No Defense- A Short Story from the Past

I am still incredibly proud of this one. I wrote it in church one Sunday as the Lord was speaking it to me that week. I don't mean the story was divinely written, but the inspiration certainly came from God.

It's just this one short story, though I always wanted to write more. But, it never happened so, I guess it wasn't meant to be?

Anyway, not really much to say about it, except that I hope you enjoy!

I have no defense.

I know I’m guilty and there is no hope for mercy so I don’t even bother asking for it as I stand before the stern-faced judge. My legs are wobbly and my stomach is all aflutter, so I grip the podium before me to support myself.

My accuser stands to my left, a smug expression on his cruel face. I close my eyes to shut that look out but it does no good. That face is branded in my mind. I’ve seen it so many times. The same expression he always wears when he brings someone down.

I’ve been here so many times. I should have known he’d bring me down with him again. They don’t call him the Destroyer for nothing. He’s known for deceiving people, conning them into trusting him and then exposing their innermost thoughts and using them against them. He’s done it to me a million times.

And yet I chose to trust him.

I have no defense.

I open my eyes because the judge is taking a long time passing my sentence. I dare to look up into his face and find it isn’t stern, as I assumed.

It’s warm, filled with compassion and deep sorrow. He regards me with an expression that stirs hope in me. The judge doesn’t want to pass this sentence on me.

And yet, there’s an unwavering resolve in his eyes that causes me to push that hope down. I know what I deserve. Even a compassionate judge must be just.

I deserve death and so that’s what I must get.

“May I speak?” a voice behind me asks.

Gripping the podium, my knuckles are white and my fingers lock as my knees buckle under me. I can barely manage to remain standing. I know that voice even without turning to see the speaker.

Joshua.

My mind floods with all the things I’ve done to him. All the times I’ve betrayed him. All the times I’ve denied him, been unfaithful to him, and used him to further my own selfishness.

My stomach churns as I turn to face him coming through the crowd. I want to shrink away in his presence. He’s so perfect, so pure, so righteous.

I feel so dirty, so unclean, so unworthy as his eyes meet mine. I avert my gaze, knowing full well what he’s here for. I want to hide from his accusations because I know they are all true. And they have all been committed against him.

I don’t care how my accuser sees me because anything he says against me, I can say the same and worse against him. But Joshua’s different.

I can’t say the same about him because he’s not like that. He’s Joshua.

I know he’s still looking at me and I long to sink into the floor. I don’t want his eyes on me. Don’t want him to see the sin-filled person I am. I want him to speak words of love, of hope, of acceptance. I want to defend myself to him, tell him I’m sorry, ask him to forgive me.

But I push those thoughts aside. I know why he’s here. I’ve betrayed him and his love and he’s going to condemn me.

And, I have no defense.

I deserve death.

And, he’s here to make sure I get that.

I close my eyes again, breathing deeply. The judge gives him permission to speak and I brace myself for his convicting words.

I have no defense.

Joshua clears his throat. I wonder how I could have dared to sin against him. My accuser’s smug expression burns in my mind. How could I have ever wanted any part of him? How could I have ever wanted more than Joshua offered?

I have no defense.

And then Joshua finally speaks.

“This one’s mine, Dad,” he says. “I’ve got her covered.”

I open my eyes to stare at him, not believing or understanding what I’m hearing. I see he’s holding a book, open to a certain page. Written there in blood red ink, along with many others, is my name.

“Her debt is paid.”

The judge nods solemnly and says, “You’re free to go.”

I shake my head, knowing they’re teasing me, knowing Joshua is making me pay for what I’ve done to him.

My accuser protests vehemently, screaming forth a list of all the things I have done wrong. I want to cover my ears against them, want to melt into the floor to avoid them, want to run and hide from them. But, I can’t.

I have no defense.

Joshua turns to my accuser and fixes him with a glare. “I have paid her debt. You have no claims to her.”

My accuser shrinks under his gaze and slinks away. Joshua turns to me.

I open my mouth to tell him I’m sorry. He puts a finger to my lips to keep me silent. “You’re free,” he whispers. “You’re forgiven.”

Free? Forgiven? It can’t be. I want to tell him all the things I’ve done, all the horrible crimes I’ve committed, even though he already knows. I want to remind him, remind him of what I’ve done and what I deserve.

But, his hand is still on my lips. I look down at it and see the little scar in the middle, the little hole, a mirror of the one on his other hand.

“You’re clean now,” he says quietly. “Washed clean and free of all that.”

Tears well in me and I choke back a sob. He takes me in his arms and holds me tight. I have no right to enjoy his embrace but it makes me feel protected, makes me feel safe. It makes me feel clean.

“But-”

“No buts,” he says. “You’re clean, my precious one. I paid your debt to make you free. I love you.”

I know he does. He’s told me this a thousand times. But, still, I’ve sinned. I’ve-

“I’ve washed it away,” he whispers gently in my ear. “I was forsaken so you might be forgiven. I was condemned so you might be accepted into my kingdom. I died so you might live.”

His words sink it, understanding slowly dawning on me.

I’m clean. I’m forgiven. I’m accepted. I’m loved.

And, I have a defense.

And that's that!

Next week will be another except. I hope you'll return for that! :D