Samson Trammel's 1st Letter to Joyce

Joyce --

I don't know why you did what you did. But I don't care. You brought _God_ to visit me.

It has been harder to hear him since you started destroying whatever pieces of him you could find. But now, I hear him more clearly than ever. Thank you, Joyce.

I know now you lied to me about taking Nectar. I could taste it on Martin when I fucked him the last time. And I don't care. You don't have to take it. God _understands_. God _knows_ you have suffered so much. And this is so unnecessary, Joyce. There is so much you could be doing -- you could be flying around the world so that _your_ name is the one on people's lips!

In a way, Joyce, I almost envy you. You have known Him early as long as I have, and almost as intimately. You have known Him in so many guises. You fought Him, hated Him, raged against Him -- and loved Him. What would you _be_ without Him?

We are _nothing_ without _Him_! It terrifies you, doesn't it? But, it doesn't have to be that way. Those others? Those who have never _known_ God? They are pathetic! Earhardt? A lie. A joke. That's all she is, Joyce. A little girl lying to herself about how great she is. She is _nothing_ in the eyes of God. It is her arrogant _pride_ that lets her think she can fly around the _world_ without _His_ good will.

And she doesn't _have_ that, Joyce. _You_ do.

I guess that's what I'm really trying to say, Joyce. God _loves_ you.

I know it sounds terrifying. You've been hiding from this for so long. But, you don't have to be afraid. Hasn't He shown you great mercy? Wasn't He mericiful to you last night? You said that it was up to God, only _Him_, whether you walked out alive. You humbled yourself to Him.

And He allowed you to live.

He allows _all_ of you to live. We are _all_ a part of something so much _bigger_ than we could _ever_ =hope= to be.

And you don't have to be afraid, Joyce.

_I'm_ not afraid. Not anymore. God _holds_ me in the _palm_ of His _hand_. He holds us _all_, all His _Chosen Ones_.

I know you hate me. No, not even hate. You despise me. You want me dead. But, you still brought _God_ to me in my hour of need.

You brought _God_ to me.

I love you, Joyce.

--Samson Trammel