The Sword

The cliff walls rose steep and severe towards a bleak and colorless sky. A narrow, lifeless path curved a jagged opening between the cliffs. The rocks jutting from the cliffs pointed like threatening knives towards the earth. Dust swirled upward as gusts of wind blew through the path. It was a cold, clean wind blowing from the opening at the far end of the cliffs.

A thin trembling figure appeared at this opening. It was a young woman who was slowly placing one foot in front of another. Her clothing was new and washed. Her hair long and clean. Her sword bright and sharp. She was untouched by battle, yet deep, desperate knowledge glowed in her bright eyes. The questions in her mind were spinning.

Why was she here? What could she possibly do? Was this really her fight? Who had fallen to this trap? Not her. Surely there were bigger more vital battles to fight?

The voice of her father, however, rang in her ears, louder and clearer, the more her doubts assailed her. GO AND BRING MY PEOPLE BACK TO ME.

She could not turn around and leave now. Her fist clenched around the hilt of her sword. The leather dug into her palm. She closed her eyes. The dangers were real, the fear however was not true. There could be no fear when she held her sword. She was one against a hundred, but she had been given more strength than a thousand.

Her feet began moving forward, firm and defiant. Her enemies would not keep their victory today. Their temporary glory would fall to shame at their feet. She steeled her countenance, preparing herself for the sight she would see. Death was waiting on the path ahead.

The path turned as the cold wind propelled her feet forward. With it came a new smell. A stench, overwhelming and strong. The stench of a hundred dead bodies heaped against the sides of the path. Their mangled, bloody limbs were bent and twisted at odd angles. Faces blank and lifeless. Deep and gaping wounds glared angrily towards the sky.

The young woman caught her breath and one hand involuntarily covered her mouth. She had seen death before, but not to this magnitude. Doubt reared its ugly claws and clutched her heart in an iron grip. She knew what she had to do, but what if it didn't work? They were all already dead.

There was no but her enemies to see. They were invisible but she knew they were in the rocks hiding, waiting with baited, poisenous breath. What if she looked like a weak and powerless fool in their eyes?

Her sword began vibrating and then heat shot from its hilt to its tip. The physical reminder of the power she held brought tears to her eyes. This was going to be painful.

Sobbing, she began walking and reached the first pile of dead. Realization hit her chest like an avalanche. It nearly knocked her to her knees with its weight. These dead would never know freedom unless she moved in the power given to her. They would never know real life, real truth and unshakable faith unless she reached out to touch them.

She slowly raised her sword over the first body. Flames of heat began flickering off its shiny surface. How her hands could hold the sword without being burned she did not know.

Crying out the name of her father she brought the sword down into the center of the corpse's heart. Her gut lurched in agony as the dead one's anguish swept through her body. Her sword began trembling violently as the body broke into convulsions.

She withdrew the sword and the body, a man's, let out a shuddering gasp. Skin, bones, blood and sinews rippled back into place across his body. Both eyes popped open and he sat up with a deep gasp,

The young woman backed up, speechless. It worked! He smiled, reached for his sword and jumped to his feet," What are you waiting for?"

Still unable to speak she stared. She wasn't a fool!

" The others..." he turned, plunging his sword into the body that had been lying next to him, motioning her forward.

Strengthened and empowered the young woman leaped forward, sword still hot.

The truth had brought life. She murmured her father's name in gratitude and thankfulness. She was no longer alone. An army was rising at her feet.

I am here now.

"Therefore, behold, I will allure her, bring her into the wilderness and speak kindly to her. Then I will give her her vineyards from there, and the valley of Achor as a door of hope. And she will sing there as in the days of her youth, as in the day when she came up from the land of Egypt. It will come about in that day,' delcares the Lord,' that you will call Me Ishi and will no longer call Me Baali. For I will removed the names of the Baals from her mouth, so that they will be mentioned by their names no more. In that day I will also make a covenant for them, with the beasts of the field, the birds of the sky and the creeping things of the ground. And I will abolish the bow, the sword and war from the land, and will make them lie down in safety. I will betroth you to Me forever; Yes, I will betroth you to Me in righteousness and justice, in lovingkindness and in compassion, and I will betroth you to Me in faithfullness. Then you will know the Lord. It will come about in that day that I will respond,' delcares the Lord,' I will respond to the earth, and the earth will respond to the grain, to the new wine and to the oil, and they will respond to Jezreel. I will sow her for Myself in the land. I will also have compassion on her who had not obtain compassion. And I will say to those who were not My people, you are My people! And they will say 'You are my God!" ~ Hosea 2 ~

I approached the tent with heart full of numb desire. I had nothing to offer, nothing to give him. I did not want him. It had been weeks since I had been with him alone. In my mind I understood, that this, even this, even my apathy towards him, my coldness, would not diminish his desire for me. In my heart I felt a thousand miles away from this truth. I could not love him. Yet he loved me with an unbreakable steadfastness.

I stopped two feet from the tent. The night shadows flickered from the torches burning around this dwelling place. I smelled the sweet aroma of his presence drifting from inside. It did not entice me like it once had. It did not draw me to him. I wanted to run. I wanted to run back to garden he made for me. I wanted to run back to his gifts and his treasures and the wealth of his kingdom that he lavished with great generosity over me.

I loved that garden. It was satisfying. I understood, in my mind, this was because it all was from him. It is was meant to draw me to him. In my heart however, I only wanted to stay in the garden. It was just too full of pleasure to leave.

Yet, inside I was still empty. I did not feel empty. However, I knew I was, because I had not see him.

That was only reason my feet had taken me here. It was a choice, not a feeling. My trembling hand reached out to pull back the tent curtain. It was time to be with him again. It was time to let him fill me with satisfaction. I did not want it, but my will was dragging my reluctant feet forward.

I slipped inside, taking a deep breath. My head was screaming a thousands fears, my heart continued to beat evenly, numbly, without feeling. I saw him before he saw me, standing near his couch holding a book open in his strong hands. The candlelight gleamed off of his golden hair. I swallowed, suddenly awkward and frightened. I should turn and leave, now, before he saw me.

It was too late, he turned, fixing those burning blue eyes on my face. The book slipped from his hands as a smile brushed his lips. Then I was in his arms.

" I knew you would come," he whispered, kissing me softly. I weakly responded, unable to resist him, but still not wanting him like he wanted me.

" I'm sorry," I whispered back, trembling arms slowly entwining around his strong body.

He chuckled against my neck, and then pulled back to gaze into my face. I could see myself in

his eyes, and hated the relfection. I was not a the bride he deserved, or needed, or should want. I did not love him.

" Don't look at me like that, my love," he said against my lips," I don't care how long it has been, or how you feel or what you've done. I will never stop loving you."

I did the unthinkable and angrily shoved him away. Hurt clouded every radiant aspect of his beautiful face.

"Darling..."

My hand covered his lips and my words fell out of my mouth like a rushing torrent," Why did you give me everything? Why is everything so pleasant without you? Why can I not love you now? Why do I not want you? Tell me...you know everything, nothing is hidden from your eyes. Why give me the very things that turn my heart away from you? Was it not better when I had nothing? Was it not better in the desert when it was only you and me? Where have all my desires..."

I broke into bitter weeping unable to continue, and dropped my eyes from his. I immediately felt his hands cradling my face.

"Beloved, I don't want your love just in the desert. I want it at all times. I want it when you feel it and need it and when you don't. I want it when you have nothing and when you have everything. There are deeper places we have yet to go. Everything I have given you is to take you to those places. Open your eyes...look at me."

I slowly and stubbornly did. His eyes burned like fire into my soul.

"Listen to my words..." he kissed my lips,"...every time you let the music you hear calm your spirit and stir your heart, it's because it's drawing you to my peace and passion. Everytime your imagination and courage is inspired by a story you hear or see, it is because I am showing you pieces of my heart. Every time your friends make your heart glad and free, it is because I am showing you the freedom of my presence."

I sucked in a breath, feeling a tightening my chest for the first time since walking in the tent. He had not mentioned the deepest part yet...

I waited.

He picked me up softly and carried me to his couch. I closed my eyes against his chest. I could feel the pressure, the expectation, the waiting....

He sat us both down, nestling me in his lap.

"Beloved..." his lips brushed my cheek, arms tightened around me with possessive strength.

"Every time he holds you, kisses you and speaks love to you, it is all coming from me. I want you to know how you've captured my heart. When you are heart pounds with desire for him, it is because it is desiring me. When you long for him surround you with safety, it is because you are longing for my safety. When you heart is screaming for his kisses and his touches, it is because you want my touch. When you dream of him at night holding you forever, it is because you want me to hold you forever."

I broke into sobs as he ended these words. They were all true.

"He is becoming everything to me. He is satisfying," I choked out.

"That is because I am everything," he whispered," I am satisfying."

I buried my face into his neck and my heart exploded with a thousand emotions. I was in my king's arms again. He was holding me. Wanting me.

"What do I do," I whispered against his lips.

"Enjoy me, come to me, let me show you my heart in this," the thick aroma of his presence and smell, consumed the room. He was drawing my heart again.

"I'm here now," I said weakly.

"And so I will love you..." his lips overwhelmed mine.

He spoke kindly to Her...

This is something I started writing the beginning of this semester. The woman in the story is the Church, the man is Jesus. The unborn baby represents the generations to come. Read it from that viewpoint...

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The young woman stared at him angrily, with blue eyes that could have scorched a cornfield. He was taken back by her hostility, distrust yes, but not this.

He took a step farther back, kneeling on one knee, as she curled into a tighter protective ball around her swollen belly.

"I promise I won't hurt you, or the baby," he told her softly.

She began crying again, obviously unable to believe his kindness or so overcome by it she couldn't speak. He waited patiently, until her eyes turned towards his again. They were still hostile, but not quite has distrustful as before.

"What happened?" he asked, continuing to be patient.

She slowly sat up, painfully, as if every bone in her body was aching. Bruises covered her cheekbones, and a huge cut marred the right side of her neck. With great effort she began to speak.

" I have no mother, I have no father. The child I bear is not even my husband's. I have no husband. I have no home. I have nothing to call my own. Everything I have has been given to me or taken away by others. Why do you even care to ask me? Can you not see what I am?"

The young man's heart was torn by the despair and absolute finality he felt in her voice. What was even worse was the belief he heard in her words.

Suddenly she doubled over, throwing up all over the ground between them. His first reaction would have been one of disgust, but immediately his vision blurred in a cloud of color. Handwritten words the color of blood on an ancient pages burst before his eyes.

He blinked, trying to see, but they would not leave until he read them.

You will love me.

You will love what I love. Hate what I hate. Speak what I speak. Sing what I sing.

You will love my bride.

As soon as he finished reading the last line, the words and colors vanished and he was staring at the young woman once more.

The young man felt his heart melt. He wanted to bury his head in the dust and beg this woman's forgiveness for all the injustice that had been done to her, for all the lies, bitterness and hatred that had been brought against her with the fierceness of a thousand vengeful dragons. If he could bleed, cry and scream for her, he would.

Instead he bent closer once more," I know you have no reason to trust me, but what if I was your only hope? I cannot be worse than what you have known. What if I have the answer? Can you be willing to risk that?"

She blinked, staring wide-eyed without expression, yet the mistrust had faded from her gaze.

"It may take a while, I know," he continued," but I must tell you that this is not who you are."

"Who are you to tell me such a thing?" she told him, voice sharp and cynical," You don't know me."

Now it was his turn to blink," I know more about you than you may think."

She did not seem to like this answer.

He continued talking ignoring her conflicting attitude.

"This baby your carrying for example. She is not a curse, but a blessing. Do not give birth with heart that only feels derision and frustration at her conception. She is life. In that you must find hope and destiny."

The woman stared at him like he had absolutely lost his mind.

"How do you know it's a girl?"

He shrugged, and held out his hand," Are you going to stand up or not?"

She very slowly reached and slipped her hand into his. He pulled her up, steadying her unstable legs and then slowly turning her towards the river.

"I think you need to drink from the water, before we go anywhere."

She began trembling, and turned her face, against him as if the river had eyes that haunted her.

"What's wrong?" he lifted her face, to see her eyes.

"I don't want to go there."

"Why not?"

"The more I drink, the more thirsty I get. I hate being thirsty."

He stared at her, bewildered.

"With that kind of attitude, you will always be thirsty. You must drink if you will ever find satisfaction."

She glared at him," You don't think I've tried. It's hopeless."

He let go of her hand," How far did you go?"

She blinked," What do you mean?"

He repeated the question.

She shook her head, beginning to cry," It hurt too much."

He gently pushed her ahead of him," I'll go with you. We'll drink together."

She didn't want to go. But with him pushing her, giving her no choice, the young woman slowly walked forward.

They reached the water's edge. She stared down at it like the water's held a nest of poisonous snakes.

He took her hand and knelt first, drawing her after him. He cupped on hand into the cool wetness and brought it to his lips.

"You try," he released her hand, letting it be her choice.

If a shark had just jumped out of the water at her, she could not have looked more frightened. Very slowly she stretched out shaky fingers towards the water. Her gaze shot to him, seeking courage.

" You can do it," he encouraged.

Trembling, she plunged her hand into the water and brought it dripping to her sunburned lips. She swallowed it with a groan, and dropped her hand into the water for more.

"Go as slow as you need to," he told her.

She only leaned closer to the water in response. In fact she began to drink greedily. He reached a hand out to steady her from falling into the river.

Then suddenly she sat back, face wet, glistening, but suddenly beautiful, calm and peaceful. Cuts and bruises had disappeared.

"Where does the water come from?" she asked in a whisper.

He chuckled, rocking back on his heels beside her.

"Do you want to find out?"

She nodded, he stood, giving her his hand. She awkwardly held her belly and rose, leaning against him.

"Then follow me..."

A journal entry...

So it's been a while since I've posted anything on here. Came across something I wrote in my journal last month and thought it would be something worth other peoples' time...maybe. Just a short little thing I wrote between me and Jesus...once again, a story.

I sat at the foot of the great oak. I knew my forehead was wrinkled in seriousness and that my mouth was turned down in a soft, but thoughtful frown. I could do nothing to stop it. Even when I heard his gentle footfalls on the path along the lake.

I didn't even look up when he crept down and sat beside me. I felt him tip his face to get a good look into mine.

"How's my girl?" he said in his dear familiar voice.Somehow, even this did not take away the edginess inside my gut.

"I don't know," I replied honestly, leaning my chin in my palm and turning to return his gaze. It was as beautiful as always, full of peace. I needed that solidarity.

I shook my head continuing to speak," It's all so wrong. I feel like nothing can truly be fixed in this world."

He didn't smile and his face grew solemn." I know," he paused letting those two words sink deep inside my soul. They gripped me like iron, and then he said," ...you feel like everyone, one way or another is always going to eventually make a wrong choice and we are all waiting on that moment when we do and once it comes nothing will ever fix it. This feels you with dread and despair, you feel doomed."

I stared at him, feeling that dark despair creeping into me even as he spoke. He had said it with such feeling. I knew he felt it too. That thought alone gripped me with terror. If he felt the same way then we all were truly doomed.

Reading my thoughts, as he always did, he then said," I feel every thought and emotion you have, don't think I don't, but I don't believe the lies they tell you. I never believe something cannot be restored. I don't believe in never or in endings."

I blinked, feeling the frustration build, like a dam about to burst. The words he spoke could not quiet me.

"People only see what they want to see, they play games and deceive. How do you know what truth is? Just when you believe, that belief is ripped away with gnawing little doubts. I wish I could save people, you know, I hate what I see. How do you watch it happen? Doesn't your heart break?"

I knew his answer, well, at least I thought I did. I knew also that all of this had nothing to do with me, especially when it came to saving people or making things right, but I was selfish and all I could do was question and rant like a spoiled child.

I took a deep breath, a tear sliding down my cheek. Full of kindness and grace as always, he wiped it away and slid closer, not speaking for an entire moment as he wrapped one arm around my waist, folding me into his chest.

"Every second I breath," he whispered into my ear," but then I sit here with you and I see the sunset and I remember one thing."

"What?" I whispered back, my heart pounding. That was not the answer I expected him to say.

"You are beautiful," he kissed my cheek," and what ever it takes to make you believe that I will sacrifice."

"You are crazy," I replied, closing my eyes even as the words strangely gave me comfort.

"My ways are not your ways," he said softly.

I suddenly felt much better.

Jesus.

( I began writing something last summer that I remembered today. I decided to finish it, realizing how timely it was because of a song that God has brought into my life this week. I just wanted to imagine what is would be like if I put myself in the time, in that place, in Jerusalem, near Jesus. What would I do? I'm not sure this is a completely accurate portrayal of what I would be like...I might actually have run the other way instead of towards the cross. But know this spoke to me, even as I wrote it. I wanted to post the words to the song (that is the chorus of the song) too before what I actually wrote.)

May I never lose wonder, the wonder of Cross. May I see it like the first time, standing as a sinner lost. Under thy mercy I'm left speechless, watching wide-eyed at the cost. May I never lose the wonder, the wonder of the Cross. (vicky beeching)

Jesus

It was blood I found first. The streets were deserted, filthy with trash from the angry mob that had passed before me. The stones were smeared with a dark long stain. I knelt, one finger to the street, brushing the still-wet substance. My finger came away a deep red.

I closed my eyes, a terrible pressure tightening my chest, bearing down in a pain that threatened to explode. Full of dread, I rose, following the trail of blood; tears involuntarily dripping down my cheeks. Why were they doing this too him? Why?

I spotted a beggar on the street, hands outstretched. I rushed to him, grateful for someone, anyone to tell me the truth...truth I did not want to hear, but was desperate for none the less.

“What has happened? Where all the people, where is Jesus?”

I nearly shouted at him, the poor man. He cowered and pointed one claw-like hand towards his left. “To Golgotha, my lady. They mean to crucify him.”

I stepped back as if slammed into an iron wall.

No!“How long ago?” I managed to ask in a voice weak and lifeless.

“Only just. The crowd was here two minutes ago.”A small measure of hope pierced my mind.

Perhaps I could reach him in time. I thrust a gold shekel into the ragged man’s hands and took off in a sprint down the cluttered thoroughfare. His cries of gratitude fade amidst the pounding of my own heart.

I didn’t hear the crowd until two hundred yards later. My breath was ragged and lungs bursting, but I pressed on, beginning to pass scattered groups of people.They stared, no doubt surprised to a see a young woman running through the market streets. I ignored them, as the crowd’s roar began to heighten. I reached the first fringes, just as they neared the gates to the city.

“Let me through!” I screamed, weaving through the growing mob.Someone tried to shove me over, but I kept my feet and ducked through four porticoes and slipped through the gate.

Horrendous shouts, the foul stench of unwashed bodies and animal dung filled the air, mingled with dust and sweat.

“Please, I must get through!” I pleaded, pushing now in a frenzy.

I fell to my knees once, the stones scraped through the fine linen of my tunic. It stung violently, but I took no notice, nearly crawling. I found a way to the nearest building and pulled myself up. I pressed forward once more.

The crowd’s faces were full of hideous expectation, as though some spectacular play was about to flash before their eyes. My face no doubt was stricken with grief. I felt dizzy, my vision blurred. Was there anyone who cared?

I was nearly to the outer gate now, the momentum of the crowd was beginning to carry me along with it. The crack of the bullwhip was the first hint that I was drawing close. I knew he had already been beaten. I had seen crucifixions before. I knew what they were doing.My tears had calmed. I knew only one thing. I must see Jesus.

More pushing and pleading and almost near shoving got me fifty feet closer. I could see wooden beams being carried above the crowd’s heads. I covered my mouth to stifle a gasp and rushed headlong into the remaining crowd, until the men carrying the beams came into sight.

Jesus was not there. Hope lashed out with its bitter gust as I suddenly clung to the thought that his sentence had been reversed. But then I saw him, struggling behind the first cross beam, which was being borne by another man.

Someone was carrying his cross!

I swallowed tears of gratitude at the youth, who’s face was pouring with blood. Apparently he had been struck across the forehead. Then I turned my eyes on Jesus.It was the most ghastly of sights. I began to cry once more as I pressed closer, trying to get in step beside him.

His skin was covered in blood, his clothes hung in tatters, sticking to the open gashes and wounds gaping across his back and arms. I covered my mouth in horror as I realized pieces of skin were hanging from his tunic.

His face was still turned away. I knew it must be a horrific sight as well. Floggings disfigured and crippled men for life.

“Jesus...” I whispered, now within ten feet of his labored journey.

His head, glistening with blood, and painfully crowned with a mocking wreath of jagged thorns, turned towards me.

I sobbed in intense anguish as his one good eye, amidst a mangled mass of bloodied flesh stared back at me. The other eye, I saw was swollen shut, a purple lump.

“Jesus.” I breathed, gazing into his eye.

His brutalized appearance vanished as that one eye fixated itself on me. He consumed all other thoughts.It was as if I was being transported back to that time when I first saw him on the temple steps. He’d consumed everything then as well. Every thought, every breath, every movement.

“Jesus...” my voice came out as a pitiful whimper.

I once again saw my life flash before my eyes. Every little detail with startling clarity, yet through it all overwhelming love consumed my being. Like that day on the lake it knocked me to my knees. I wanted to die. If they killed him, I knew my life was over. I could not live without him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine. I saw the pain, the anguish, the weight of a thousands lives, but I saw something else...determination. He was going to see this through, til the end. His last words to me the morning before echoed in my grief ravaged mind.

...I must follow my Father’s will...

I didn’t like this Father he talked about. This powerful being who was making Jesus do such a horrifying thing. I wanted to scream at someone. Anyone. Only a stifled gasp poured from my lips.

“Get up,” said Jesus, in a garbled voice,” This is not the end.”

My eyes gazed at his mutilated face, unable to stand up.

“Get up,” he repeated, and then struggled past me as the soldiers shoved him on.Without knowing how I found myself rising and following, with less urgency than before, but with the same passionate force. In twenty minutes we were outside the city. Numbness had settled around me. I wanted to flee, to escape, yet I wanted to stay. I must stay.

The crosses were being raised on the hill by the time I reached Jesus once more. His screams were the only screams I heard as the nails went through hands and feet of the sentenced men. I was weeping now, beyond control.I stopped within twenty feet, near the edge of the hill, as the cross was raised. All I could see was the blood on his shaking body. I wondered how much more he had left. His eyes met mine once more, even as he shook in agony. I wanted to run again, but I had already fallen to my knees. I would not leave until he breathed his last.

“Why?” I moaned over and over again.Staring into his face, the answer slammed into my chest with a weight heavier than darkness.

...It is for you...

“No!” I screamed,” NO!”I tore my eyes away, unable to look at him any more and covered my face in shame.

Cold dread ripped into me, yet even as it did, warmth flooded my body.

...I love you this much...

The shame faded, receded like the tide going back to the sea.

...you are worth it...

And then I wept for joy. I wanted to stop myself, but couldn’t. Jesus wouldn’t let me