The Old Warrior
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
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. The sun hurt her eyes as she squints against the glare and wonders if she has the strength to fight one last time. The bugle sounds and an old longing stirs within her as she leans forward toward the fray..... She is wounded and weakness over rules her good intentions as her knees buckle and bring her to the ground. She is so very tired. Yet her heart aches and she worries. What of the young warriors? Would they fight bravely and win the day for King and comrades? The smell of blood wafted past her on the wind. They seemed so young these warriors, would their bravado carry the day?
What of this battle? So much had changed in the art war. Who would lead the charge? Would the young Warriors fall and if they fell would they rise again? Surely they needed her, if only to watch the stuff. She touched her satchel where she had hidden a tightly wound roll of clothe. She could mind the wounded or call the watch. But sadly, things were different now. Her usefulness was in question.
She remembered the early days when two great armies faced each other across an open plain. How the air exploded with the ring of one sword against another and the shouts of the Warriors. 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. Things seemed much clearer then, brutal yes, she understood the mechanics of that kind of war. One force against another rising like a wild tempest on a bloody sea. In a few moments it was usually over and 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, head held high...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...the King's forces fell back, there was darkness, black as the pit. 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 just below her heart broke loose and wet crimson stained the remnants of her tattered 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.
"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
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