Balcony

Always windswept.  It was Chicago.

He always remembered it as cold, though summer could be warm.  But always windswept.

He as a soldier on an invisible front line.  An age old war since before time focused in a room between a man with God's help facing evil. 

He was a veteran of many battles, victorious only by the grace of God.  And each battle took a little bit of him away.

When he was called home, he hoped to be restored.

People fear.  They brush aside the spiritual.  Or they realize it and picked the wrong side. 

The fallen prey and feed on fear.  They isolate and appear strong.  They have a timeless power and hatred beyond understanding.  But they were beaten even in the beginning.  Now they subvert and want to take as many people with them as they can.

Good and evil wend there ways through life, all history and daily routines.  One doesn't have to believe it, though it's obvious if one watches events unfold. 

And a man of God stands between the dark and Light.

Now he stood on the balcony, having followed the example of Jesus, to liberate the captives. 

He smiled at the thought of children singing, random acts of kindness, beauty in simplicity.

His faith kept him going but it was seasoned with humor.  For in hell there is no laughter none but derision.  Foibles give us humility, yet the courage to stand up.

He's gone.

The balcony remains.