This is a metaphorical story I wrote that I think properly symbolizes the everyday struggle that goes on in my heart and mind. I hope you enjoy:
The morning began just like any other; I glanced up from my phone just in time to see a rather familiar girl in a green Starbucks apron staring at me with questioning eyes.
"What can I get for you, Jim?" she asked, giving my esteem a boost. After all, it wasn't often that those taking my order were able to call me by name. With a smile I ordered my always varying dose of caffeine; I was never one to go for the same sustenance on a daily basis - that was my version of spicing up life, I suppose.
I paid the usual hefty price featured at Starbucks and rounded the counter to receive my source of activity on most Monday mornings. This day it happened to be black coffee that I would doctor heavily with sugar and cream; there's something about having control over the severity of my coming sugar high that prompted me to make my choice.
The often alleviating, soulful atmosphere associated with coffee shops was drowned out by the masses of students waiting in line that day; either yapping on their cell phones or complaining to their friend about the large number of stressful assignments looming that week. My preference was to seek out a solitary place to spend some time with God and focus on the tasks ahead, so I dodged my way through the crowd to settle in a place much less populated.
The building housing my next class served perfectly; the few people present were in deep binges of studying at several tables, spread out across a large room with a red stone floor. I headed for the corner, where an empty study room with its own table and chairs was just visible. I sipped my customized blend of sugar, half & half, and coffee with every few steps as I neared my new found place of solitude. It would be there that I came upon an old friend - a former friend - waiting for me.
"Hey there, Jimbo." he said, picking up a black thermos and taking a sip of its contents. A thin smile appeared as he licked the excess coffee from his lips. I would normally be intrigued by a surprise such as this, but this guest was expected; I had been here before.
"What do you want?" I rhetorically asked, knowing quite well what this man was pursuing. He was in the form I had always seen him; dressed much like me, with an old pair of faded jeans and a dark grey v-neck t-shirt. He was having morning coffee at this table I had conveniently picked out, acting like we had planned to meet there for a friendly chat - this facade was always meant to earn my trust. It was one that I had fallen for many a time in the past.
"Oh, I believe you know the answer to that question, Jim," he responded, "Now just relax and talk to me. We are friends after all; let's take advantage of this meeting we set up."
"I came here to spend time in prayer," I snapped, "Now if you'll excuse me -"
"Now wait just a second here," he said, scratching his head, "What do you want to do that for? Pray to a God that has done nothing but oppress you with an anxiety disorder; leaving you in a constant state of fear and worry? I'm not sure you owe someone like that any favors..."
"That's a lie," I said, "You gave me anxiety; no one else."
In high school I was diagnosed with social anxiety - a mental disorder that causes debilitating fear of being socially embarrassed or rejected. I can't quite remember where or when it originated, but for years the real Jim was locked up somewhere; the danger of him being forgotten closing in on reality. It was by this that I felt I couldn't become the man God wanted me to be, and often I used it as my excuse for being an ineffective Christian. This was how I knew that something like anxiety couldn't possibly be brought on by God Himself; it was used by Satan to inhibit those threatening his cause.
Satan ran his fingers through his hair and slowly rolled his tongue over his front teeth. With disgust I stepped backward; his tongue was forked.
"Me? Why in the world would I do that?" he asked with a hollow smile, "Come on, Jim, what kind of friend would I be?"
"You gave me this fear because you are threatened by me. You are no friend of mine." I said, trying to fight him off.
The devil had always known that my achilles' heel was vulnerability to anxiety and worry. On so many occasions I felt him digging around in my head; exploiting the weak spots and telling me how inadequate and worthless I was to everyone around me. Sadly, it was I who opened the door and let him in.
He didn't so much as flinch in reaction to my responses. He shifted his weight in his chair as if changing strategies, looking me straight in the face all the while.
"It's early, Jim. You're flustered, tired, stressed, I get it. Please, just take a seat."
Looking at his inviting green eyes, I shuffled my feet toward the chair nearest to me. His persuasiveness was almost intoxicating, seeming to clear my mind of anything else. His gaze seemed to reel me in, like a struggling fish with its lip caught on a hook. I grabbed the back of the chair and pulled it under me, trying with all my being to regain composure.
"What is it exactly that you want from me?" I asked with a shaky tone.
"Oh Jim, I just want you to get the most out of this life. I care about your well being, that's all." he replied.
He quickly averted his gaze to the floor; keeping his deceptive smile. He seemed so genuine, like an everyday nice guy. It was hard to believe that this was the enemy number one - although, it was now clear why so many fell flat on their faces into his gauntlet of lies.
"No," I said, "You want me to get the most out of this world."
"Well, isn't that what really matters?" he hissed, "And I hate to say it, but you're very behind. Everyone thinks you're awkward and has a tough time being around you as it is. You need to get with the program, Jimbo. It's time for a self-image makeover!"
My heart suddenly sank. As my facial expression fell to one of vulnerability, Satan pounced like a lion on a gazelle. All of my social interactions that day began to replay in my head; I cringed with embarrassment for myself. My palms began to sweat uncontrollably. Was he right? How could I be an effective Christian if everyone writes me off as a social failure? I felt like I had but two choices: to crawl in a hole and never come out, or to hurry and fix my tainted image. My brain had jumped from composure to chaos in a matter of seconds; there seemed to be a vast number of voices in my head telling me what my next move should be. I covered my ears and buried my head face first into the table.
Satan began to laugh; his voice multiplied in my head with every passing second. All of them voiced different actions I should take to please my fellow man and why I should worry about it. Time and time again, I fell victim to his exploits; but why? It seemed so simple. Just don't believe it; fight it.
"Don't let yourself be shaken, Jim!" I whispered to myself, closing my eyes.
As I had on so many occasions, I felt abandoned. It was like I was in a dark room and Satan was interrogating me with a blinding spot light. Up to my neck in fear, I always seemed to panic and forget the necessary means of getting out. Every rope that seemed to lead to rescue would only snap like a twig, leaving me to plunge deeper into the black pit of anxiety.
But suddenly, amidst Satan's cackling at my expense, another voice began to ring out in my head. This voice was alarmingly distinct; I could hear it over what seemed like the hundreds of attacks on my character. It seemed to bellow from the back of my mind, reaching me quite easily despite the ensuing chaos.
"Therefore I tell you," it instructed, "Do no worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?"
Sense began to rush over me. The voice I clearly identified now as Jesus continued to speak, silencing my mind's violent wind and waves with every word:
"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."
That was it. The sole reason that evil was always able to find a foothold was because I tried to fight it on my own.
"Come to me, all who are weary and burdened," He said, "and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
Peace began to restore my strength; joy transformed my countenance. I sat straight up to see Satan, still laughing, but now taking notice of me. His forked tongue flicked in and out of his open mouth.
"You're wasting your time here," I informed him, "My heart beats for Jesus Christ -"
A bone-chilling hiss seem to come out of the air; Satan slammed his ghost-white fist on the table, lunging as far forward in his seat as he could. His pitch black pupils suddenly transformed into slits, fittingly like a serpent's. The cold glare that always made me shiver only increased my security as I heard Christ's voice continue:
"Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men."
My greatest enemy gripped the sides of the table with both hands. He began to breath heavily as if he had heard the words Jesus had just spoke to me. Black veins appeared on his pale face as he looked back at the floor. Only then, did I realize it - he was the weak one. All of this effort spent filling my mind with poison would be wasted; it would only end in him being crushed.
"I had you, weak and useless before me once," he exclaimed, gritting his teeth, "And I will do it again."
I ignored him with a smile and picked up my disposable coffee cup by the lid.
"Looks like I'm finished with my morning coffee," I said, shaking the empty cup, "I suppose that means I'm finished with you as well."
"Not quite," he muttered as he stood to leave, "I'll be back."
I followed his every move with my eyes as he approached the exit to the cozy nook I had found.
"Good," I replied, "I'll just get rid of you faster tomorrow."
With that, he shot me a look of disgust and vanished, leaving his black thermos behind.
Grace and Peace,
J. S. Wade
