4Deep in a crude trench more resembling a ditch, they cowered ensconced by protruding branches from the trees overhead. A whimpering cry broke the long silence they had stood in for hours. The voice was small and weak against the dauntless wind that threatened to blow them from their cover. Bitter cold as they were, no one in the small cluster of forlorn people moved to warm themselves. They didn't move at all. The dirt beneath them was a damp mud; stained burnt red by flowing wounds and light rain. Utter despair hung in the air and choked from them any hope imaginable.
A large eye, scarred vertically down the middle, peeked through a gap in their cover. A tear threatened to fall from it as it roved around the ground riddled with bullets and littered with dead bodies. Everywhere, dead bodies were everywhere. Like an autumn morning when summer was not long spent and the ground is covered in leaves, but now, it was corpses. The small voice cried out again in agony.
"Keep it quiet!" demanded one old voice in a harsh tone. Others shared the same apathy for the child, giving the distressed mother compassionate looks and mumbled bits of advice.
A young woman bit her lip as she tried to hush her baby. Blood from it's shoulder was seeping through the ratty blanket that had been draped around him. She looked up, her youthful face, tired, worn and scared to death. "I can't", she complained quietly to the others as the babe continued to moan and sob.
An old Veteran nodded his head to the others and gazed about at whom he had been given the task to protect. Woman, injured babes, old men too decrypted to fight or even care for themselves. All the other young men were dead, their corpses strewn outside. Everyone inside the refuge had lost someone over the years-too many. He sighed and peeked outside again. His mind toiled and beads of sweat began to appear on his forehead. Then, through the mists of injustice and war, he spotted an old shack left standing. He marveled that it hadn't been burned and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving to Him for whom they were being slaughtered.
A scullery, standing at a slant, old and beat up in the midst of the blood- splattered paddock. It had been an added part of the farmhouse where they had hidden for weeks and was stocked with . "Okay" he started in a gruff voice, "The pantry is still standing." He looked up with intense eyes, evaluating reactions, "If God be willing it will be a better shelter and possibly have food."
Many low "amen's" could be heard. They all waited for him to give the order to move in. The man pushed a silver strand of hair from his scarred eye and bit his lip, "Too light now" he said to the other's dismay.
"But Brother Thomas, we are all cramped and hungry. Why make us wait? The Imperials have gone; they have been gone for hours. We have nothing to fear." Said an aged woman benevolently. She sat upon a gritty boulder jutting from the soil. The vivacious lady was large and her skin was browned, revealing African roots. A small silver cross hung from her thick neck dangling like a death wish. As her plea was well accepted, many had begun to move toward the opening of their refuge at the far side of the shelter.
"No." Brother Thomas shook his head decisively, "We will wait until cover of darkness. We are not sure if it is safe. Please, Sister Sarah, just wait."
Sister Sarah peered through the musty darkness, "We should take it to the Lord." She suggested, "But first, what is your reasoning, Brother Thomas." "We all have loved ones outside. Dead." he began, "It won't do us any good to look upon them when they are with God, my sisters and brothers."
Silence fell upon them all. "Yes, I agree," Said the sister as she bowed her head and whispered. The others did the same and closed their eyes tightly. Even the mother got clumsily to her knees trying not to disturb her son, who had fallen asleep finally. The overhead sun, gray and gloomy soon sunk behind the horizon leaving the small band of freedom fighters to the vicious and cynical dark.
In a short procession they boldly fled silently across the field, daring not to look down at the blood sprayed arena. The Sister put her stout arm lovingly over the mother, "Don't worry my child" Her reassuring words seemed to be meant for both the woman and child.
She smiled weakly up to her. Tear stained and dirty, her face showed the glimpse of a new strength, "Thank you my Sister" she whispered.
"Your welcome, Sister Elizabeth" she breathed back, offering to take the child from her.
"No, I can take him." she replied, "But thank you" "Don't ever hesitate to ask for Help young 's or mine." She chided gently. Sister Elizabeth nodded her head and looked down to her son. His breath was faint, but constant and the bleeding had slowed. She breathed a prayer to God, fumbling for her cross, identical to that of all the brothers and sisters. She shivered at the touch of God, and the love that overcame her. When she opened her eyes, they were teeming anew with tears of joy.
They resumed their trek toward the scullery. The mists of the afternoon had lifted and only the clear night remained, leaving the bodies around them more exposed then Brother Thomas would have liked. Every now and again, he would look down at a corpse and shiver. He prayed for strength and peace, imploring with enthusiasm. These were men, friend soft his and comrades, cut down to bloody piles of flesh. Brother Thomas shuddered at the thought of what would be done to them if caught, but composed himself quickly by taking power in the words of the Lord in Revelation 17:14: "These will make war with the Lamb, and the Lamb will overcome them, for he is Lord of lords and King of kings; and those who are with him are called chosen and faithful." So the brother walked a little higher.
Tyranny couldn't hold them truly captive, for God would soon free them, he would free his believers. He didn't know when, but he took comfort in the fact that the sufferings of those strewn on the battlefield had ended. They were with him now, singing and praising, enjoying the fruits of their labor. A smile of joy crept upon Brother Thomas's face, as he took it all in. In elation he gladly accepted the flood of Peace that envelope him in the folds of God.
When the small, weak band of refugee reached the pantry the party stood around wearily, each secretly hoping another would break the silence. Many had beheld the faces of loved during their solemn trudge through the bullet littered pasture. The general morale hung at a sad note. The scared and confused faces stood uneasily staring at the ground in morbid stillness. Sister Elizabeth looked up from her child and searched the gathering with bright eyes. The trail had given her, her own share of gloom, but she refused to let it keep her down. Her eye fell upon Brother Thomas, and he met her gaze. The both nodded at each other. They knew the two of them had met God.
Brother Thomas shook his head at the group and said quietly, "Why are you grieving?" The brothers and Sisters looked up in astonishment and Brother Thomas continued, "Why do we grieve for people whom are in a better place? Do you wish them back here?" his words were inspiring and the group began to shift regretfully.
A crystal tear fell from Sister Elizabeth's eye and falling to her son's pain racked body. Breaking out in a haunting song of joy and awe she sang, "Amazing Grace, How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me!" Her voice was grateful and full of wonder as she lifted up her Lord's name, her Lord.
The Party soon joined in and many began to share with others Bible verses that reflected their thankfulness and God's love for them. The sound was cryptic and poignant, so many voices lifted up to one. A heavy blanket fell upon the crowd, a presence that could not be explained. The tears of ecstasy flowed down, and God enveloped them all into his arms. These were his people. Yes, the revolt had ended badly, from the enemy's point of view, yet to Jesus' followers, everyone who had died in that tragic fight were martyrs for a just cause. They died for the only cause that is worthy to give your life for.
The resonating sound of worship and praise bounded and echoed through the fields. They were no longer afraid. These are his people.