Journal 2019

My friend is a strong, fearsome, mighty warrior who stands guard before a massive ancient metal door, the entrance to a beautiful city. She stands firm, eyes on sharp lookout for the enemy.

Arrows have continually bombarded her plate armor, and still she stands. Swords have flashed from many directions, and still she stands her ground, thrusting, parrying, and defending. I watch the tip of a sword pierce through her armor and slice her heart.

Next comes the battering ram, and with supernatural, Samson-like strength, she thrusts it to one side. But in the process, her body is bruised and weary, and her knees are beginning to sag.

A foul stench now fills the air, and the fumes begin to overpower her senses. Her body, though battered and bruised, fights to stay alert, ready to take on any danger. But her mind becomes addled as the poison seeps into her ears and nostrils. Her words, now her only remaining weapon, cry out in authority, commanding the demon hordes to back off.

My warrior friend sinks to her knees, worn down by the fight, exhausted to the point of a death wish. Her body and mind are weak. Who cares if the city gets overrun? She’s fought the good fight. Let someone else do this job.

I see her lying on the ground now, her sword and spear useless in her cramped hands. If she tries to stand, she knows she’ll just be knocked down again. What’s the use of continuing the battle?

But deep inside she knows her job is not done.

Just then, a little girl with bright blue eyes approaches the prone figure. Her innocence and purity radiate around her like a bubble of protection. “For you,” she says as she hands the warrior a bouquet of wildflowers.

The warrior’s tender heart cannot help but smile and then frown. What good are flowers in the midst of a battle? She’s puzzled. How did the little girl get here? Where did she come from? How did she escape the notice of the enemy soldiers? If the Guardian is defending this city, why is the little girl on the outside of the gates? All this time she thought her job was to defend the little girl, but instead she’d been defending herself. What does this mean?

That afternoon I prayed for my discouraged friend who had lost her way. I sensed that God had downloaded this visual so that I could read it to her. It was exactly what she needed, she said. She knew immediately what it meant, even though I did not. She said the warrior was her human spirit, and she had her focus on the battle instead of on the little girl, her inner child. And the doors? They were an illusion. It seemed to satisfy her. She called me a prophetess.