The Rescuer

The Lord gave me this vision ten years ago. Over time it’s come to have much more meaning than it did when I first saw it, ministering to me in countless ways. Today I share it here, with the prayer that the Rescuer of our souls would visit you with healing in His wings.  

I was kneeling on my bed, my head curled to my knees, trembling. My arms were wrapped tightly across my chest as though that would ease the pain and protect me from further harm. Tears poured down my face while I gently cried from fear I couldn’t explain, and couldn’t get rid of.

Gradually, the room around me faded and I was transported to the edge of a small clearing surrounded by thick, dark woods. There was commotion in the center of the clearing. I heard loud shouting and evil laughter. I crept through the trees, closer to the clearing to get a better view. Creatures I could only describe as demons were huddled around something throwing stones and beating it. I looked closely to see who or what it was, gasping in astonishment when I recognized the object of their torture. It was me. I saw myself there, huddled with my face to the ground in the dirt, weeping. I had chains around my wrists and bloodied dirt all over the rags I wore. The demons surrounded me on every side kicking my figure in the dirt and screaming curses that only made me wither further. Watching from the perimeter, I was paralyzed. I willed my limbs to move. I prayed that the form in the dirt would rise up and fight back. But I didn’t move an inch. And my form in the dirt was nearing unconsciousness.

Suddenly, the sound of a great sword leaving its sheath split the air. The demons looked around for the source of the sound and in that moment a clear domed shield miraculously descended over my form in the dirt, deflecting their weapons and effectively shutting them out.

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In unison, an army on horseback emerged from the trees completely surrounding the clearing. With a great cry they descended on the camp, swords drawn. The startled demons scrambled for their weapons and began to defend themselves, leaving their prisoner forgotten. While everyone was engaged in combat the commander of the army came riding through the camp on a great horse. The pathway cleared by His warriors, He rode straight towards my limp body. He paused only a moment to secure me onto His horse, held in front of him between  his arms and the reigns. Without crossing swords with a single demon, He rode out of the clearing and back into the shelter of the woods. I was no longer watching from the outside. Somewhere along the way, I became the wounded version of myself. With the change in my surroundings I became more alert, triggering the instinct to fight or fly. I tried to wrench free from him with all the strength I could muster. I pleaded with him, “Please let me go! Where are you taking me? Let me go,” I sobbed, defeated and weak. There was no chance for escape. We rode swiftly through the woods and the noise of the battle quickly faded, but the commander never spoke a word.

He obviously knew the forest well, for it wasn’t long before we reached a well-lit cabin that had no obvious path leading to it. The horse came to a swift halt and my new captor swung from the saddle in one quick, efficient motion. There seemed to be urgency in his movements. The commander reached to lift me off of the horse and carry me inside. But I grew hysterical, screaming and shoving his hands away, “No! NO! Get away from me! Don’t touch me! Let me go! Please!” He simply looked into my eyes, his full of compassion, and held his arms up to me, without touching me. Looking back at his steady gaze, I calmed down. I knew I couldn’t jump from the horse, so I let him lower me from the high saddle.

In silence He carried me inside and lowered my weary body to a small bed in a corner of the warm, one room cabin. The commander seated himself on the edge of the bed. I wedged myself against the pillows in the corner, knowing that attempting to get past him would only cause further damage to the wounds that filled my consciousness with more pain every passing second.

Another man was in the cabin. He was older than the commander with white hair and beard, but the same gentle eyes that spoke to his son upon our entrance. The two obviously had a close bond for they did not seem to need words. I sat there trembling, fearing what they would do to me. The older man left the woodstove where he was pouring hot water into a basin with clean towels. He came to the bed, sat down and looking into my eyes, he pulled away the blood-drenched rags hanging from my frame that covered the deepest cuts. Slowly and gently he washed away the dried blood and dirt that covered my wounds. I cried out in pain and tried to pull free but the commander held me with steadying hands and spoke gently, trying to calm me. I was too weak to fight any longer so I leaned back, spent and exhausted. My tears finally subdued and I slept.

I woke to find all my wounds cleaned and bandaged. The chains were removed from my wrists. My rags were gone and I wore a clean, white robe. The old man approached the bed where his son supported my beaten body. He instructed that my wounds would have to be kept clean and re-bandaged. But this time there was no protest. I knew that I was safe. Safe in the arms of my rescuer.

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