The Outskirts (by Andy Young)

A story written in response to a prophetic vision

THE OUTSKIRTS – short story by Andy Young

The village was beautiful. Astoundingly beautiful. This is what a person who lived outside the village walls had thought all their life. Golden, as warming and bright like an endless sunrise, full of life, generosity and hope. The village shone brightly in the fallen land, piercing through any darkness and storm, day or night.
“Too worthy, too good for me,” the person thought, “I’ll just admire it from a distance, I’m fine as I am, the outskirts are enough.”
All who lived in the village were content and blessed even though they had many of life’s trials and difficulties. God lived in this village and lived among the people and he invited anyone and everyone to live there.
The only problem was some people, ignored the invitation. Some angrily tossed it aside and ran into the darkness cursing God as they disappeared. Some held on to the invitation but simply weren’t sure what to do with it. Others studiously studied it, marvelling at its beauty but wondered what it could mean. Others accepted the invitation to live in the village but chose to live on the outskirts, and just put a chain around God’s precious invitation and wore it around their necks like a piece of jewellery, settling for less. But the meek, many of the broken, the poor in spirit and the humble accepted the invitation and with tears in their eyes, were often seen running into the village knowing their brokenness and knowing they were far from being fine.
The person who lived on the outside of the village walls held on to their invitation, recognised its priceless value but never entered the village, it was just too good and they thought they were just too unworthy. The person often walked the outskirts of the village picking up the crumbs of life and charity, saying all the time, “I’m fine,” to anyone who would offer help to enter the golden village. God himself, on a daily basis, would knock on the door of the person’s heart but they always said, “I’m fine,” in a tone of voice that tried to hide their frailty. The person never truly believed how valuable they were and believed to some extent that they were worthless and had limited value to anyone. The more the person thought this, the more this lie grew in the person’s mind like moss over ancient stone.
Therefore, the person spent their days picking up the scraps, appreciating the warmth that even the outskirts of the village offered, all the time yearning to live there but thought, “there’s no place for me there, I’d never fit in, I’m not good, perhaps I can do things for God where I am.” There was enough light from the village to illuminate the person’s existence, just enough light and life to survive but not enough to thrive.
The only light in this strange, challenging and fallen world was where the village was located, the light came from God himself. The further away from the village you went, you strayed into the blackest and most terrifying darkness, but like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the darkness seemed to offer something as illusive and tempting as it was empty and deceitful. The person sometimes looked away from the light and into the inky blackness and could often hear distant screams of despair in the darkness from people who had wandered far, far away from the light and got hopelessly lost in the eternal night. Occasionally, people from the darkness came and tried to get the person to leave the village outskirts, leave the residual warmth and light it offered, but the person always stayed close enough that one side of them was always illuminated just like a planet orbiting a shining star. The person knew they needed to be close to God’s light so never strayed too far, “I’m fine, I’d never fit in there anyway, I’ll have enough light from where I am, I’m fine.”
The person, made in God’s image and therefore creative, built altars and various works to try and impress God, as they thought that that they had to do many things to be loved by God and every time the person busily presented their latest work to God by the walls of the village, they simply didn’t hear God saying, “I love you, come home my dear child.” In fact sometime the person even thought during their striving, “God doesn’t pay much attention to all I’m doing, why doesn’t he say anything?”
The person was too busy striving and not listening, to the gentle words of love that God whispers to every single person, every single day. God never ignored the person’s work, he was simply more concerned that the person needed to get out of their own way, and accept and hear his love.
During this time, the person was also sometimes visited by a dark cloud that could drain joy and good feelings the person experienced to the extent that it appeared as though a damp cold mist descended, even on the village. Even in these dark moments the person just said in shivering voice, “I’m fine,” to the offers of help, support and love from God and the people who lived in the village.
One day a child had accidentally wandered outside the village and had reached the point where the light began to fade into the darkness and the person ran after them and immediately told the child, “God loves you, you belong in the village with him,” and the person escorted the child with care back to the village entrance. The child thanked the person and again was invited in but said, no “I’m fine,” and returned to wander the outskirts of the village walls.
The meeting with the child got the person thinking though, “How am I different from that child? I told them God loved them and that they belonged in the village, what if I am one of those children too?”. As the person pondered and thought, they raised their hand gently to their neck and felt a chain there and a golden locket attached to it. As if through a haze of cloudy memory, the person remembered it as a gift from God, an invitation given to them many years ago. Slowly taking off the chain and removing the locket, the person opened it and inside was an engraving. It said: I love you my child. You can be part of my family, turn from the darkness and come and live with me.
The person glanced up and saw all the things they had built over the years and frowned at the futility, then they looked at the village entrance, seeing Father God, arms spread out wide, standing under the golden stone archway entrance. The person took a deep breath and walked towards the entrance, turning their back to the darkness and towards the bright light and warmth of God and the village. With tears in their eyes and a tremor in their throat they whispered, “I’m not fine,” and with slow steps at first, the person walked through the archway of the village and was embraced by Father God. As the person cried years’ worth of tears into the shoulder of God, in the background cheers and celebrations could be heard as the villagers celebrated a new person in the family. God gently held the face of the person like a father holds their child’s face, wiped away their tears and said, “I love you. You belong with me, welcome home.”

Andy Young.