, and the flower arrangements, but it was a little box with a slip of white satin showing that stopped her.  A small christening gown, crocheted booties, a bonnet.  The daughter who held her hand as she died had worn this dress as an infant.  Mary hadn't known she could cry, but now she did.  She picked up the dress, carrying it with her as she continued.

Baby books, pants with patches sewn on, and music ... little songs she'd made up and sung to her children stored in music boxes.  They even sang with the voice of her youth, full and sweet.  She picked her favorite and moved on.

A black silk scarf, flowers in red and white, and a speech typed on thick, marbled paper.  Mary remembered her father's funeral.  She'd made the scarf for her mother, and they'd arranged the flowers together.  She picked up the small photo album she'd presented to her mother and hugged it to her chest.

Mary moved deliberately through the room, careful to open every box.  Time didn't seem to matter.  She grew neither hungry nor tired.  Then she was back at the door with her arms full.

Her escort reappeared.  "Mary, are you ready now?"

Mary looked at her collection.  If she had to choose something to represent her life, she figured she'd done a good job of gathering up the most important things.  Still, each item on their own seemed insufficient.  They only spoke part of the story of her life.  Any one item couldn't show all she was.

"Mary?  You can take more time, if you need," he prompted sweetly.

Mary shook her head, slowly at first, and then firmly.  "No.  No, I won't need any more time."

She turned back to the shelves.  Lovingly, she put the dress back.  She put the silk scarf and the music box back.  Piece by piece, she emptied her arms of her treasures.  Then she turned back to her guide.

"The only thing to do is to bring me.  I carry all of these things in my heart ... all of these things ... and what I have become."

The smile on the man's face grew wider, and Mary's memory stirred.  She knew him from somewhere.  She couldn't make sense of it, yet, but she knew he was someone very important.

"Dear Mary," he said.  "You have chosen well."