Part 1 of a story I wrote a few years ago.
Her snow-white robe absolutely glowed in the light which poured down on her. As though she were a prism, she caught and bent the light, radiating its soft glory all around.
The light surrounded her as she walked, lighting the path so she never stumbled. Darkness encircled her light, darkness filled with shouts and running feet and cries of people falling. Every now and then she could glimpse one of these figures at the fringe of her light: sometimes glaring, sometimes sad, sometimes curious. The girl always smiled, and the faces disappeared.
The girl conversed as she walked with someone no one else could see. Her gaze tilted upward and she would laugh, or question, or grow silent and thoughtful.
Just beyond the edge of her light lurked another girl. Her black garments blended into the darkness, but she found herself fascinated by the beautiful light. It seemed so safe and lovely, but so odd, so powerful, that it intimidated her. So she followed behind, always out of the light, watching and listening. Though she could hear both voices, she could not understand the language of the unseen speaker.
Unaware of the quiet watcher, the girl in white sang to her Redeemer. Until a dart struck her and she cried out. Several more followed, bitter words of hypocrite, liar, dreamer, and hateful.
Bending, she snatched up one of the weapons and hurled it in the direction it had come.
Before she could touch the others, the Voice interrupted. “My daughter, those are not your weapons.”
She left the others where they lay. “Oh, Father, forgive me. I forgot in my anger.”
“I forgive you, daughter.”
She leaned her head back as if she could see the Source of the light if she only looked hard enough. “Father, I love to walk in Your light, but sometimes I feel as if it makes me a target for enemies I cannot see.”
As if to prove her words, another dart pierced her. “Coward!”
Tears smarted in her eyes. “Father, they hurt. And I cannot see to fight them. It does not seem fair that hidden enemies may hurl their weapons, but I have only a sword and cannot see where to use it.”
“But your sword is stronger, and I will show you where to fight.”
She drew a long breath. “I know You will. Forgive my doubts.”
“I forgive.” She could almost hear the smile in the Voice. “Now take up your sword, and let Me fight for you.”
So she grasped the sword in her right hand.
“Turn,” said the Voice, “and face the east.”
She opened her mouth and countered the last barb. “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God to salvation for everyone who believes.”1
She spoke, and her sword burned with unearthly intensity, throwing light farther in the direction she faced. It illuminated a figure in dark clothing, dodging away as though wounded by the light. But this sort of wound was intended to bring the person to the Healer, and thus it did not destroy.
“Now turn and face the south.”
She turned and replied to dreamer. “But we preach Christ crucified, to the Jews a stumbling block and to the Greeks foolishness, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.”2
Directed toward another place, she refuted liar. “And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”3
Once more, in reply to hypocrite, “O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? I thank God—through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, with the mind I myself serve the law of God, but with the flesh the law of sin.”4
She was not allowed to respond to the barb of hateful, for she had already cast it back. But each time she spoke, her sword blazed its light, and her weapon hit its mark. When she was done, she sheathed the sword and looked up, a smile once again upon her face. “Oh, thank You, Father. You are so good to me.”
To be continued next week…
21 Corinthians 1:23-24