I promised you, at the beginning of this testimony, that I would not be including all the events that took place in my life. Remember; this is not my autobiography. You are not here to learn all the details- you're here to be told about the actions and power of Christ in my life.
With that in mind, let's skip forwards three months. I left my girlfriend at the airport in December 2009. We had decided to try and make a go of it long-distance; a hugely generous gesture on her part, seeing as it was ME who had a steady job in the city we both lived in, and yet was leaving in order to explore another country...
This testimony is not, I feel, the place to describe the months from the beginning of December that year to the beginning of March the next year in any detail. That three month period in that new country requires a book of its own to explain and describe properly. Maybe I'll leave THAT for my
autobiography. However, it would help for you to have an idea of the kind of things I got up to during that period having just arrived on new soil, as it will give you a better understanding of the kind of lifestyle I lived in those days. So, here is a short list of actions that I was directly involved in. I will let your imaginations fill in the gaps, confident that they won't come close to the reality:
-Attending a cockfight
-One case of severe food-poisoning, and several cases of incredible food
-Another girl called Carla
-Being kicked out of a car at 1a.m., and spending the next 6 hours trying to get home
-More alcohol in 3 months than I'd drunk in the 2 years previous
-Throwing up out of the open door of a moving taxi
-Joining a boxing gym
All the time, Eva and I had maintained our relationship via Skype and email. It had been hard- really hard being away from her at times. I remember missing her particularly on New Year's Eve. And even MORE when I was wondering the streets of an unfamiliar city in the middle of the night, with no idea how to get home... and just thinking, "EVA never would have chucked me out of her car like that..."...
Francesca had a bubbly air about her, which I noticed the second she appeared at the window of my classroom, one warm afternoon in March 2010. The window led directly onto the street, with passers-by able to look in through the beige metal bars. I was sitting at my computer, in the middle of reading an online article while I waited for my next class to start, facing the window, on the other side of the room, when I heard a voice...
"Hey!"
I looked up, past my computer, to see her there, smiling at me through the bars. The first thing I noticed about her was that smile. It was wide, and genuine, showing a good amount of her teeth. The second thing I noticed was her hair. Black- jet black, and pulled back into a long ponytail. It contrasted against her pale skin, which looked like it would go darker with a few hours in the sun. But the most striking thing about her was her attitude. She was upbeat and positive, and I found myself leaving my seat, instantly drawn to her...
"Hey...!", I repeated back to her, as I crossed the room...
"Do you want to buy some donuts?"
I don't think I could have predicted that question coming in a lifetime of guessing...
"Ummm... what?" I asked with a smile, looking into those green eyes, with a hint of honey close to the pupil...
She smiled up at me again, as I leaned on the metal bars on my side of the classroom. Without taking her eyes from mine, she lifted up the red and brown box of donuts she was holding in her right hand...
"I'm selling donuts, for my cousin's charity...", she replied.
"Oh...!", I said, a little taken aback... "I'll pass, thanks... but thank you!", I added...
She didn't push the sale, but lowered the box.
"Hey..." she asked me, "...you're new here, right?"
I could see she wanted to chat, and I was excited by the fact that this woman, this outgoing and sociable creature wanted to converse...
"Yeah. I teach here, in this school. It's a new school, and it's just me and one other teacher at the moment..."
"Ah OK..." she reached her hand through the bars, smiling sweetly: "I'm Francesca!", she stated, and I shook her hand, and told her my name, grinning all the while...
I thought about Francesca once she left. I thought about her all through my classes that evening, and even into the next morning. As the next afternoon approached, I wondered if she'd keep her promise to drop by again to see me...
She did. There she was again, at the window of my classroom. My face broke out into a giant smile, and I stayed seated in my seat, trying to play it cool for a few minutes while we conversed. Eventually, I got up and walked over to the bars, and with the rush hour pedestrian and vehicular traffic behind her slowly diminishing, along with the daylight, we chatted freely...
I remember thinking how easy it was to talk to her. How conversation seemed to just flow. She was interesting- that helped. She was from the town, but went to university in the neighbouring country. She was in town on one of her regular visits each year to see her family. A year older than me, at 23, she spoke perfect English. She had a crazy amount of passion for her university's basketball team, which I found hugely endearing. She was clearly very, very bright. The way she talked about social issues, local and international politics led me to believe that she read quite a lot. She was just... cool. That's the best way to describe Francesca- she was extremely cool...
"What do I feel for her?", I remember thinking, as I lay on my bed that night. "What does she feel for me? DOES she feel anything for me? What would I do if she showed me she liked me...? Would I cheat on Eva with her...?" These questions were meant to make me feel better, less guilty, I guess. After all I already knew, from past experiences and from my constant thoughts about her, that I wouldn't be able to resist her. At that point, as with most of the time from when I was about 15 till when I was 26, I would have gone with a lot of women, had they simply shown interest in me, despite my relationship status. So for one as attractive as Francesca to demonstrate any kind of intention towards me, I knew that she'd get whatever she wanted with me...
I didn't feel guilty back then, thinking about Francesca like that, even though I'd just been speaking to Eva a few hours earlier, telling her I loved her and how much I wished she was here with me... I didn't feel bad about doing that because, like I told you before; I believed the world was created to show me a good time. My needs, my passions, my wants and desires came first, above all. Right then, I wanted Francesca, and so Eva came second again...
“See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse: the blessing, if you obey the commandments of the Lord your God, which I command you today, and the curse, if you do not obey the commandments of the Lord your God, but turn aside from the way that I am commanding you today, to go after other gods that you have not known" - Deuteronomy 11:26-28
At that time, I lived by very ill-conceived rules. I did not know God, and I certainly didn't obey His commandments. Like a child without rules, discipline, or the encouragement to be self-controlled, I had the illusion of liberty, and I was wild with excitement at that prospect. The lack of rules I enjoyed, I believed made me free. "I am free", I would think and say to myself "because I refuse to obey the rules". I could do what I wanted and not feel guilty about it, because I believed nobody expected me to obey their rules, and therefore wouldn't be disappointed. If they DID expect me to obey their rules, then when they were disappointed, they only had themselves to blame for trusting in me.
What I neglected to realise at the time was that any kind of rules aren't meant to be a buzz-kill. They're meant to prolong the enjoyment. Think about if the Premier League suddenly announced that, starting this season, there would be no rules in their matches. No referees. No linesmen. No officials what-so-ever to enforce the regulations. Players could tackle each other with both feet, and no whistle would blow. They could grab each others shirts for as long as they wanted, and no still no whistle. They could push each other, get each other in headlocks, even punch and kick each other. They could handle the ball, they could pick it up, they could take it outside the lines... none of these things, and numerous other offences would be penalised.
At first, the stadiums would be filled to the brim with spectators wanting to witness this free-for-all football-meets-icehockey no rules chaos fest. They would be laughing and drinking, eagerly awaiting to see what damage their team could do to the other side...
The match would start (at a random time, presumably, because there's no referee to blow the whistle), and they'd be off. The first harsh tackle would get a mega roar from the crowd, as the fans of the team whose player was downed jump to their feet in protest, shouting red faced and swearing at the offending player on the other team. The fans of the offending players team would be shouting, laughing and jeering at the opposing fans. The offending player gets up... and is immediately pushed from behind by another player trying to defend his teammate. Anyone who watches football enough will confirm that this is a common enough scene WITH officials present... imagine how quickly it would escalate when you remove the enforcers of the rules! The other players get involved... and a brawl ensues.
The first half (which could be 45 minutes, it could be an hour... who's really watching the clock that closely with all the action on the pitch?) sees a broken nose, two damaged calves, a gouged eye and several fractured ribs from 3 x 8 minute fist-fights... take away the time players spent NOT playing football, i.e. tapping the ball into the goal with their hands, waiting in an offside position (intentionally or not), and greatly exaggerating the position of their free-kicks, and then take away the time for the arguments between both teams about each of these offences, bellowing at each other, screaming in their own languages into the faces of opposing team players... and you are left with around 10 minutes of real, enjoyable football.
By the end of the game, which lasted just 80 minutes by the way (the players were too scared of risking serious injury to continue for the last 10 minutes), and the star player is carried away on a stretcher having received a football boot to the neck, and probably won't be out of hospital for the next 4 weeks. The goalie injured his wrist trying to break up the third brawl in the penalty area, and will spend the next 2 games on the bench with an icepack... and half the players will be nursing bruises and scars all week. Nobody knows who won, because there was a dispute about whether a player was offside when he scored or not, so the score is either 1-1 or 2-1, and players are still arguing about it as they head down the tunnels...
The next week, the star player's out, goalie's wrist is still weak- he can't make solid saves on direct shots. Players aren't able to tackle confidently, because they fear that their opponent will respond by stamping on their foot or pushing them in the face. The star striker is refusing to play, sitting in his tracksuit in the stands, because he can't get into the box with the ball without 2-3 players taking him down, LET ALONE have the time to get a decent strike in! Half the scars are still healing, and will start bleeding at the slightest impact. There's no referees to control substitutions, so you could be playing an entirely different team at the end of the match than you were at the beginning. Your team WOULD substitute without limits too, but you can't because half of them are claiming injury (some real, some too afraid to get pushed into an advertising board again)...
I could continue this metaphor, but I think you get the point. I know my description was a bit of an exaggeration, but I'm willing to bet it wasn't TOO far off the reality of what would happen. Rules in a football match are necessary, to keep the players civilised, respectful of each other, and to ensure the long-lasting enjoyment of the games across the seasons. How much more, then, are boundaries and regulations necessary in LIFE? They're infinitely more vital...
So, in my early 20's, I was much like one of the players on his first "no-holds barred" match. I was eager to get going, hardly able to believe that I could go wherever and say and do whatever I wanted... blissfully ignoring the fact that I would inevitably end up getting hurt, and hurt others along the way...
"Hey, we're having a party at our house tonight...", I told Francesca that Friday afternoon, 3 days since I'd first met her. She looked up at me through the bars, smiling, and waiting for me to continue... "Do you want to come?"
Her smile grew.
"I'd love to!"
We agreed that she'd pick me up from outside the school at 9p.m.. I knew what was coming- I could see it in the way she'd looked at me as she left me to my evening classes. That sensual, slightly cheeky smile she gave me as she looked over her shoulder at me to say goodbye. That smile that illuminated her eyes stayed with me, distracted me from my work, popped into my mind whenever I wasn't concentrating. And I let it stay there- like a piece of artwork that I'd just bought, I wanted to hang it on the wall of my mind, appreciate it, gaze at it, admire it, cherish it...
"There's no way I'll be able to resist her... why even bother trying?", I thought to myself.
You see that last sentence you just read? That was me being offered the downhill path, and gladly accepting it because it was easier. So, for the first time, I prepared myself to betray Eva's trust in me.
It would be nearly a year before Eva, that sweet and kind girl who had wanted to believe and trust in me so much, would find out about the events of that night, under humiliating and heart-breaking circumstances. But by that time, she would already know everything she needed to know about the man that I was. The man that I had already chosen to become....
---
"And it's all YOUR fault!", I kept hearing myself say, multiple times throughout each day. I would sigh, feeling tired, weary and resigned, accepting these words as truth, and feeling that my current predicament in my cell was, depressingly, entirely appropriate. After all, I HAD trespassed. My captor was right- my reasons for being there were no excuse...
I found myself acting in ways that would have seemed inappropriate to me in the first few months of my capture, but that were becoming increasingly normalized since my captor's last real visit, in which he'd attached my leg chain. I would sing- loudly. Louder than I had to, enjoying the echo my parched and at times off-pitch voice made down the corridor on the other side of my cell. As I'd sing, I'd wonder if there were other prisoners in adjacent cells, and I'd always wish to hear some sign from them at the end of each song. A word. A comment. Even to be told to shut up...
But I never heard anything once I'd finished the final note- no distinct human reactions at all. As I'd stand there, accepting my imaginary ovation, all I really heard was the faint dripping of distant water, or maybe a scurrying rat who was convinced it was safe to move now that my singing had stopped... but more often than not, I just heard the sound if my own breathing, and my own heartbeat if it had been a particularly strenuous song... And with that, overriding the disappointment I'd feel at having my isolation confirmed, I'd start a new song, and make sure I was singing more loudly than previously...
Despite my incarceration with little hope of rescue, I'd also laugh quite a lot, chained to the wall in that cell. If a rat had been watching me from the rafters inside the cell, or from one of the damp corners at any particular time, he may well have seen me with my arms out stretched, my head down, my eyes closed, my shoulders jumping up and down minimally, until they would stop, I would take a deep breath in and, smiling, raise my head up to look at the ceiling, chuckles still escaping my throat and out through my smile as I gazed up into the rafters, and I'd make a comment like "You shouldn't have done THAT!", or "Ah, man... Alan, you're hilarious!". As bemused as that rat may have been, the explanation for these periods of light relief are simple. I was so alone, and yet so desperate to be entertained somehow, that I'd replay memories of things I'd seen, conversations I'd had, T.V. shows I'd once loved, and could still remember...
All of these things together led me to the conclusion that I was, really, being driven to mild levels of insanity by the loneliness of my imprisonment...
The weeks passed relentlessly, and I began to realise that, for the remainder of my life, I would be calling this cell home. Every time I woke up, whether it was peacefully on a warm morning, or suddenly jolted awake by a rat crawling over my foot on a freezing night, breathing loudly and fiercely, the condensation bellowing out of my parted lips, 2, 3, 4 times, and vanishing past the moonlight from the window, and into the blackness beyond, I was confronted within the first 3 seconds of consciousness with the reality that I would always be a prisoner. Here. In this cell.
"You will grow old..." were the first words I'd hear myself say upon waking up, "... grow old, and eventually die in this cell"
I didn't need much more convincing of this fact. I could tell I was getting older. As I stood there alone in the darkness of my cell one evening, as the sun was just about to disappear completely out of sight from my window, I realised that getting older wasn't the issue- it was getting older, and having nothing, or at least very little, to show for it. During the years of imprisonment, I had achieved nothing of importance, and moved forwards not even an inch. I wasn't exactly sure how many years it had been, but I knew it was already too many.
That night, the idea that I'd spent so long there in that cell infuriated me. It kept me awake through the long hours of that cold night, made me restless in my chains (in which it was difficult enough to get to sleep at the best of times...)... It annoyed me more than anything had done in a long time. I think that's why I remember it so clearly...
By the time morning had arrived, and my cell and I were bathed in the glowing morning sunlight, I had made up my mind. In the space of a single night, I had decided to use all my waking energy to work out how to escape...
