Fear not ye, neither be dismayed by reason of this great multitude; for the battle is not yours, but God's. 2 Chronicles 20:15
The old Warrior struggled to reach the top of a hill. A Veteran of many battles she stood at last in tatters watching as yet another raged down below. Her sword hung loosely in her hand as she surveyed the conflict from the grassy knoll. She squints against the sun and wonders if she has the strength to fight one last time.
The bugle sounds and something stirs within her and she leans forward toward the fray..... but weakness soon intrudes and her knees buckle as they bring her to the ground. She is so very tired. Yet her heart aches and she worries. What of the young warriors? Nurtured in the legions with special weapons training at the armatura. They had endured endless drills....twenty miles a day they marched with heavy packs, their clear young voices singing the songs of war. Many were yet untried in battle could they long endure?
What of this battle? So much had changed in the art war since she first took up the sword. And what of the Captain, had His orders been understood. Who would direct the attack? Who would lead the charge? Would they fall and if they fell would they rise again? Dear God, could they raise again? Would the battle be lost? Surely they needed her, if only to watch the stuff, or to call the watch. But sadly, things were different now.
She remembered the early days when two great armies faced each other across an open plain. The air would explode with the ring of one sword against another and the shouts of men. Her nostrils burned with the smell of war. Fear and ecstasy danced in her head as the ebb and flow of the battle raged on. Warfare was always brutal but it was always clear at the end what the result had been. You could walk among the dead and dying on the field to collect the spoils of war and to count the cost.
Warfare was different now, men hid in trees and behind rocks to strike unexpected and then withdraw to strike again. They talked of strategy in terms she did not understand. They looked at her with strange eyes and shook their heads....she was a remnant of another time. Stay home old woman they said, and be quiet. We care little for your stories and songs of war.
But she'd always been a warrior, and this was a righteous war. This war had been her life....she remembered how as a barefoot girl she joyfully followed the military parade. That was long before she ever held a sword or sharpened a spear. She was not the strongest or bravest of the troop but she was always fast on her feet and tireless in pursuit of the enemy. She was no hero but she had manned her post with dignity and pride, She knew the joy of first blood and the adrenaline rush of victory.
The old warrior struggled to her feet and for a moment stood erect...she was after all a woman of war. Yes she had seen victories, lots of them, but she had also seen defeat. The memory of every battle lost and every fallen comrade lay embedded in her mind like a thorn piercing her heart.
This was a righteous war....darkness and light in mortal combat across the cosmos with eternity as the prize. A cause to give your heart and soul to. She thought of her King, high and lifted up, with eyes like flames of fire leading the battle with his sword in hand. She thought of the day, that terrible, wonderful day, when it seemed that all was lost, his horse stumbled in battle and he went down. Instantly the minions were upon him, hungry for blood, there was a scream and then silence,stillness, darkness, tears and pain...their forces fell back, there was darkness, but then there was a shout...He rose in death to conquer death, he threw the minions back and rose again in mighty power. But that was long ago, the war wore on, long days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into years....She fought on winning and losing until this moment, this single, throbbing moment. What of this battle? What of this fight? She wondered again if this battle would be her last
The old Warrior struggled to reach the top of a hill. A Veteran of many battles she stood at last in tatters watching as yet another raged down below. Her sword hung loosely in her hand as she surveyed the conflict from the grassy knoll. She squints against the sun and wonders if she has the strength to fight one last time.
The bugle sounds and something stirs within her and she leans forward toward the fray..... but weakness soon intrudes and her knees buckle as they bring her to the ground. She is so very tired. Yet her heart aches and she worries. What of the young warriors? Nurtured in the legions with special weapons training at the armatura. They had endured endless drills....twenty miles a day they marched with heavy packs, their clear young voices singing the songs of war. Many were yet untried in battle could they long endure?
What of this battle? So much had changed in the art war since she first took up the sword. And what of the Captain, had His orders been understood. Who would direct the attack? Who would lead the charge? Would they fall and if they fell would they rise again? Dear God, could they raise again? Would the battle be lost? Surely they needed her, if only to watch the stuff, or to call the watch. But sadly, things were different now.
She remembered the early days when two great armies faced each other across an open plain. The air would explode with the ring of one sword against another and the shouts of men. Her nostrils burned with the smell of war. Fear and ecstasy danced in her head as the ebb and flow of the battle raged on. Warfare was always brutal but it was always clear at the end what the result had been. You could walk among the dead and dying on the field to collect the spoils of war and to count the cost.
Warfare was different now, men hid in trees and behind rocks to strike unexpected and then withdraw to strike again. They talked of strategy in terms she did not understand. They looked at her with strange eyes and shook their heads....she was a remnant of another time. Stay home old woman they said, and be quiet. We care little for your stories and songs of war.
But she'd always been a warrior, and this was a righteous war. This war had been her life....she remembered how as a barefoot girl she joyfully followed the military parade. That was long before she ever held a sword or sharpened a spear. She was not the strongest or bravest of the troop but she was always fast on her feet and tireless in pursuit of the enemy. She was no hero but she had manned her post with dignity and pride, She knew the joy of first blood and the adrenaline rush of victory.
The old warrior struggled to her feet and for a moment stood erect...she was after all a woman of war. Yes she had seen victories, lots of them, but she had also seen defeat. The memory of every battle lost and every fallen comrade lay embedded in her mind like a thorn piercing her heart.
This was a righteous war....darkness and light in mortal combat across the cosmos with eternity as the prize. A cause to give your heart and soul to. She thought of her King, high and lifted up, with eyes like flames of fire leading the battle with his sword in hand. She thought of the day, that terrible, wonderful day, when it seemed that all was lost, his horse stumbled in battle and he went down. Instantly the minions were upon him, hungry for blood, there was a scream and then silence,stillness, darkness, tears and pain...their forces fell back, there was darkness, but then there was a shout...He rose in death to conquer death, he threw the minions back and rose again in mighty power. But that was long ago, the war wore on, long days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into years....She fought on winning and losing until this moment, this single, throbbing moment. What of this battle? What of this fight? She wondered again if this battle would be her last
As she slowly advanced down the hill the wound in her side broke loose and wet crimson stained the remnants of her tunic,,,,through dry lips she whispered "for King and comrades". But again she fell.
When did her knees grow so weak and her heart so sore? Though the midday sun was bright a strange darkness began to enfold her there. The grass felt cool against her cheek as slowly, quietly like a velvet curtain the darkness covered her as she lay there on the ground.
Then she saw Him, her King, the desire of her heart that no other love could ever satisfy. She covered her eyes against his brightness, painful yet glorious he appeared. "Thinkest Thou that Thee alone can win the battle? Dear one I have other warriors here, bright and strong and fit for battle. Heroes, great men every one. The battle is mine, all that matters is wrapped safely in my will."
He smiled and it seemed that all else faded as he lifted her in his arms, "Little Warrior your fight has ended" he kissed her brow, then he took her home. Beneath them in the valley the fight continued on. "The wicked are overthrown , and are not: but the house of the righteous shall stand." Proverbs 12:7
"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 8 Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day--and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing". 2 Timothy 4:7,,8
When did her knees grow so weak and her heart so sore? Though the midday sun was bright a strange darkness began to enfold her there. The grass felt cool against her cheek as slowly, quietly like a velvet curtain the darkness covered her as she lay there on the ground.
Then she saw Him, her King, the desire of her heart that no other love could ever satisfy. She covered her eyes against his brightness, painful yet glorious he appeared. "Thinkest Thou that Thee alone can win the battle? Dear one I have other warriors here, bright and strong and fit for battle. Heroes, great men every one. The battle is mine, all that matters is wrapped safely in my will."
He smiled and it seemed that all else faded as he lifted her in his arms, "Little Warrior your fight has ended" he kissed her brow, then he took her home. Beneath them in the valley the fight continued on. "The wicked are overthrown , and are not: but the house of the righteous shall stand." Proverbs 12:7
"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 8 Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day--and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing". 2 Timothy 4:7,,8