Love Has Come

You—do you see me through the frosted glass? Listen to me, if you can hear me above this blizzard. Yes, I am trapped in an anguished isolation, but my world was not always confined to this.
I was young once. Free—once. The impish, curly-haired elf that used to be me could giggle, dance and dream—free to be herself! She was never concerned with the complicated arenas of the kosher or expected. She knew not the agony of this frigid sphere that has become my home.
That era is dead, frozen stiff by the despairing winds that mock me…that mock my search. Awaking to a larger world has revealed that individuality is shunned. Tolerance is extended only to conformists. I have come to accept this bitter reality: only the valuable and loveable are accepted.
And so I sought. If I were to finally attain significance and—Oh, blessed thought!—love, it seemed that I must first be accepted. These are goals worthy of sacrifice. So my quest became an altar, upon which I was to brutally massacre my own freedom. There I slew my expression, my personality, my dreams, my gifts—and, indeed, every aspect of my life that would not oblige that faceless mass I so desperately wished to please.
This icy world was once a warm haven! This orb was my answer, the means to obtain significance and love. My friends, herein lies my tragedy. Who I am is now defined by this arctic sphere. I have relinquished myself to the currents of social consensus. This world now limits the extent of my self—the debris scattered about these walls of ice testifies to all I have lost. I have truly lost; an exchange never occurred. I have been jilted by a lie.
Alas, but now I have been enlightened—ha! To call it that is a devilish irony, for I have gained only cynicism and despair from this demon-spawned enlightenment. I embraced bondage to attain acceptance; I failed. Bitter are the instances in which I could not attain the acceptance I fervently sought. More agonizing, however, is the realization that whatever acceptance I have garnered fails to grant me what I truly seek.
Thus is my destiny: a groveling existence within this orb of conformity. I cannot forfeit the shred of significance and imitation-love I have managed to glean; thus, I remain.
Worthless. Unloved.
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My own world is aloof to me. This ruthless cell makes no concessions to my desperation. Oh, to force through these walls, away from the screaming winds and swirling hopelessness. Leave me now. My saga is ended. I recoil no more. I have resigned to the seeping bitterness of living-death. I am tired—too tired to fight.
As if sensing my surrender, the storm intensifies. Even my stiff eyelids do not protect me from the dazzling white, and the winds seem to moan my name. Mockery. Yet my arm is limp. I cannot shield myself. My name again!
“Let me sleep! Please, only condoling sleep.” But the voice persuades me. Through crystal-crusted eyelashes I search the whiteness. Agitated curtains of snow vacillate to reveal the unthinkable. A grey silhouette—within my world! The storm has no effect upon his confident stride. I try to resist the thought, but I know. Certainly…surely, only Death could posses this strength! He overshadows my huddled bundle of humanity. His outstretched arm pauses, mid-air. I wait, quivering. We are alone—in silence! Nature’s tantrum has been pacified. The storm is no more.
I cannot meet my own dare to gaze above the powerful torso of this unexpected stranger, bristling with armor. Fear wrestles with curiosity. Do I want to see his face? I am compelled by curiosity. Apprehensively, I glance up—only to behold the face of the only stranger whose name I already know.
Perfect Love. I would never have professed to know Him. I could never have painted His portrait—but I know the steely determination of his jaw, the knowing compassion of His eyes, the regal mercy of His smile. My disbelief staggers me, but His bracing hand is quick. I am strengthened by the warmth in His light.
I stutter, stranded in stunned confusion: “What…how…why?—why are you here?” His presence defies all reason and plausibility. No one had ever bounded the icy barricades; no one could. Moreover, I know the law. Nothing is free—particularly Love! I was born neither perfect, nor loveable…and I have described my useless attempts to attain these. The sentence stands: I have no right to call upon Love. I cannot pay.
Yet there He stands, unaffected by the stench of my worthlessness and poverty. Could He know my nakedness? Can He comprehend the pain represented by these streaked scars of rejection and failure? No! Not He.
Around me the snow begins to dance in a gust of returning despair. I am startled, but his knowing gaze reveals what I should have known: that storm was my own, a reflection of my soul. He also knows my cry! My heart wrenches with my cry: “I want to be free—alive! Death to this conformist prison, to these restraints of my quest for freedom! Let me live!”
My eyes widen as He unsheathes a terrible sword. “I offer you this: the Sword of Truth. My mission is of my Father, but your decision determines my success. You may live now, retaining your limited control in your attempts to find freedom. You will die. Or, you may condemn your autonomy, self-dependence and pride to execution, and live.”
I choose…Life. The double-edge pierces my heart, plunging to the very hilt. The lie that holds me writhes as Truth’s voice rings out: “You are the enslaver. You have transgressed. The wage is hell.” The sword withdraws as Love and Truth ring out: “But, my child, I was sent that you may live. My life became the price tag of your soul. You are made in my image. Your value is unimaginable. Everything you are is found in Me.”
My Lie has died, but I rise—yet not I, but Love in me. Now I see His soul! He too has been wounded. As my weeping Savior reaches for the wounds in my chest and back, the diamonds in His palms match perfectly those in my body. His wounds have healed me.
Love takes me by the shoulder to face my world. Spring has come! The hopeless, angry drifts have fled. Something is missing. I turn quizzically, “Lord? …My prison—what has become of it?”
“Daughter,” he smiles, “You have released it. That world of misery was just your clutching to achieve the acceptance of others. You never needed their acceptance. The freedom you have sought has been given you by Truth. You need not search for acceptance, significance or worth. You have all these and more. Love Has Come.”