Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Here is My Warrior!

She stands on the edge of her pain, a door open through which she can see the beginning.

Three huddle together in conference. “How will we manage to do that?” One asks.

“I have a plan. I have someone, yet to be conceived, who can do what we need.”

“But how? The job is too big, too difficult.”

“This one we will prepare from the moment of conception. We will fill her life with pain, sorrow and hardship. We will do this so she will become strong and unafraid. She will be hardened as diamonds and soft as pure gold.”

“What if we lose her to the pain?”

“We won’t. I have just the right parents for her and will bring them together.”

“Those two? The man is twice the woman’s age! She’s innocent and naive. He will disrespect, use and abuse her.”

“Yes, I know. That’s part of the plan.”

“They’re not married.”

“I know. They won’t want her. They will be alarmed at her growing presence inside the woman and will look for ways to get rid of her.”

“But if she’s the one we have chosen, and they are the right parents, what then?”

“The shaping of her character will begin in the darkness of this turmoil, knowing she’s unwanted but choosing to live. I am giving her traits and features that will bring pleasure and delight to her parents and they will choose to keep her.”

“Unmarried?”

“Unmarried.”

“I fear for this child.”

“Yes, she will have a hard life. She will be beaten, bruised and ignored.”

“And this is good?”

“It’s the only way.”

“Look! It’s beginning already! She’s so tiny. How can a man strike a newborn so harshly? Look! She is screaming and flailing her arms! Can’t we do something?”

“Yes. It is time for us to hold her. Bring the swaddling material. We will wrap her in our love, cradle her closely and comfort her with our presence. There now, little one. You are safe. I am protecting you. I will not let you go. Your pain hurts me too and I am angry at the sin that makes this necessary. This must be, but I am with you. It will never be more than you can bear. I hold you now and whenever the pain comes, I want you to choose my arms as your place of safety.”

As the father rages and the mother pleads, he pulls the flailing, screaming child close to his breast. As she calms in the security of the swaddling love, he lifts her high. Above the darkness of the bedroom she glows with the light of her Father and he declares, “This is my warrior. So be it.”

She who looks through the doorway understands. The pain has a purpose. He’s been with her all along. He’s been preparing a highway. It starts here, on the edge of her pain.


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