COME BEFORE WINTER

It is dungeon talk. The words are not original with me. They merge from a classic chamber of horrors hidden deeply beneath the streets of century One Rome.

Isolated in that grim and grimy hole, surrounded by stone blocks black with age, with a lonely prisoner whose days were numbered. His name was Paul. His friend was Timothy, the one to whom those three words were addressed. As I drop into his dungeon and identify with the old man, a chill makes me shiver. I am afraid. I feel terribly alone

The rattle of heavy chains only increases my anguish. No gleams of sunlight penetrate the damp and gloom of my Mamertine misery. My needs are several, all of them intense.

I need my cloak. I must have left it at the abode of Carpus in Troas. You’ll have no trouble spotting it, Timothy. It’s an old thing, but it’s been on my back through many a bitter winter. It’s been wet with the brine of the great sea, white with the snows of the rugged peaks of Pamphylia, gritty and brown from the dust of the Egnatian Way, and crimson with my own blood from that awful stoning at Lystra. The cloak is stained and torn, Timothy, but winter is coming and I need the warmth it will bring.

I also need the books. You remember them. The ones I read under candlelight as we rode out the rough waters of the Aegean and endured the rigors of Macedonia together… those scrolls that fed my mind with fresh bursts of hope and stimulating ideas. Bring along those books, my friend.

I especially need the parchments! Those are my most treasured possessions, Timothy. How I need the comfort of King David’s Psalms, the fortitude from the prophets’ pens, the insight and perceptions from Solomon’s proverbs. Yes, the parchments. Surely, they will help keep my heart warm and my hopes high in this desolate place.

But Timothy, I need you. How desperately I need you! Make every effort to come… come before winter. Come before November’s winds strip the leaves from the trees and send them whirling across the fields, and swirling through the busy streets above me. Come, before the snow begins to fall and covers flat carts, and frozen ponds with its icy blankets. Come, my friend… the time of my departure has arrived. Soon the blade will drop and time for me will be no more. I cannot bear the thought of mid-winter without the warmth of your companionship… those eyes of understanding, those words only you can bring to get me through this barren and bitter season. Make every effort to come before winter.

 

(from “Come Before Winter” by Chuck Swindoll. This three word quotation comes from the New Testament, the Book of 2nd Timothy, in which Paul the Apostle requests Timothy bring his cloak and parchments to him as he languishes in the Roman prison).