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“Why does it hurt?” She looked up to him wincing in pain. Turning his gaze toward her, he replied “You were wounded because they don’t know who they are.” Arms raised up above her heart. Tears streamed down her alabaster face. He knew what she wanted. He reached down, picked her up, and placed her in his lap. She leaned into him. Her heart was beating so hard that he could hear it as she sat with him. “There there darling one,” he said, tenderly.

“How does not knowing who you are, mean hurting others?” She asked, while gasping in between sobs. He could feel her tangible grief. He took in a deep breath, and paused.

This little one needed comfort, and answers. She did not understand that second hand pain was what caused her grief. For a parent raises a child while reflecting their parents. If no love was shown to them, no love is seen by them. Looking back in time, we see the reason for her flinching, grief stricken posture.

This precious soul lived in a world where her innocence was not cherished. Many a criminal had robbed her of this quality. If value, and beauty were objects they would be, to her, a revolving door. Her purity was enchanted, captured, and destroyed.

Where were her protectors while this was happening? The ones assigned to her covered their view of her with the care of another. He was one who came before her. The first born arrived with broken pieces; they were too distracted, by him, to care for her. From their brokenness they attended. Not to her, but to him. For her, the blessings were rare. Their curses were the norm for her.

The matron guardian was especially harsh. She beat the girl; frequently so. The miserable matron left horrid cuts and bruises. They were the kind that cannot be seen. Whenever the blue-eyed girl cried out in pain, the matron silenced her, abruptly. The miserable matron painted such a tainted view of the girl to the paternal guardian, so that when she called to him for help, he would simply turn his back. It became such, that she knew his back, more than his face.

As the girl’s cries for help were treated with unshakeable contempt, she eventually lost the will to cry. She felt angry; broken. Not broken like the first born. Hers’ was manufactured brokenness created by the guardians assigned to preserve her.

With hope broken, despair ensued. She soon found herself sitting in the dirt at the roadside. “Won’t somebody love me”, she called out. She’d heard of the Comforter, but had no hope of meeting him. Or, so she believed.

One day out of desperation, she tried to end her suffering forever. Her hope exchanged for sorrow; she crawled her way into the middle of the road.


Everything stopped. Even time itself stood still for a moment. Was she dead? “Where am I?” She asked in a weakened voice.

The most amazing voice answered, ” I have come to give you life dear one.” While stammering to explain, she muttered “Uh….umm. There was…” “No words necessary, my child,” he interrupted. She fainted. He lifted her body with its’ lifeless spirit, and carried her away. As she was coming to, she heard yelling voices, crashing sounds, then footsteps. Panicked, she began to squirm. She was terrified that he would return her to her guardians.

The Comforter did not return her home. Instead he carried her, safe in his arms, for a full days’ journey. He had rescued her, and now it was time to restore her, beside still waters. Her quick and shallow breaths turned into relaxed sighs. She was quite frail, so he fed her first.

As she regained strength, he spoke words of life to her. For every word that she believed, she took a step. After some time, she was laughing, and playing. When she lost sight of the Comforter, she would start to panic. Feeling her chin being tilted up, her eye caught sight of his, and instantly she was calm. Hearing his voice was not only magnificent, it was magnificently needed. Hope returned to her.

With hope reclaimed, experiencing love became possible. The Comforter was, indeed, a miracle maker! Though her wounds were healing, scars were forming. He never pointed them out though. His approach was mending by giving. He mended her wounds by giving her love. For love and comfort were his specialties.

The great Comforter established her in a new home. As she settled in, she was soon dancing, laughing, and climbing trees. The girl made new friends. She’d forgotten about her reviling guardians.

As soon as she forgot them, they remembered her. There was a knock at the door, one morning. Smiling, and completely unsuspecting, she opened the door. “We found you at last,” the guardians exclaimed. Her breath and life were sucked out, like a vacuum, instantly. She tried to scream for help; no one heard. Quickly snatching her, they brought her back to her old home.

….to be continued

Stay tuned to see what happens next!

Published by l80rock1

I am a new writer with stories to share, illuminating humanity, offering creative word imagery to mend wounds, comfort the broken-hearted, while offering hope, and perspective. My dream come true is to introduce you to the One who heals wounds. (Jesus Christ)

2 thoughts on “Identity

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