When Heat Becomes Light | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: When Heat Becomes Light | Previous Challenge Entry
By Lynda Schultz
04/13/09
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“You’re freezing,” came a voice from just over my left shoulder.

I took a cautious step forward, carefully sliding my right foot ahead without lifting it from the ground. Both arms were stretched out, fingers extended like point men looking for lurking enemies.

Hope this is worth it, I muttered under my breath for the hundredth time. My fingers encountered a solid surface and I stopped.

“Frozen solid,” chortled another voice.

I felt as far as I could. There were no breaks in the surface.

Okay, this is a dead end. Now which way?

Right or left? Turn around and go back? I wasn’t sure. The spinning had left me disoriented. I couldn’t see anything; the black blindfold clung to me like plastic wrap to glass.

Right—that’s where I’ll go.

I turned to my right using the wall as my support. Not sure what might be in my path, I continued to keep my feet pressed against the floor, sliding one past the other as I searched for something familiar, some clue as to where I was.

“You’re thawing out,” came a squeal from behind me.

“No, she’s not,” insisted another.

“Liar,” rebuked the first.

I opted for believing the voice behind me and literally pressed on. My foot hit an object. The thing moved, but not far. I reached down, feeling for it. Discovering that it had edges and a small surface, I guessed it was a table and carefully worked my way around it, mindful of my shins and toes. Once more, I encountered the wall.

“Getting warmer,” encouraged a male voice, gleeful with enthusiasm. “You can do it.”

Suddenly, the wall disappeared from under my fingers. I stopped again, doubling over slightly. I had the sensation of falling even though my feet were still firmly stuck to the ground. Someone giggled.

Now what? Where do I go? Think.

I listened, then, turned to the left again.

“Colder,” called out a new voice.

So, right was right?

I turned back to my right and stepped forward. With arms still extended, I took another tentative step—and almost stumbled.

Okay, there is nothing in front of me that I can touch, but something is down at my feet. What?

I doubled over again, reaching down with my hands until they came into contact with something soft, which gave way at my probing.

“You’re getting warmer,” someone called out.

“But not much,” came another voice.

Must be a couch or a chair, I thought as I felt along the edges. I used whatever it was as a guide to go a few more steps. I really wanted that box of chocolates that the gang had shown me before putting on the blindfold and swinging me around. Inexplicably a new thought intruded.

This game is kind of like my journey of faith. So much of it is not seeing, stumbling, but moving forward anyway.

“You’re getting cold again,” mocked a person to my right.

“No, she’s not. Keep coming, Kate,” said another.

Yah, this is like the journey of faith. Friends encourage you, and others discourage you.

I came to the end of the sofa, or chair, and met thin air again. Perhaps I should feel for the wall again. I shifted my weight to the left.

“No, colder, colder,” warned someone.

But if I go right, there doesn’t seem to be anything I can hold onto. At least on the left side there has to be a wall, and furniture.

I laughed to myself. This was getting really weird. Well, if the game was like faith, then there was nothing more to be done than to let go of everything, and launch myself into the unknown. I moved right again.

“Yippee, that’s the stuff, Kate. You’re getting warmer.”

Urged on by the voices of my friends, I slipped along, feet firmly planted, arms still outstretched.

‘On Christ the solid Rock, I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.’ I paused for a second, wondering where the chorus of that particular hymn had popped up from.

My feet, of course. Christ’s my rock. Keep my feet firmly connected to Him and I won’t stumble, or go in the wrong direction. I smiled, thinking about this silly game. And I won’t be cold when I should be hot.

A chorus of voices broke through my thoughts.

“Warmer, Kate.”

“Getting hot, girl. Keep coming.”

“I see steam rising.”

My advance finger guard, probing ahead, encountered something rectangular. I could smell the chocolate.

Boiling, Katie, boiling.

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