A Voice in the Shadowlands

Inspired by G. K. Chesterton

“He’s ready to see you now.”

I gulped. It isn’t every day that you really do meet your Maker. The Guards on either side stared at me. One looked ready to give me some not-so-gentle encouragement with the flat of his sword. Obviously, they were not used to the idea of someone not just hopping to when summoned to the presence of the Maker.

“I’m going. I’m going,” I said, gathering what little bit of dignity I could. The massive doors before me opened up and bandy-legged I went through.

The courtroom was an atrium. I passed from marble floors to lush grass. Rows of trees served as living columns and tapestries of ivy and flowering vines swayed in a breeze only they felt. In the center of it all, was a raised dais with an enormous crystal throne and on the ground before it was a toddler. I would have used the term cherubic to describe him, except that having seen actual cherubs the term will never quite have the same meaning. Rosy cheeked, a mop of curls for hair, eyes that seemed to hold a whole universe, this boy. He was slapping his hand on the ground and a flower would pop up; all very similar but slight variations in each. After he was done, he would giggle, clap, cheer, “Again! Again!” and go right back to work. He already had quite the carpet of them.

Not wanting to destroy this new creation, I worked my way as close to the dais as I could and took a knee. “Oh, most gracious Heav—“

“Hi! Wanna flower?”

“Why, I’d be honor—“

“Wanna see me do it again?”

“Well, you’ve done it a lot already…”

“Wanna see it again?”

“Will it be different this time?”

“I like these flowers.”

“Then I’m good, thanks.”


I stood and went to one of the Wise Ones standing by. “What is going on here? You told me that I was finally going to talk to the Maker today.”

“And you have.”

“This three-year-old flower child is the Maker.”

“Oh, goodness no…and yes. This is apparently the aspect that he felt you most needed to meet right now.”

“But, I wanted comforting! I needed the mighty warrior. The just judge.  The ones who make everything all right or at least assure you that they will be.

“Ah, but you know them. Even if you haven’t met them face to face, you’ve had experiences with them or know they exist or you wouldn’t have expected them. The benefit of the Maker is that he made you. He knows what you need and he must think you need something here. Let’s look at this shall we?”

“My Maker is a child,” I grumbled. “That explains the state of things.”

“Don’t be fooled. The Maker is no one thing besides the Maker.”

“All he is doing is the same thing over and over again. That’s the definition of madness. My Maker is insane.”

“He’s been called that by more than one,” the Wise One chuckled. “No, he is simply doing what children do. They get joy out of the same thing. Monotony is not, at first, in your life boring. It is discovery. It is exciting. Although things are the same, they are not identical. Each flower is different. Every raspberry your father makes by smacking his cheeks together sounds a bit different.  So, the Maker handcrafts every sunrise and set, each flower because he can still delight in that. He is the Maker, after all, it is his nature. Your kind, in the middle of your trials and your pursuits for bigger and better, often forget the joys of these simple everyday blessings.”

“So, when he asked if I wanted to see him make another flower…”

“He was asking you to watch him do something he loves to do. You were invited to see the Maestro at something he excels in. After all, how many flowers are there?”

“I was invited to have personal time with him and I passed it up because it seemed blasé.”

“Don’t sound so defeated. He’s still making them. You can always see if the invitation is open.”

I wandered back over towards the dais, though I couldn’t get as close as I could before.

“Uhm…excuse me?” I called over.


“What are you doing? Making flowers?”

“Yeah. You wanna watch?”

“Would I ever.”


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