Fierce Beauty (25 page)

She’s free. She is standing right before me,
with me
.

Looking up, she blinks her eyes in astonishment, as if seeing for the very first time. Her gaudy clothing was burned away when she chose the sword of righteousness. Now she wears a simple tunic, boots, and a sturdy leather belt accompanied by leather cuffs and greaves. Her hair gleams with a glory beyond color. Her chest is covered by a breastplate of unearthly metal. Although it is steely in appearance, dazzling light passes through it, the same radiance still emanating from the center of her body and illuminating the area around her.

With the long sword clutched in her right hand, the new warrior inhales deeply, breathing in the very light that streams from her chest.
While doing so, her eyes began to shine as never before, filling with the truth of her King.

Voices of furious and frightened wickedness hiss all around her: “She’s
awake
! Run!” “Her real eyes are open! Find reinforcements!” “She’s just made the decision to start doing what she’s learned from the Book. She’s tapped into the Source. Get help now!” “This one’s fully committed … She’s gonna be dangerous!”

Her thoughts are now so strong they can be seen in her actions. Swinging her sword in wide arcs, the warrior feels its balance, its eternal power. She understands the purpose of this weapon: to herald hope, fight for the weak, and cut a path through the blackness for the love of God to flow. This blade is the very
Word
of her King, and it is a part of her now.

Awareness is building within her. Slowly she realizes that what she does under pressure defines what she truly believes. Her focus lifts, moving beyond the things, the distractions of this world. Now she looks directly at her foes and actually sees them. She recognizes her enemies for what they truly are. With a new and unwavering authority, she points her sword at the shadowy figures that surround her and commands, “No one can serve two masters. Leave … now!”

A voice, dripping with evil, responds, “I don’t think so,
princess
!”

Once fearful, she is now fearless. She raises her blade and steps toward her black adversaries. “I’m taking back this ground,” she growls through clenched teeth, “in the name of Jesus Christ!”

The filthy smirking of her enemies is cut off the instant they hear the Name. As if the mere sound of it burns, they scream and cower, covering their ears as they back away.

The warrior takes a step forward, then another. Each stride repels the armies of darkness. Every well-placed blow of her sword only makes it sharper. Soon she’s cut a path to the front lines and is fighting shoulder to shoulder with other warriors of the Living God.

The air fills with the foul stench of rancid wickedness. Flames rise before her but give no light. They burn but do not destroy. What was
sent to incinerate her instead tempers and strengthens her. She senses the great enemies of demonic blackness rushing in to destroy her. She engages them, swords clashing and sparking with each strike. Though she can’t see them, the warrior realizes other soldiers of light are close by. She also knows she must defend the territory the King has entrusted only to her.

Through the darkness she shouts to the others, “The swarms of darkness can have no more … 
Hold the line!
”

She hears the deafening clatter of countless swords engaged in a struggle for life and death. The breastplate of her King’s light, love, and life illuminates the dim theater around her. She fights with everything she has: heart, soul, mind, and strength.

Suddenly steel flashes on her left. She feels intense pain in her side. The warrior acknowledges the wound, but knowing her King was once wounded for her, she does not shrink back. She presses in and continues to fight.

Her sword moves in blurring arcs of light. Hiding in the shadows, her enemies are everywhere. The surrounding gloom is filled with arrows, clubs, stones, and fists, all trying to kill her.

Yet she does not retreat.

The warrior comprehends that no matter how much blood she sheds, no matter if she is on the verge of losing her mortal life, she will keep fighting as long as she has breath. She stands firm, knowing how this war will end! Swinging and slashing, ducking and dodging, striking, kicking, choking, clawing, she will not quit—
ever
.

The slithering hordes of darkness close in. The black horizon moves with their infinite number. The warrior is weary and wounded, yet she continues to fight the evil plague that seeks to engulf all mankind. She slashes through more couriers of pride, fear, immorality, injustice, disease, famine, and lies. Blood from a gash on her forehead mixes with sweat and flows into her eyes. She strains to see through the burning red haze.

She takes another step forward. From out of the blackness, a club smashes against her temple. Stunned by the strike, she stumbles and falls to one knee. Blood surges down her breastplate, flowing over her irrepressible light of hope. The wicked swarm descends upon her, pummeling the fallen warrior with their fists. Struggling to stand, she pushes up beneath their staggering numbers. She strains with all her might but falls back to the shadowy earth.

As her knees hit the cold, sucking mire, a thunderous
boom
splits the air.

The distant horizon flashes in a horizontal bolt of electric light. Suddenly the clash of armor and blades ceases. All becomes silent.

Every eye turns toward the growing radiance. Burning away the darkness, stabs of intense light rise like glorious arrows straight into the sky. Shimmering like luminous rivers, they swallow up the gloom.

Pure light is approaching … 
It’s the glory of her King!

In the remaining blackness, screams of shock and horrified curses spew from the lips of cringing demons. Wicked, clawed hands lose their grip and start to withdraw in terror. A downpour of enemy weapons falls like an evil, metallic rain. The demonic army retreats in a panicked stampede. The morbid air fills with the putrid gasps of demons trying to flee the radiant justice of the Lamb of God. Gathering fearful momentum, they clamber and trample over one another in their desperate attempt to escape.

Suddenly the blackness shudders, then explodes like a mirror. In a brilliant display of pure annihilation, the fragments appear as sizzling missiles that burn up as they fly. Behind the warrior, a roaring wave of evil rolls away like a vicious tsunami. The hordes of the enemy scatter before a righteous flood. Burning like wicked meteors, they leave behind a million black, crisscrossing vapor trails as they incinerate into nothingness.

In an instant all darkness is completely consumed.

But this is not the great end. It is the Great Beginning.

The mighty One is approaching.

He is clothed in glorious light. His brilliance becomes the very air surrounding the warrior. No longer struggling to stand, she now collapses, kneeling low before her King. He has come—the King of kings—to ransom the redeemed.

His presence completely surrounds her and fills her. At last the warrior silently lays down her sword. Fearing even to look upon His great majesty, she keeps her head down. She knows she is battered and bleeding, still smeared with the filth she’s fought against. She is not worthy to be in the presence of pure holiness.

In a voice more beautiful than any sound she’s ever encountered, she hears her King say, “Arise, My love. It is time.”

Still hesitant to look upon His glory, she keeps her chin tucked into her grimy chest. Slowly staggering to her feet, she feels a gentle breeze moving about her. She recognizes its presence—it is the breath of God. With her head still down, she watches in utter amazement as her wounds spontaneously heal. The bloody filth that once covered her transforms into a gown of pure light.

Still staring straight down, she senses it before she actually sees it. There, before her downcast eyes, emerges His outstretched hand.

The King of kings is reaching … 
for her
.

In complete awe she gradually places her hand in His. Though she has never seen it with her eyes, His hand feels remarkably familiar. It is the identical grip of … her sword. In wondrous recognition she slowly looks up into His face.

He smiles.

The pure brilliance radiating from His countenance moves over her like a living flame of radiant love. Every moment of her mortal sorrow, suffering, and pain instantly catches fire and burns away in the presence of His all-consuming peace.

“I have always been with you, My love,” He says. “And you have always been with Me.”

Suddenly she understands. She
had
to choose to become a warrior
because her King is a warrior. He too walked through fires—the inferno of hell itself—for all … for her. He also fought the greatest war … and won. He defeated the enemy and death itself so she could now live—forever—with Him.

If she is ever to become His perfect bride, she needs first to become His perfect reflection. This means following Him in all that He does, reflecting to the world everything that He was—and is. She needs to
choose
to love Him and then allow her love for her God to be revealed through her every thought and deed.

“Come, My bride,” He says while gently turning her around. Appearing in His hand is a simple gold ring. “Receive this,” He says, “as an eternal symbol of My love.” Instead of placing the band on her finger, He breathes on it. Slowly the ring expands until it becomes the perfect size to fit her head. He carefully places the unadorned crown upon her brow. Smiling, He softly says, “Real beauty needs no adornments. It is your genuine love for Me that makes you radiant.”

Still holding the crown on each side of her head and looking deeply into her eyes, the King speaks:

“My bride, you have fought a good fight. You have finished the race, and you have remained faithful. And now this prize awaits you—the crown of righteousness that I, the King of kings, the righteous Judge, give you on this great day. And this prize is not just for you but for
all
who eagerly look forward to My glorious return.”

Once a princess, the woman has chosen to transform into a warrior so she can become the everlasting bride of Christ. Now she kneels in adoration—no longer praising her own likeness but in pure worship before the One who saved her.

Bowing low, she whispers, “For the King alone.”

THE CALL
Your Turn

Dear one, it’s time to rise to your feet. It’s time to do your part, to carry the flame of hope, to run your race. The great calling of your God is beckoning. The vast assembly of witnesses are cheering, and the enemy will soon be attacking. But no matter what blows he might deal, and though you are wounded and worn, stand and fight in the truth that you’re invincible … until the day your mighty King calls you home.

So, my friend, run
hard
—until you run into His arms.