The Hope of Eden

Promises

There wasn't even a breath of laughter in his home.

No. He wasn't depressed, but there was not much to laugh about in a home whose creaks of loneliness reminded him every time he returned.

No smell of dinner.

No children laughing.

No wife to love.

Every word the Lord had spoken had fallen short.

The colleagues and friends he knew at the time the Lord told him to buy his house were great-grandparents now.

What was the point of obeying if it left you lonely and ashamed?

There had to be a reason. He hoped.

Carmen lifted his head to the heavens and cried out. "Do You remember me?"

Everything he'd been forcing down returned with a vengeance as he looked back on the last forty years.

Bitterness.

Envy.

Fear.

Loneliness.

Anger.

Loudest of all, grief.

He fell to his knees in tears.

He was painfully aware that he was a reproach among people.

Dr. Carmen Slater.

Faithful and obedient to the Lord, a humble servant of the people had nothing but a grand, mockingly empty house to show for it.

What was the point of living in an estate if he had no one to share it with?

His life earnings would be spread far and wide after his passing.

He would leave no legacy.

The Slater lineage would end with him.

"Remember me," He wept bitterly.

This couldn't be the way God intended.

He could feel the promise slipping through his aging fingers.

He fought to hold on, to believe, but reality was sinking in.

Gone was the spry twenty-three-year-old, fresh off the boat from Germany, full of vigor, hope, and eagerness to be a Doctor, clinging to the promise of the Lord.

He was sixty-three years old.

There were no women who could marry him and give him a child.

Not at his age.

His heart was crushed.

The orphanage wouldn't allow an old man, no matter how suitable and healthy, to adopt a child.

He couldn't blame them. The child could be returned in a few short years depending on how much longer the Lord would spare him.

The hope in his chest had shrunken with each passing year.

Years of silence from the Lord caused him to question if He'd ever spoken in the first place.

He couldn't turn back now. It was too late to live for himself.

"Oh, God! Why have You made me a byword? I kept my word, but You h-,

He couldn't speak the words his grievous heart longed to say.

He couldn't satisfy his anger. Not against the Lord.

Lowering his head, he prayed for humility.

"Lord of Grace, forgive me for allowing my heart to grow bitter toward Your promise."