In Dust and Glory: Chapter 1

Preface

In Dust and Glory began with a single moment: Christ stepping into a life carefully built on pride, fear, and good intentions.

That first scene became Altars, a short story that later inspired my longer project, Cataract. While Cataract delves into the deeper battles within, this trilogy offers a condensed, symbolic reflection of the journey I believe many of us face in our walk with Christ.

Each chapter in this trilogy reveals a part of that journey—not with explanations, but with story. What we call loss, God may call mercy. What we see as ruin, He may see as the beginning of restoration.

This is a story of undoing.
And rebuilding.
In dust—and in glory.

Altars

Oh yes, please—do come in! It’s so great to finally meet You. Here, have a seat. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about You, but I never dreamed You would do me the honor of actually paying a visit to my home. You honor me. I hope Your trip wasn’t too troublesome. Can I get You a coffee? Water?

No? Well, if You change Your mind, let me know.

What brings You here today? You can’t have come all this way just to see me.

Wait—what?
You’re joking.
You came to see me?
A tour? You want to see my home?

Well… yes, that would be fine. It’s nothing special, but I’ve worked hard to keep it up.

Actually—if You like—I could build You an altar. I’ve become quite good at it.

I’ve made altars to all sorts of things.
There’s the altar of Pride, where I frequently come to worship. That one gets a lot of use.
But that’s not all—there’s a beautiful one I built for Wealth, polished until it gleams. I’ve poured my heart out on the altar of Fear more times than I’d like to admit. And the altar of Desire… well, let’s just say she’s had me as her visitor more times than I can count.

What can I say?
I’m a craftsman when it comes to altars.
I believe I could make one for anything or occasion.

…

What’s with that expression? You don’t seem too impressed with my collection.

I don’t understand. I’ve used the talents, the mind, the body You gave me to build all this. I’ve worked hard—so hard. Blood, sweat, tears. I’ve created something lasting. Something valuable.

How dare You turn Your nose in disgust?

Do You have any idea how much effort I’ve poured into this? How many nights I stayed up dreaming, building, sacrificing?

Oh, that’s rich—so You’re saying all of this was wasted effort?

Hey! Wait! What are You doing!?

Don’t touch that!

You’re going to destroy my work?

Stop—no, wait!

That altar took years! That one was the foundation! That one was me!
I invite You in and this is how You repay me?
I say all these glowing things about You and this is what I get?

I thought You were good!
This… this doesn’t feel good at all.

All those years of work…
Shattered in a moment.

The sound still rings in my ears—splintering wood, crumbling stone, the groan of something sacred being unmade.

What are You doing now?

Wait… what do You mean?

Chains?

What chains?

…

What is this?

When did You put these on me?

Where did these shackles come from?

No—no, I would’ve noticed. I would’ve known. Don’t be ridiculous.

Someone must’ve put them here. Not me. I would never…

With these chains—and all this debris—this place is really starting to feel… tight.
Claustrophobic, even.
Have those bars always been there?

How strange. It seems as though, in my relentless pursuit of building altars, I never noticed.

It’s rather drafty in here, too. Cold.
Everything echoes now.

Anyway—back to the task at hand. You.

Why did You come here?

You’ve made a great mess of my home. And I wish You hadn’t mentioned the chains. I didn’t notice them before, but now… now I feel them. Around my ankles. Digging in. They hurt.

Do You have any idea how long this will take to rebuild?

Of course You don’t.

I know I invited You in… but I think it’s time You leave.

In fact, I’ll see You—

…

Out?

He’s gone.

Vanished.

Without a word. No apology. Not even a glance back.

What a self-righteous man He turned out to be.

He wasn’t like the stories I’ve heard at all.

…

And yet.

He didn’t scream.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t defend Himself.

He just… walked through my home. Quietly. Saw it for what it was. And with gentle, ruthless hands, began to tear it down.

…

Now it’s just me.
Me and the ruins.
And these chains.

And this silence—
It stretches.
It presses.
It lingers.

Something is breaking in me. Or maybe something is being made.

I don’t know anymore.

All I know is…

I don’t want to build again.