Beggar child and slave; that’s what I’ve been called until now. This is my story:
The market’s squalor and harsh laughter dim as I am flung towards him. With desperation I cling to my rescuer’s robe.
Scratches and scars mar the fingers I grasp with. My eyes glance at them then at the ground. I whisper, “Please don’t let them have me again.”
I’ve just been sold, purchased at a great price. I can hear the ransom that has been give on behalf of me; it includes the bleating of sheep and spilling of gold coin behind me. Clumsily, I fall against him. His strong arms catch me draw me gently in a deep embrace. I am overwhelmed with relief; it washes over me in shocked waves. And his robe; it is so warm and soft. This sensation is foreign to the usual roughness and harshness of my only clothing, a burlap sack.
Hopefully he would be so kind as to take me away from this horrible place. Here I am treated less than some of the sheep. When hungry I had always gone in search of bread at the marketplace. It was there that I was screamed and swatted at like a common housefly. To them, I am worth nothing.
His gentle voice rises above the swell of my emotions.
“My child. Call me Abba.” I stand there stunned and unbelieving. I can’t call him that. He is rich; the people respect him. He is royalty. How dare I, a beggar child, touch his expensive garment? The fact that he is allowing me to cling so tightly to this lush robe is enough. And besides, why I trust this man?
I know he is the only sense of hope I have left… that’s why.
I notice how tightly my fingers have wrapped themselves around the confines of the bright material. I think its red but I can’t see anything; I am much too firmly grasping the potential freedom standing in front of me. As I do so, something warm envelops my filthy skin. Is that a sunbeam? I’ve never felt it as warm and gentle on my skin. Until this point, the sun had always been a source of torment for me. It was known to burn my skin and leave me with searing wounds. Why does it feel so different today? Maybe it’s a different kind of sun.
“A different kind of sun; don’t be foolish.” I tell myself. Ridiculous notions and childish ideologies haven’t saved you before. Why would they save anyone today? I want to but don’t dare look up. If he sees the real me, with my smudged and awful face, he might leave. I can’t let him leave me. I’ve felt the pain of rejection plenty of times before. My heart can’t go there again; if it does, protective fortress’s will be erected. Citadels will be raised that I have no intention of tearing down.
The Lord takes a step forward. My heart jolts and grasp on his robe tightens as he takes one step to the right. The large hand, that is his, wraps itself around my back and gently rests on my waist.
“My child. Will you trust me?” He’s talking to me! His voice! His voice… it’s so deep and gentle.
I whisper timidly, “Wherever you go I will follow.” But I have lied. There is something inside me doesn’t mean it. I am scared. What if he fails me? I hold back. When I decide to do so, the sun seems to shine even more brightly. He is smiling at me. No! Why would he do that? I’ve done nothing to deserve his affections. I am a needy little beggar child. He is a Lord and I am tiny, worthless beggar child…