“Come walk with me.”
The leaves fell with each step we took, a steady cascade of shimmering gold. The warmth of the color seemed to fill the entire wood, as if on this crisp November day, we were walking through radiance, engulfed by yellow, moving in pure color. He walked ahead of me. He pointed to this and to that and spoke excitedly of things on his mind. But I remained quiet. There was a question pressing on my heart, and I knew not how to ask it. I was afraid that uttering the very sounds would stop the falling leaves and chill the golden warmth of the forest. So we walked on: he, still talking, and I, trying to hold my tongue. But the question pressed forward, like a dog straining against its owner’s grip. And as suddenly as a dog lunges ahead and the leash bursts from the hand, so did I blurt, “Why did you create me?” He stopped and turned.
“I created you so we could be here walking together. So that I can show you this beauty.”
“But what about all the ugly?”
“That one day shall pass, and the hurts will be no more.”
“Why me, why now?”
“You at one time didn’t exist. The world did not know you. No one knew you but me. At one time, your parents didn’t exist and the world did not know them. But I still knew you. Like a thought before it is uttered, you did exist. Not on your own, but in me. So like a shout of joy that cannot be contained, neither could I keep from speaking you.”
I was silent. I looked at the swirling leaves around my feet, but felt compelled to raise my head. I saw his face. It was like my face, but at the same time different. He had a slight smile that conveyed safety, assurance, and peace. I looked a little longer and suddenly realized that he was the source of light that filled the forest.
He beckoned me forward with his hand. “Come. There is more I want to show you.”