Lost

He left home very early and is finally returning home after a long day at work. Tired, hungry, and longing for rest. The elevator, as if on cue, is at the very bottom. All he has to do is press button eight, and in a few seconds he'll be there – in his warm, cozy apartment. It's something he desperately needs now, after a long day at work and a forced walk through the frosty night. Oh, these cars, do they have to break down just when you need them most? The elevator starts, moves slowly with its old, worn-out mechanism, past the fifth floor. Just three more, he thinks to himself, and I'll be home. At that very moment, between the fifth and sixth floors, he hears a grinding sound. The elevator stops. It's getting dark, the lights go out. "Oh no! What's that supposed to mean? Please, not now!" he says to himself. He's clearly nervous. He fumbles for the button he needs. He finds it. He presses the alarm, holds it, releases it, and presses it again. Finally, he pounds his fist against the wall, almost aggressively. Nothing happens. Only one word escapes his lips: why?

He loses his strength, sits in the corner, and lowers his head between his knees. "Should I spend the whole night here?" he asks, who knows who. But he hears no answer. He's alone here. Completely alone.

Meanwhile, his next-door neighbor is praying to God. As usual, at this hour, she kneels before the bed and asks for her friend. He should be home from work right now. God save him on this frosty night," she whispers. "

I wonder how much time has passed... a minute, two, five? It's impossible for me to have to sit here until morning. If only I weren't so hungry..." he sits and thinks, while the elevator stubbornly stops. The darkness further fuels his anxiety—that I, too, must have such bad luck. Not only the car, then the storm at work, and now this! What have I done to deserve this?

Lord, I don't know how to pray, but I believe you will guide me. You know his heart. You know where to strike. Please, give him a chance. Let him understand what you're saying.

No, I can't do that. I'll be bored to death here. The lack of light makes anything impossible. Of two evils, though, the best thing is that it's at least warm. Well, maybe just..." he seems to be coming to terms with spending the night in this small cage, allowing thoughts other than anger to enter his mind. "Maybe I'll just try to sleep," he decides. "I guess there's nothing else left for me."

And so, he leans his head against the cabin wall, closes his eyes, and slowly enters the world of sleep. At least, that's what it seems.

She gets up and goes to the window. She looks out. Snow is falling outside. I wonder if he's made it home yet, a thought crosses her mind. But wait, she always opens the door so loudly that I hear everything, but this time... nothing... a dull sound, she reminds herself. "I hope nothing's wrong," she worries. She moves away from the window and sits on the bed. Her favorite candle casts a shadow across the letters of the open Bible. She picks it up and reads a random word. Suddenly, her heart begins to beat faster. What she sees disturbs her. "Fight in prayer," one verse says. "Lord, do you want me to return to prayer? Should I fight for him? Right now?" she wonders, asking God.

Yes, she receives that assurance. She returns to her knees and begins to pray. "God," whispers escape her lips, "break his resistance, grant him deliverance. Protect him now as he reaches home." Tears fill her eyes. She loves him so much...

And he, restlessly shifting in his corner, struggles with his thoughts. Why can't I sleep? And where do these questions come from? Right now, right here and now?—he doesn't understand anything. What was it like?—he recalls.—She asked me if I knew where I was going, if I realized that this life was only a moment, that it was nothing compared to what awaited me after death?

But what did she really mean? Did she want to show me that I was nothing? That my life was worthless?

Lord, please let the gospel I preach to him not echo off the wall. Open his ears so he can listen. Show him the vanity of his life, the goal he's striving for. Reveal yourself to him.

Oh, if only she didn't always talk only about God. She would be such a nice girl. And so? Whatever I ask, she has a ready answer, and it always concerns Him. Understand that the Lord loves you and is waiting for you to come to Him. What kind of slogan is that? What's she really talking about? How can someone I can't see, can't feel?

My God, he's lost in this world. He doesn't understand that work and pleasure aren't everything. He needs You! When will he finally understand this?

How can He change my life? I wonder, will He give me a better job, money, a woman? Or maybe He'll take away all my problems and erase my disappointment? Oh no, I don't believe in such fairy tales. Whatever happens, if a person doesn't work for themselves, they'll achieve nothing. God is of no use here.

Oh, Lord, I have no strength left. Why does he always think only of himself? Do you see this heart, as hard as a rock? Please, break it and begin Your work within it. Open his eyes so he can see You.

Oh... a sudden groan escapes his lips. He clutches his heart, holding it, it still hurts.

Aaah... he screams, a second impulse comes, beads of sweat drip from his forehead. A moment of pain, and suddenly everything stops. His heartbeat returns to normal.

My Lord, nothing is impossible for You. Hear my prayers. Save him. I beg you... I don't want to lose him.

The pain has subsided, but despite this, he feels a certain unease. Why do her words torment my mind so much? he asks. "But what she's saying is so convoluted and meaningless."

And again, pain pierces his left mediastinum. What's happening, God?

Lord, save his soul! Don't let eternity lock him in the abyss of fire.

It's stopped again. What? What did I say? This must be some kind of paranoia. Mixed with the tangled. God! Does He even exist? Why does this bother me so much?

In response to this question, the light comes on, the elevator rises. He quickly opens his eyes. His face speaks of relief. Maybe I have a chance to rest today," he thinks. "And unfortunately, at that very moment, the elevator stops again, the light goes out. No..." he slides down the wall, deprived of all hope, "and I thought it was over.

Lord, give me the strength and perseverance to pray for him. Patience in conversation, peace when misunderstandings arise."

And again, silence. Will I even sleep tonight? Some inner voice tells him no! You have to wait, listen to what I'm saying.

Oh no, any longer and I'll probably go crazy. Where are these thoughts in my head coming from? It's all her fault. If she weren't constantly telling me the same thing, I wouldn't be sitting here now, agonizing over such trivial matters.

He leans his head back against the wall. He's exhausted, unable to sleep. His thoughts keep returning to one thing:

Maybe I should go to her tomorrow and ask her to clarify a few things. Maybe then I'll regain some peace of mind? Who knows, maybe there really is something to what she's saying. After all, there's a constant inner peace on her face. She's so joyful. There must be a source somewhere.

Yes. I have to do this, he decides. I'll take the day off tomorrow and go to her.

He falls asleep.

Around four in the morning, the creaking of the elevator wakes him. He feels it rising. He opens his eyes, looks, and the number on the door is eight. What he sees finally wakes him up. She stands up quickly and exits the elevator as quickly as she can. Finally, she reaches her apartment door.

Oh... he's here. Finally!

She hears the door open. She rises from her knees. She can finally finish praying.

But what's that?

Someone's knocking on the door, she hears suddenly. He approaches. She sees his face in the peephole.

She doesn't hesitate. She lowers the latch and opens the door.

"Hi!" she hears. "Sorry it's at this hour, but could we talk? I think you can help me somehow.

Thank you, Lord!" she whispered silently, and let him in.