*I discovered this, lost in one of my forgotten folders. :D *

The Warrior is a Child
A Story By Hannah McMichael, June 2008
Inspired by Twila Paris's song "The Warrior is a Child"


She was a warrior. A great warrior. All who were even remotely acquainted with her admired her. She was brave and beautiful. She fought with nobility and grace. She was loved by many, and hated by few. She the picture of beauty and purity, and even her enemies found it hard to despise her. Those who did most often regretted it in the end.
Yet with all her talent and beauty, she held a secret. Deep within her heart lay something she vowed no one would ever know. There were times when she would come so close to revealing her secret, but then would gather herself together and remain cool and calm. It was not something she was ashamed of, yet it was something she was not particularly anxious for anyone to know.
One day came when a hard battle was to take place. She would be fighting an old enemy, one she had before defeated, but was once again declaring war in hopes to defeat her. This was not an enemy she looked forward to fighting, but always, in her heart, she knew that it was inevitable. This enemy would haunt her until she found a way to defeat him for good.
As she prepared for battle, she thought about her enemy. He was smart; increasingly smart. It seemed as though, the more she fought him, he learned some better way to fight her. And somehow, she knew that this would be the time where her tactics would be of little to no use. Though she dared not voice her fear, she felt the icy grip on her heart that told her she could not win this battle. There was no easy victory in sight; only a hopeless battle that she knew would leave her crushed and broken.
The weight of that knowledge caused her courage to sink and fear to well up inside her. For the first time in her life, she was truly afraid. As she strapped on her armor in what was usually the comfort of her tent, all she felt was bitter, empty loneliness surrounding her. She tried to shake off the feeling, but it held on tight in her chest. All at once, she knew that the secret she had kept so guarded would somehow not be a secret much longer.
She checked her armor to make sure it was on tightly and securely, and picked up her sword. Sliding it from its sheath, her fingers felt stiff and wooden as she wrapped them around the hilt. She stared at the blade, so well forged, yet chipped slightly from years of hard use. This would be her only weapon in her battle against her enemy. The thought sent a chill through her veins. There was no way she could do it.
She slid the sword back in the sheath, but did not buckle it around her waist. She stepped out of her tent with as much poise and grace as she could muster, and walked toward the egde of her camp. Her companions smiled at her admiringly as she walked by, but she barely noticed them. All she knew was that she needed to get out...needed to escape. Her pace quickened, for she found tears beginning to well up in her eyes. She batted them back, but one slid defiantly down her cheek.
She made it to a small hill just outside the camp before it happened. The tears began to pour, softly at first. She held her sword horizontally in both hands. Her head tilted backwards as her eyes gazed into the sky, as if searching it for some sort of answer. Then slowly, sobs began to shake her shoulders, and her sword fell from her hands to the ground. Her knees buckled as she held her face in her hands. Never had she felt more alone. Never had she faced a time where she had to admit that, even though she appeared strong, she was a child beneath her armor. She was scared, lonely, and wanted so badly to hide.
Her friends in the encampment stared wide-eyed as they watched her cry. They all wanted to help her, but none knew quite how. Most were too shocked at this sudden breakdown of their heroine to even contemplate what they could do for her. It was as they were all lost in their own thoughts, judgments, and wonderings that the King stepped out from His tent. Seeing His warrior, he walked out of the camp and up the hill to where she was kneeling, and laid a hand ever so gently on her still shaking shoulder. She jumped slightly at His touch, and then lifted her teary face to meet His gaze. His eyes were filled with love and compassion. He knelt beside her and without a word, picked up her sword. With a questioning look on her face, she reached out a hand in protest. He wrapped her hand in His own and peered into her eyes. "Let me have it," He said, so softly only she could hear. She hated to give up her sword, but in that moment, she realized how necessary it was for Him to take it from her. She nodded her head, such a small motion that it seemed as though it had not taken place. Then, with a movement so sweet and gentle, the King picked her up in His arms and carried her slowly back to the camp. Oh, how safe and secure she felt, resting her head on His shoulder! His arms enveloped her in such strength that it all hardly seemed possible.
Back in the encampment, He carried her, not to Her tent, but to his own. A deep and reverent honor flowed through her, for though all had a constant welcome in the King's tent, not many ever dared to go there. Such a place was too sacred to be entered upon so lightly. But now, as the King set her down in the middle of His tent, she felt as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be here in the King's closest presence.
Still holding her sword, He sat down in his throne. He appeared to be thinking deeply as He stared at her sword. Finally, after a few moments, he smiled.
"Do you remember when I gave this to you?" He said, nodding toward the sword.
She nodded gently. "Yes. It was when I first became your warrior."
"And do you remember what I said?"
"I remember that You told me how much You loved me."
The King smiled even wider. "Yes, I did. And you thought, at the time, that this sword was a gift of my love to you?"
She sensed that the question was not really a question at all. "Y-yes," she answered, because those had been her exact thoughts.
The King stood and walked to where she was standing. He bent slightly and looked deeply into her eyes. "Why?"
Her heart trembled as she tried to think of an answer. Why indeed? With a sense of defeat welling up inside her, she turned her gaze the floor.
The King lifted her chin with His finger. "It is because you misunderstood My love for you."
A confused look crossed her face, and she waited for Him to explain.
"When I gave you this sword, I did not mean for you to use it forever. I wanted you to use it, because that is what a sword is for. But what I really wanted was for you to let me fight your battles for you. You see, in My giving you a sword and declaring My love for you, I knew there would come a day when you would face a battle you could not win on your own. I had hoped that you would come to me on your own, but nevertheless, I want you to do something very important for Me."
"Of course," she said, though her heart was full with far more words.
The King's gaze grew ever more passionate and serious. "Trust me with your sword. Let me fight your battles for you. Let me carry you to safety. My love for you is all that you have ever needed, and will ever need. Please...just trust in me."
An overwhelming and unexplainable peace washed over her. Oh, yes! That had been what she had always wanted, thought she had never even realized it. She smiled her agreement to her King. Why had it taken her so long to see that this was, indeed, the place where she needed to be?
The King stroked her face lovingly, and strapped her sword around his waist.
She knew then, deep in her heart the only battles she would ever have to fight would be against herself. But then again, they were battles that could be won simply by surrendering her heart to Him.
What joy filled her soul as she watched her King march into battle...for her!