352---Fortress

I heard the sounds before my eyes opened. Horse hooves thundering. Steel on steel, men shouting.

When I came to, the bleeding had stopped. I couldn't see clearly; lingering haze muffled both light and sound. When I could see, I was surprised at how close the battle raged. The sound seemed further away, like slow motion under water. 

Battle has a smell. Bravery. Fear. Uncertainty mixed with Faith. 

I was leaning back against something. I've never felt so calm. 

As my mind cleared, I noticed his arm around me. Right arm. Sword arm. 

Sword arm!

That's it!! 

That's where I've seen that sword before. 

It lay a few feet away on the grass, glittering, fierce, majestic as it has ever been. 

Beyond the shade of the huge tree, his horse grazed quietly, not the least bothered by the dust and yelling up the hill. It was as if this sort of thing happened everyday. 

I didn't recognize the tree. It's roots rose above ground like walls that blocked my vision on both sides.  The trunk was behind us, a fortress rising to heaven. 

I couldn't turn. All I could see was directly in front of me, and about 45 degrees to either side. 

I tried to move, straining against my limbs. A few times I tried, until he said... 

"rest."

I knew that voice. 

I couldn't see him. 

It couldn't be, Him? 

I'd only ever seen that horse charging. I'd only ever seen that sword flashing. I'd only ever heard that voice commanding; its tone calls the very elements to submission. 

Words formed in my mind...

I'd seen him on his horse, riding to war. Nothing stood in His way. Something in me always wanted to ride after such a mighty King, such a fearless warrior, this ruler who destroys enemies with the force of his speaking. 

Words formed in my mind...

I remembered the hit. Saw it coming. Never had a chance. I thought I would have died,  I'd even hoped I would. A wound like this is supposed to be fatal. I remember falling, desperation. I remember thinking, "if the fall doesn't kill me, I'll get trampled in the stampede." 

I recognized other soldiers rushing past, intent on following Him. 

All I could think was to whisper his name. Now that's downright stupid. You couldn't hear a herd of trumpets in all this noise. And besides, He was at the head of the column, leading the army to victory. What did I expect? Did I expect him to stop the battle because I had fallen? Because I had whispered? 

I wished I had done him proud. I wished I could have met him. He'd been my hero since I could remember. I wished I could have done more, been more. Maybe someone will tell Him for me. I wonder if anyone knows how much I wanted to be like Him.

How did He hear me? How did He get to me? How did I get here, leaning against his chest, his back against the tree, his sword arm holding me up?

The words formed in my mind...

Somehow I knew the fight wouldn't reach us. The force of His presence prohibited entry. Not only would they not come near, they could not. 

Gradually, movement returned from slow motion to normal, but there was no hurry in the moment. I could stay as long as it took to heal. I knew that I would ride again. My horse had come down the hill to graze beside his. 

I wanted to see His face. They say his eyes are like fire. They say his eyes are the most terrible dismay of His enemies, and the most tender, loving embrace to His friends. 

I tried to turn my head, but I couldn't move.

"rest, Len"

He knew my name? How is that possible?

The words formed in my mind a fourth time, not passing and half-shapen like before, but clear and familiar, and solid. 

"My Captain fights for me" 

Emblazoned upon my memory, assurance you cannot steal:

"My Captain fights for me"

~.~

The scene described above passed in entirety before my mind for about 30 seconds in the winter of 2005, two weeks after my divorce. I saw it one time that day.  I saw it again about 3 times (I have a really horrible memory) in the next week and then I haven't ever seen it again. 

~.~

I rose from that moment assured that He knows my name and my pain.

Whereas I had only ever seen him with a sword in His hand, that same hand was over my heart as he held me frozen in time. Years later I would return to battle and realize no time had passed. 

He wasn't holding a sword--He was holding me. This was my first understanding of Tenderness as a weapon. In matters of extreme need, he set aside his sword, reached for me with Tenderness, and held me until I knew in every echo in every corner of my broken heart...

"My Captain fights for me"

Goodnight, Beautiful...

Goodnight, Strender.