Excerpts

Lady White- Chapter One

“Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down!” While the last word of the child’s rhyme had just escaped my mother’s lips and was still hovering in the air, we fell to the ground in a fit of giggles. That was my favorite game to play when I was a child. Feeling my mother’s calloused hands clasping tightly to mine as we skipped around in a circle, her voice ringing in my ears. Once we had fallen to the ground, we bothered not to rise again. We were in the middle of a field of white daisies, untainted by the smallest drop of color. They seemed to glow in their purity. My mother insisted on making a crown for my head.

“Go, child,” she said, “run and pick me the most beautiful ones you can find.” With my skirts up in hand and my hair flying free behind me, I ran through the field, only stopping to pick the most beautiful flowers I could see. As I gathered, I could here my mother’s voice raised above the gentle wind in singing her favorite hymn.

“Low I kneel, with heart submission, see, like ashes, my contrition: help me in my last condition.” I basked in the sound. Her voice always made me feel at peace. The breeze blew my skirts around me as I crouched down to pick a daisy, and soon it had taken my mother’s voice up to the heavens. The flowers swayed and rustled; the wonderful scent carried throughout the field, staining my clothes with the fragrance. When I finally could hold no more, I turned and started running to my mother, holding the stems out to her. She stood surrounded by the flowers, her auburn waves flying in the breeze, her skirt following suit, and a wide smile lighting up her face.

“Hurry, my love,” she said, “we haven’t much more time.”

I had almost reached her when I asked, “Why, Mama? Why haven’t we much more time?” But it was already too late. She had gone. Fear prickled the back of my neck. The light blue sky turned black, the flowers began to wilt, raindrops of red stained the petals until finally the whole of them were as blood. The breeze turned to a screaming wind as the odor of burnt-out torches hovered under my nose. The stems I held fell from my hands. I turned this way and that, hearing voices from that dreadful day.

“Any last words?” he had said. The creaking of the strained wood as the cart was pulled from beneath her feet resounded in my ears.

I woke with a start, still hearing her strangled cry in my head, still picturing the beautiful, depthless eyes of the woman to whom that cry belonged. I sat up and scrubbed my face with my hands, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The knife I vaguely remembered picking up when wakening I put gently to the ground.

“Why do you torture me so?” I whispered.

A small voice seeming to sound in my heart replied, You do so to yourself.

“Excuse me, my lady,” a less intimidating voice said from behind me. I turned around to look at the short fellow who had spoken. He was in his twenties, but his height was barely taller than myself. There was a ring in his right eyebrow and one in his nose.

“Aye, Dorad?”

“There is a messenger here, my lady. From King Richard,” he replied.

“King Richard?” I asked quietly to myself. “What would he want with us except for entertainment on the gallows?”

Dorad grinned. “True, my lady. But the messenger hasn’t spoken of his majesty’s words yet. Says he would only tell it to the leader of our clan. So far he has kept his word. Don’t worry, my lady, we didn’t hurt him none, only threatened him a little. Right scared he is. White as a spirit his face, almost like yours. Liridon said to bring you to talk to the man.”

My eyebrows rose. “Liridon is as much leader as I,” I said in false exasperation.

Dorad shrugged. “Well, my lady, it is your face that bears the notorious name.”

I smiled, rolled my eyes, and got to my feet. I knew not to ask how the messenger found our camp. We kept close watch on all couriers sent from the palace. We had to always be three steps ahead of his majesty. An almost cruel one, he was; never giving anyone a fair trial if a criminal was captured. Not that we deserved a fair trial. My men did their job very well though, and intercepting messengers was one of their specialties.

I began to roll up my bedding, listening to the trickle of water running through the rocks from outside my sleeping place. “Was the messenger followed after he was questioned, Dorad?” I asked. “Or was he escorted, instead of following our friends’ orders? After that last hilariously failed attempt of Richard’s to be rid of us, we have to make sure this isn’t some trick. He might have been gifted with a brain in the last few weeks. Scouts were sent out, I presume?”

“Aye, lady, scouts were sent, but the lad wasn’t even remotely followed.”

I straightened up from putting my bedding in a corner and put my arms over my head to stretch. “Well done,” I muttered. “Please tell them I will be with them in a few moments.” Dorad gave me a small nod and left, leaving me to think over this surprising visitor.

I changed from flaxen breeches to leather breeches, and put a snakeskin vest over my flaxen tunic. Black boots went up to my thigh, and a belt holding my weapons clasped around my hips. I stepped out of the cave and walked to the pond not three paces from the entrance. The aroma of evergreens and dampened earth filled the air, the smell of spring tickling my senses. It was a harsh winter, but finally the snows were almost melted, and tiny shoots of green could be seen under the forest debris.

I could hear the men getting on with their daily routine—training with their weapons, sharpening knives, rubbing down horses. The noise relaxed me. I reached down, dodging a frantic water creature, splashed some of the pond water over my face, and ran my fingers through my auburn hair. It was cropped short and close to my head. I stared back at my reflection. My eyes were brown and haunted, holding no joy; my nose was small with a tiny stud through the side, and my mouth full. My skin, what many said was my best feature, was white, pale, so much so that the miles of blue veins were visible. This is how I acquired the name the White Lady.

My attire showed my curves, but only enough to let people know I was a lass. Since I was the only maid in the camp, it was best I didn’t tempt the lads, especially our most recently joined, when they have not the pleasure of a woman for some months out of the year.

I ran my fingers through my hair again and smoothed down my vest. “I used to be as beautiful as my mother,” I whispered aloud, “and now look at me. Not even a lad drunk would desire me.”

Real beauty comes from what’s in the heart, the small voice said. I shook my head against it, feeling daft at hearing such things. The pond water began to ripple from a new coming breeze, and my reflection wavered until all I could see was the sunlight reflected on the small waves in the water. It was only when I turned on my heel to meet my waiting visitor did I realize the scent of daisies, when there wasn’t a daisy for miles.

Walking through the camp, my men looked up from their various tasks and greeted me, each voice holding respect. That might not have been the case when they joined our band, thinking the White Lady was a ruse, thinking that I only seduced the men we were going to kill in order to make the job easier. They never expected me to best them with bow and arrow, sword, knife, fists. They might better me in strength, but I bettered them in swiftness. It isn’t simple falling a man twice your size. And it is only with great teaching and skill that I can. I lay all the blame for it on Liridon, for he is the one who taught me such violent acts.

It wasn’t long until the small cave we used for our affairs came into view. My teacher was visible through the entrance, and I couldn’t help but smile at the picture he made. He was a man of average height and build, his hair was a dark brown and stood up in disarray all over his head. He had a ring that went through his lip, and tattoos covered both arms. Standing ramrod straight with his arms crossed over his chest made him look positively intimidating.

“At ease, Liridon,” I said as I strode up to my dearest friend. He looked down at me and grinned, softening his whole appearance. My heart went aflutter.

“I was just making sure he wouldn’t run away. Give up our hiding place just to get some silver for drink and company for his bed,” Liridon said innocently. “Thought you’d be proud of me, Lady Alina.”

“Shut it,” I growled.

He gave a bark of laughter but said no more. My attention went to the young man standing in front of us, who I took to be an adolescent. Judging from the fuzz on his angular face, I would have bet a gold piece he hadn’t even begun to shave. He stood very straight, in fact unnaturally so. He looked pained. He wasn’t a homely lad, tall and lean, with long blond hair and sapphire blue eyes. Yet fear made him seem as a young boy. His hands were clasped in front of him, the knuckles white. His body language was perfect for a man brave, but one look at his face told me he wished he could run to his mother.

I walked up to him slowly, looking him up and down.

“He doesn’t look old enough to satisfy any company in his bed he could persuade, Liridon,” I mumbled. He smirked and the lad reddened. I watched in great amusement as his face turned from terror to accepting death as I stood before him.

“Hmm…I do believe my reputation precedes me.”

“Aye.” Liridon chuckled.

The lad in front of me gulped, though trying to look courageous. I smirked.

“I’ll wager you heard I skin a man afore he’s dead, sear his flesh, and dine in front of him.”

“Ha-ha! That’s my favorite yet! Where’d you hear that one, Alina?”

I turned to Liridon. “Oh, I know not. I believe I was at the village and heard some old crone say it to a disobedient lad. She said more, but I didn’t hear the rest I was so busy laughing.”

“Do you?” The boy’s tremulous voice came to our ears.

Turning back to him, I said sweetly, “If you talk out of turn again, you’ll find out.”

His eyes grew wide and he bowed his head.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“F-f-fifteen, lady,” he stammered.

“Well, well,” I replied, “I guess the good king sought not to lose one of his much-needed knights by sending you, eh? Why lose a warrior when you can lose a pageboy? You never can know when I’m in a bad temper.”

His hands started to tremble more violently than before.

“Plenty more where you came from, I’m sure,” I continued.

“Y-yes, lady,” he stuttered.

I walked over to a large boulder and sat, crossing my legs. After looking at my nails, I slowly buffed them on my vest front, and then seeing some specks of dirt, I took a small knife from my belt and scraped out from under them.

“What is your name?” I asked after a few moments, laying my hands on my lap with the knife clasped firmly between them.

“Nuri of Rumanae, lady.”

“I see. Pleasure to meet you, Nuri. Well, let me put it plain for you. In a minute you will relate to me King Richard’s message. Easy enough? Then I will give you my reply and send you off without any harm done to you. Maybe even with some extra provisions. You like the sound of that, don’t you? I knew you did. I could see it in your expression. And then you will give my reply to the king and that will be the end of your part in this whole exchange. But if you tell anyone of our whereabouts, well, let us just say you will be putting yourself in a very dangerous situation. You see, we always know when someone is looking for us; my spies are everywhere. Not to mention we always figure out who has spread rumors of our dwelling place. And since you are the only person who has visited us in quite a while, we would know automatically it was you to spread the rumors. For rumors they will be.

“This whole campsite would be gone afore anyone found us. And you, my little courier, you will still reside here in Rumanae. Aye, in the palace, and yes, under the king’s protection, but my men are the best, Nuri. They can get anywhere. It would be on a dark, moonless night. You would just have gotten into your bed, thinking of the pretty brown-headed lass who batted her eyes at you, almost asleep, when you’d hear a creak from your casement. Knowing you hadn’t opened it all that day, you would slowly arise from your straw mattress, search blindly for the candle you had just sat down, and when the tips of your fingers finally settled on the still warm wax, you’d hear the halting sound of metal leaving sheath. You know what would happen then.” To emphasize my point, I put the knife I held close to my throat and slowly slid it across. The boy’s eyes grew even wider and a harsh gasp sounded from his lips.

Continuing with what I hoped to be a menacing smile, I said, “Maybe we would leave you there to bleed, allowing your mother to see her precious son into the ground, or mayhap we’d take your corpse to the woods, letting the wild beasts feed on your flesh, while King Richard found you had run away, causing dishonor to your family forever more. I would rather not have to bother with you though; I’m much too busy to have to see you to an early grave.”

Standing, I walked over to him. Looking up into his frightened features, I remarked, “But I think you will grant my wish. We have an understanding then.” I slid my knife back into the sheath and brushed my hands together. “Now you may tell me of your message.”

The lad moved not for a moment, and I thought that in his fright his charge was forgotten, but then in a whisper that soon grew to a normal young man’s timbre, he began.

“Message from my lord, his majesty, King Richard III of Rumanae, given on the second day of All Hallows. Sir or Lady, I have a very pressing matter that I believe can only be resolved with your aid. It shames me to ask the very outlaws I despise more than anyone, yet it is the only way to get the task done. Please be escorted by my courier back to my palace for further details.”

Nuri fell silent. I thought he was just catching his breath until the silence dragged on.

“Is that the end of your message, Nuri?” I asked.

“Yes, my lady,” he said. He seemed a lot calmer after having ended his task.

“I see. Very well done, Nuri. By far the best messenger we have ever had the pleasure of entertaining.” I noticed a little twitch of his lips, almost a smile, as I said those words. He must not have been praised very often.

“Now I have a message for your king. King Richard, you might have had a better chance of acquiring my services if it did not shame you to ask me. Nevertheless, I will think of your message. You will hear from me in my own due time. And note that I am the one in charge, and you will play this game by my rules. You may repeat it back to me now, Nuri.”

It only took the boy once to remember word for word my message, and I bitterly thought how useful he could be working for me. But I dared not say it, knowing I could not ask a child to give up his pathetic little life for one on the run.

“Guards!” I called. Two of my men, Gothardan and Surain, strode into the cave with worried expressions on their faces, their daggers in hand.

“Lady, is everything all right?” Gothardan asked.

I smiled. “Of course everything is all right. Take our friend Nuri here and give him some ale and bread. When he has rested, escort him to the border of the forest and make sure he gets back to the castle. He carries a very important message. I trust when he comes to the forest’s trail, the route to our camp will be unknown to him.”

“Aye, my lady,” they both said in unison.

Nuri, stumbling, walked out of the cave, looking warily over his shoulder at Gothardan and Surain who followed close behind him.

Turning around, I found Liridon staring at me. Avoiding the inevitable question of my plans, I asked, “Why did you act like a love-struck fool when I came in here? No one is going to be frightened by a half-wit, and that is what you sounded like.”

He threw his hands out in front of him defensively. “I did not! I was trying to put the poor lad at ease. He looked like he would faint. Besides, you made him ten times more affright than I ever could. One look into those cold, brown eyes would have even the most battle-scarred warrior running for his mother. I know we’re assassins, Alina, but that doesn’t mean we must make children die of fright.”

He walked over to me. Putting one large calloused hand on my shoulder and one cupping my face, he gazed at me so tenderly I thought I felt rare tears prickling the back of my eyes.

I sucked in a harsh breath, trying with every fiber of my being to let not my true feelings show. A memory of a woman very dear to my heart, almost as a mother, came to my mind. A person’s eyes are the doors to their hearts. And yours, my little love, are always wide open.

“Where is the sweet young lass I would forage in the woods with?” Liridon’s soft inquiry brought me from my reverie.

“She died with her mother,” I whispered, taking my eyes away from his intent stare.

A great sadness enveloped him, and a sigh heaved forth. He stepped away from me, his arms dropping to his sides. “You know what we will do with this task that was set for us, don’t you?”

“How did you know?”

He shrugged. “You have that look about you is all.”

“I have a little plan,” I conceded.

“Uh-huh. We are going aren’t we?”

“Of course. I’m curious to know what this king could want with us.”

“What he wants,” Liridon said slowly, “is to get us to his castle, surround us with his men, and kill us off one by one.”

“I doubt that,” I said lightly.

He threw his hands up in the air and gave a short bark of laughter. “How could you doubt that? He’s been trying to catch us, to kill us, for years!”

“I know. But if this wasn’t important to him he would have at least tried to have the messenger followed. You know Richard, Liridon. Always he feels as if a whole troop of men need to be behind his bait. And he wouldn’t have troubled putting in his message that it shamed him to ask for our help. Help, mind—not our services, our help. I am sure he has plenty of assassins to get rid of one of his enemies right quick and quiet. Yet he asks us for help. This is not some trick or kill and get paid task like usual, Liridon. This is something that he doesn’t want even his most trusted advisors to know about. And he won’t be able to surround us with his men because we all will not be there. I will go alone. The lads, and you, will be close by of course, but I can get into the castle better undetected alone.”

Liridon regarded me closely. “Alina, I don’t like you putting yourself at risk.”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Liridon. You should know, you taught me yourself.”

“Aye, and I regret it every day.”

I had to laugh at that. I strode toward the cave’s entrance but stopped afore stepping out. Looking back, I said, “You can go along with me if you must, but I’d rather go alone.”

“And I’d rather you didn’t.”

I shrugged, knowing he would answer as such. There was no point in arguing with him. “All right. But if you get us caught, I’ll skin you myself.”

He grinned. “Agreed. When will we leave?”

“Two days from now at dawn. We’ll make sure Nuri gets to give the king our message and save time for Richard to sweat.”

Liridon gravely nodded his head. “I’ll fix the itinerary with Miambi and tell the men to ready themselves.” He sauntered over to me, placing his hand on the small of my back to brush past me. It seemed to linger for a moment longer than necessary. I stood there for a few moments more, listening to the changing rhythm of activities as he shouted orders at the men.

Stay, the small voice said. Seek me instead. For my love is great and everlasting.

“A lot of good that did to those I loved most.” The voice quieted inside me.

I walked out of the cave and through the camp, enjoying the warmth from the sun resting on my shoulders afore rushing to help two gangling men pack up weapons and store them next to the horses for easy placement on our departure day.

The camp filled with the buzz of excitement. The lads always were agog when they knew another payday was close in coming. And this one would be especially to their liking. It was set right next to a town that would hold many treats for them. My own blood was rushing in my veins, pounding in my ears. The thrill of the hunt was already upon us. Two days even afore we were to leave. It had been too long since we had a ride. Living comfortably for a few months was enjoyable for a time, regarding it be winter. But that could only be bearable for so long. It was time for us to once again use our training. It was not in vain when we told our customers we were the best; it was simply the truth. And in two days’ time, we would ride again. Another to lengthen the ever-fraying string of our destiny. And this ride was one to meet the king.

 

 

 

Short Stories

What is life?

I sit here and ponder this four letter word as the clock ticks loudly in my ears, distracting me, haunting me. Each second equals a past, a moment gone that can never be returned. What could have been in that last second, minute, hour, day? Is this all life is? Wondering, pondering, listening to the tick-tock? Waiting for the hand to stop?

Contrary to popular opinion, life is more than having fun, I come to realize, hearing laughter float up to my second story window above the passing cars on the street. Not every moment are you going to have a smile on your face and your own laugh ringing in your ears. It may be hard, it may be lonely- a couple things I’d rather not care to admit. This life that is wrapped up in days and years may knock you down so hard you can barely get up again and leave you with a pain so sharp no earthly thing can help in lessening it.

I stare hard at the page before me, thinking back, remembering the past. Pent up anger and bitterness weigh down on your chest, secrets that come unburied, lies that are told, deceits that are laid, so much heartache and pain, and I begin to wonder if this four letter word is worth it all. What good is it if happiness is spoken of like an unattainable dream, and you always find yourself wading out in self-pity’s stream?
But then my pen falters, and I take in a breath as my eyes grow wide and I think, “In all my ponderings and deliberations I never once thought, what if this life isn’t all about. . .me?”

I stand at the notion, pacing the cold wooden floor, the incessant tick-tocking seeming now to match the racing pace of my heart.

What if life is more than petty emotions and missed opportunities? What if it’s a journey with hills and valleys, a race that’s to be run not with negative expectation of the next valley to be trudged but with the exhilaration of the hope of being atop that next hill, basking in the latest accomplishment of. . .life? A walking, running, living, piece of art. . .on display for all to see and though perhaps each one looked upon with a different perspective, each with its own unique sort of beauty.

I realize, no, it’s not all about me and constantly thinking he didn’t do this, or she said that! It’s not about reliving my past and being knocked down by it in my present! No!

True, this life isn’t all about having fun nor is it to be enveloped in the idea that it’s nothing but hardship and emotional suffering.

It should be seen as an opportunity, a path leading to a purpose, a divine privilege. An age to lift up a new generation and an honor to gain wisdom from the last. A destiny to be undertaken, a book waiting to be read, a heart to be touched.
With every breath we take we can choose our next direction, whether it be right or wrong, and yet still if we choose the wrong, forgiveness awaits.
Life is not something to be wished away, but rather an adventure to be taken, a legacy to be left, an occasion to be more than what is expected of you.

I stand here and ponder, listening to the tick-tocking of the clock, no longer concerned with the passing seconds, only with the seconds to come. And I realize, life, the real kind that leaves a lasting impression, is a choice. Everything else is just merely existing.

 

 

 

The Course

My breathing was harsh to my ears and my pounding feet heavy as they hit the rocky pavement. Sweat dripped into my stinging eyes, while each gasp brought an ache to my chest. The sun beat down upon my already burning shoulders and my every muscle pleaded for respite.

I don’t know how much longer I can go on, I thought, and the finish line was yet to be seen. Obstacles littered my path. It took every effort to leap over each one. It seemed they came quicker and closer in appearance. At the last, I almost fell. The laughter of the crowd still hovered in the air.

“Not good enough,” I heard them say. The statement echoed in my thoughts, slowing down my pace. And still I couldn’t see the end, but my aching feet pounded on, feeling every jagged rock beneath the wearing soles of my running shoes. I closed my eyes for an instant, scrounging up the willpower to continue. But when the next hurdle that had to be jumped appeared, I couldn’t make it over, and crashed to my hands and knees.

“It’s too hard,” I whispered, my body scraped and tingling. My nose began to run as tears blurred my eyes. The mocking from the sidelines was too much to bear. Burying my face in my bleeding hands, I breathed, “I can’t go any further.”

My race would go unfinished.

The thought of defeat drained my last ounce of strength. But then the jeers quieted to naught and the gravel cutting my flesh smoothed to black pavement.

“Don’t throw away your faith, my child,” a soft voice said above me. I slowly dropped my hands and lifted up my eyes. Before me stood a Man clothed in white linen with a glorious radiance shining upon Him. It was silent around us, and I realized we were the only ones on the track. He reached forth His hand to touch my brow and a ray of sunlight shone through His palm.

I stared into His eyes of unending love and said, “Couldn’t you see? I’m not good enough to finish.” He took a step closer and smiled tenderly.

“Before you were formed in your mother’s womb, I knew you. Every weakness and every strength. I’ve set you apart and chose this course to be your race.” I shook my head, overwhelmed with weariness.

“Then why is it so hard, Lord?” He kneeled down in front of me, the ferocity of His brilliance warming my face.

“I never said it would be easy, beloved,” He said. “But be of good cheer, for I have already overcome every trouble. Remember what the supposed least of mine accounted. Troubled on every side, but not distressed, perplexed but not in despair, persecuted, but not forsaken, cast down, but not destroyed.” I bowed my head with a sniff, and a wayward tear fell from my eye. He caught it with the pad of His thumb. “Not by your might, beloved,” He continued, His soft timbre rising to command, “but by My power. By My power you shall walk and not grow weary. You shall run and not faint. My grace I’ve given you to run this race and my anointing to empower you to finish. Fight the good fight of faith. Look not at those things you see, but remember the victory I paid for with my blood, when all I thought of was you.” I looked upon the holes in His hands and feet, wounds much more profound than my bruises. The ache in my chest began to dim and my heart beat with anticipation. He stood then and backed away. “Triumph in Me and finish your course.”

I bit my lower lip and took a deep breath, ready to carry out His command. With a blink of an eye the jagged rocks returned and with it the mockers’ cries. But their insults fell on deaf ears.

One stride.

Two.

Three.

Four. My breaths became a methodical routine.

“Be not weary in well doing,” I panted, leaping high above a towering obstacle. “I will finish my course. I will keep the faith.” The onlookers roared for my defeat, but I only laughed them to scorn. “His grace is sufficient for me, for His strength is made perfect in weakness!” My strides grew faster in intensity. The finish line was almost in sight. “I reach forth unto those things which are before.” The faith building words lent a fire to my soul, burning out any ounce of failure. “I press toward the mark for the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me!”

With a final lunge I crossed the red banner to receive my golden crown of victory, the sound of triumph sweet to my ears as I heard, “Well done my good and faith-full servant.”

THE END

 

Me Against Circumstance

A standstill had come. Circumstance on one side; me on the other. His pressure was heavy on my shoulders, so strong it brought me to my knees. My heart raced dangerously against my breast, blurring my vision and causing my head to spin. The battle had been long, and I knew the end was near as the coppery taste of blood settled upon my tongue. I hung my head, watching as tears fell to the dusty earth, ashamed at my weakness and dejected. Defeat was in the air, hanging all about me. I dug my fingers into the dirt, barely able to prop myself up. Jagged rocks cut into my palm.

            “I can’t take anymore,” I whispered, and then thought to myself, how can I just let him triumph? Unwillingness to surrender warred with retreat. But weariness consumed me.

            Circumstance began closing the distance between us, his features gloating as he positioned himself to send the final blow. With a grave sigh, I shut my eyes, waiting for it to come. . . .

            The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow, and my labored breaths were loud in my ears. I could feel his dreadful presence standing over me, but still I waited.

            One moment more.

            Two.

            Three, and the blow never came.

            Of a sudden, Circumstance’s pressure lifted from my shoulders as a bright light shone behind my lids. I slowly raised my bowed head and slit open my right eye to find Him who is called Faithful and True seated upon a white horse. I blinked  hard, the radiance of His glow almost blinding, and watched as Circumstance eased back.

            “Arise,” Faithful said to me, “and fight.”

            Biting my wobbling lower lip, I shook my head and sighed, “I’m too weak, Lord.” His light shone ever brighter as He drew closer to me. When I looked within His gaze, I saw great pools of love.

            “Exchange your weakness for My strength,” He said. “For I never faint or grow weary.” I swallowed hard, knowing it was time to choose. With a deep breath and a resolve I’d thought long forgotten, I pushed myself to my knees.

            “I receive Your strength,” I stated. At once my spirit was filled by the words of life and weariness could no longer be master over me.

            “Don the Father’s armor, beloved. Take back your ground,” He urged. I looked warily over to Circumstance, lurking in Faithful’s shadow, awaiting his time to strike. “Keep your eyes upon Me,” Faithful said as He blocked my view of Circumstance. “Cast down your fear, for it is not of Me.” I stared at Him in wonder, for my fright had gone unspoken.

            “Show me, Lord,” I prayed, forcing my legs to stand. Satisfaction shone in His smile as He threw a saddlebag to the ground. I slowly pulled out the pieces.

            “Put on the armor of Light,” He ordered. A helmet marked salvation I put on my head, the breastplate called righteousness covered my heart, a belt of Truth I clasped about my hips, and shoes marked peace did I pull onto my feet. I wrenched a giant shield inscribed with faith from the bag. It covered me from shoulder to toe. And lastly did I grasp the Spirit’s sword.

            “But Lord!” I exclaimed, gazing into the empty satchel. “What of my back? Surely I shouldn’t go unprotected.” He stared at me as one would the ignorance of a small child.

            “This armor is for attack,” He explained, gesturing to the shield and threatening sword I held in my hands. “A warrior of Christ never retreats.” Faithful walked His horse over to me and reached out His hand. Of their own accord, my eyes closed with the light touch to my head. “Anointed you are, beloved,” He breathed. “His salvation is yours. Hasten towards your victory.” I could sense the spirit of might being quickened within me until it felt as if nothing would be able to break me.

            When I opened my eyes, Faithful was no longer there and Circumstance was rushing towards me. I clenched the sword in my hand and lifted my feet to match his pace. His pressure stirred nearer and nearer until it hovered above me, threatening to descend.

            “Over all I lift the shield of faith,” I muttered, reaching it high. The pressure weighted down and it seemed I wouldn’t be able to bear it for long. “I fight the good fight of faith,” I said a little louder as I pushed Circumstance’s pressure back. My feet picked up speed beneath me. Circumstance’s eyes widened in panic. “I overcome by the blood of the Lamb and the word of my testimony,” I declared, my voice fearless and rising in pitch. “I receive victory through the blood of Jesus Christ!” A flustered blow hit the shield, but my arm didn’t budge. Closer and closer we came until only a few steps separated us. “I’m of God. He always causes me to triumph in Christ,” I said, raising my sword. “You will never defeat me!”

            Circumstance skidded to a stop and dashed to retreat. But it was too late and a shrill cry filled the air. I delivered the blow with my two-edged sword, and broke through Circumstance. Never again would he have a hold on me. With a shout of victory, I hastened toward the dawning light, beckoning its sweet freedom, where darkness no longer loomed.