A man came to me as I was leaving a coastal village. My bags were packed and I was about to depart this place that was like a seaside town built into the cliffs, like in Monaco with a small protected bay of water where boats were anchored. We had been studying there together for some time, in a small group at some sort of school or seminary. There were three of us that had grown close, and with this one man I shared a deeper bond and so in addition to signing a dedication in one another’s text books (a massive tome) for this one friend I had also written a long letter of thanks.
He came running toward me as I was loading my bags into my truck and opening his text, he showed me where the third friend had signed and written a note, then he turned to the page where I had simply signed my name-- and with tears he asked-- “That’s it? You just sign your name and go?”
I said to him-- “No John-- I’ve written you a letter.” -and I showed him, tucked within the pages of his book that there was a letter hidden. He took it in his hands and without even reading it he began to weep, in relief and in thanks for this personal note. Seeing how emotionally touched he became, I too began to weep, and I was completely overcome by the flood of emotions-- I guess in response to his reaction to my simple note, but then also the fact that we were parting, likely never to see one another again. As I wept with him we embraced, and the tears would not stop. I fell to my knees, weak from the experience and enormous waves of sorrow came over me. The tears streamed from my eyes, like water from a tap.
I said to him-- “I fear for this place.” -And he, thinking I meant this seminary, or this city, said-- “Me too. I really do fear for this place.”
I told him-- gathering myself up and composing myself. “No John, I fear for this earth. War is coming.”