On Performance

"And what about you, Arvyl?"  Justin asked.  "What do you make of--"
     He stopped midsentence.  Ronin followed his gaze and saw that two children, a boy and a girl, crouched at the edge of the clearing, peering past a berry bush at the three warriors.
     They were looking at Justin, of course.  They always looked at Justin.  Children were always captivated by him.  These two looked like twins, blond hair and big eyes, about ten, far too young to have wandered so far from home at a time like this.
     Then again, he hardly blamed their curiosity.  When had such a battle come so close to them?
     Justin had already slipped into another world, Ronin thought with a single glance.  Children did this to him.  He was no longer the warrior.  He was their father, no matter who the children were.  His eyes sparkled and his face lit up.  At times Ronin wondered if Justin wouldn't trade his life to become a child again, to swing in the trees and roll in the meadows.
     This love for children confused Ronin more than any other trait of Justin's.  Some said that Justin was a druid.  And it was commonly known that druids could deceive the innocent with a few soft words.  Ronin had a difficult time separating Justin's effect on children from the speculation that he wasn't who he seemed.
     "Hello there, " Justin said.
     Both children ducked behind the bush.
     Justin slid from his horse and hurried toward the bush.  "No, no, please come out.  Come out, I need your advice."  He stopped and knelt on one knee.
     "My advice?"  the boy asked, poking his head up.
     A hand gripped his shirt and pulled him back.  The girl wasn't so brave.
     "Your advice.  It's about today's battle."
     They whispered urgently, then finally came out, the boy boldly, the girl cautiously.  Ronin saw that they each carried a wooden sword.  The girl was shorter and her left hand was bent backward at an awkward angle.  Deformed.
     Justin's eyes lowered to the girl's hand, then up to her face.  For a moment he seemed trapped by the sight.  A bird sang in the tree above them.
     "My name is Justin, and I..."  He sat down and crossed his legs in one movement.  "What are your names?"
     "Billy and Lucy,"  the boy said.
     "Well, Billy and Lucy, you are two of the bravest children I have ever known."
     The boy's eyes brightened.
     "And the most beautiful," he said.
     The girl shifted on her feet.
     "My friends here, Ronin and Arvyl, aren't convinced that I can single-handedly bring the Horde to its knees.  I have to decide, and I think that you might be able to give me some direction.  Look in my eyes and tell me.  What do you think?  Should I take on the Horde?"
     Billy looked at Ronin, at a loss.  The girl answered first.
     "Yes," she said.
     "Yes," the boy said.  "Of course."
     "Yes!"  You hear that, Ronin?  Give me ten warriors who believe like these two and I would bring the entire Horde to its knees.  Come here, Billy.  I would like to shake the hand of the man who told me what grown men could not."
     Justen stretched out his hand and Billy took it, beaming.  Justin ruffled the boy's hair and whispered something that Ronin couldn't hear.  But both of the children laughed.
     "Lucy, come and let me kiss the hand of the most beautiful maiden in all the land."
     She stepped forward and offered her good hand.
     "Not that one.  The other."
     Her smile softened.  Slowly she lowered her sword.  Now both hands hung limp at her sides.  Justin held her eyes.
     "Don't be afraid,"  he said very quietly.
     She lifted her crippled hand and Justin took it in both of his.  He leaned over and kissed it lightly.  Then he leaned forward and whispered into her ear.




To be perfectly honest, Lucy was terrified by Justin.  But it wasn't a fearful terrified as much as a nervous terrified.  She wasn't sure whether she should trust him or not.  His eyes said yes and his smile said yes, but there was something about him that made her knees knock.
     When he took her hand and kissed it, she knew he could feel her shaking.  Then he leaned forward and whispered into her ear.
     "You are very brave, Lucy."  His voice was soft and it ran through her body like a glass of warm milk.  "If I were a king, I would wish that you were my daughter.  A princess."
      He kissed her forehead.
     She wasn't sure why, but tears came to her eyes.  It wasn't because of what he had said, or because he kissed her cheek.  It was the power in his voice.  Like magic.  She felt like a princess swept off her feet by the greatest prince in all the land, just like in the stories.
     Only it wasn't the beautiful princess the prince had chosen.  It was her, the one with the stub for a hand.
     She tried her best to keep from crying, but it was very hard, and she suddenly felt awkward standing in front of Billy like this.
     Justin winked at her and stood, still holding her own hand.  He put his other hand on Billy's shoulder.  "I want you both to go home as fast as you can.  Tell the people that the Horde will be defeated today.  We will march through the Elyon Valley at noon, victors.  Can I count on you?"
     They both nodded.
     He released them both.and turned back to where his horse waited.  "If only we could all be children again,"  he said.
     Then he swung into his saddle and galloped across the small clearing.  Justin pulled up at the trees and spun his horse back.
     If Lucy wasn't mistaken, she could see tears on his face.  "If only you could all be children again."
     Then he rode into the trees.

--Taken from Red by Ted Dekker


I came across this tonight "randomly."  So many times I have offered God my good hand while hoping he wouldn't reject me because of my deformities.  I've grown so used to my identity as the ugly cripple that believing anyone, let alone God, would want me seems impossible.

The more I thought about it, the more I saw a pattern emerge.  Several times good seasons with the Lord have started with Him pursuing me unlooked for and Him breaking off another piece of the enemy's stronghold.  He speaks that He wants me and doesn't just tolerate me as a part of His cosmic duty.  He calls me unashamed.  He says that I am a vessel that He chooses to be filled with a father's love to be poured out on the broken.

At the first sign of darkness, as the closeness of those moments fade, I feel rejected.  All I can see is my stub.  "See!  I am too ugly!  He did reject me after all!  I can't believe I got my hopes up again!  I'm so stupid!"  (Not to mention the guilt that I feel for feeling these things because the enemy reminds that no follower of Christ would ever think such things.)

Today, I choose to remember that His acceptance is His alone to give and His alone to take away. It doesn't matter how awkward I feel in front of the Billys of this world.  I choose to agree with the foundations of a trust that can never be shaken.  He loves me and sees immense value in me, brokenness and all.