The Cost

By J. Daaud 

My sister understands the cost of following Christ. Fully clad from head to toe, she stealthily walks the street.  She's given an elaborate excuse to her father, but her mother knows the truth.  There is darkness surrounding her, but she has found a secret light within.

Upon entering the building the clandestine meeting begins; quiet singing fills the air, voices blended together in beautiful harmony, and truth lifts the veil.  It’s like a thousand others have joined this chorus of three, and the music is angelic.  Words of encouragement are softly spoken, while she breaks bread with her fellowship in fear and trembling.

It’s just a house church to us, but it’s a matter of life and death to her.

In the company of believers, warmth surrounds her, and she feels like she has arrived home. Moments of fear grip her heart.  What if her father finds out? She nervously wonders.  Just last week he had torn her Bible to shreds, warning her not to read that rubbish.  Yet this rubbish has given her a hope that she has never experienced before, and she is not willing to forsake it.  She bows her head in prayer, and receives strength to head back into her other life—she’s playing poker, and she hopes she gets a good hand.

She puts the veil back on, and heads towards home, but this time there’s a lilt in her step.  There’s a text message on her cell phone—a death threat from someone who claims that he knows what she is doing; it’s a warning to stop meeting.  She is afraid, but she hopes she’ll be bold as a lion when the moment comes.  Tomorrow it’ll be business as usual for her: school, family and friends, but she will cling to her faith and continue her precarious dance between darkness and light.