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Authors: Alana Terry
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to all of my questions.
Call of Freedom
“The cowering prisoners will soon be set free; they will not die in their dungeon, nor will they lack bread.” Psalm 79:11
The nights grew warm. The air was humid, and I ached to feel the warmth of sunshine again.
“Summer is on its way once more,” the Old Woman announced late one evening. I didn’t reply; I couldn’t help but think of all the summers I lost locked away in this bleak prison. Nearly four years had passed since my last breath of fresh air.
“My little daughter is quiet tonight,” stated the Old Woman, who sat calmly, looking as content as if she had been lounging by a rippling brook in by-gone days.
“I just want to see the sun,” I muttered. I was certain that the Old Woman would find some way to make me regret my complaints, to show me how much I had to be grateful for. In the Old Woman’s cell, I was always reminded that I needed so much growth if I ever wished to be truly as righteous and godly as she.
This time, however, the Old Woman simply nodded her head. “Yes,” she agreed. “It is the warmth of summer, even more so than the chill of winter, that makes me also long for freedom.”
“Freedom,” I mumbled, as if remembering the word for the first time. As a child, the idea of freedom brought such a melancholy emptiness. How foolish I had been to waste my childhood pining away for something other than the mountains of Hasambong. I grew up with such restlessness. And now here I was, twenty-one years old, and my only wish was to see the blue sky or the green grass again, even if for a moment.
The Old Woman studied me as I brooded. After several minutes, she moved over beside me and held my gaze with her steady blue eyes. “Our souls’ yearnings remind us that heaven is our true home,” she remarked. “It is only there that we will ever find real and lasting freedom.”
Her words were far from comforting. “Does God expect me to wait until I die here before I see color again?” I asked. “Or feel the wind? Or gaze at the stars?” I looked at the Old Woman’s pale complexion and immediately despised myself.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t complain. Not to you.” The Old Woman began her solitary confinement in this cell before I was born, yet she had such a peaceful contentedness about her that I never wondered before if she also pined away for fresh air, for sunlight, for freedom.
The Old Woman clucked her tongue. “You have no reason to apologize,” she assured me. “Little daughter, the reason that you are restless for freedom is that God has plans for you that extend beyond the walls of this prison.” The Old Woman squinted as she studied me. “As for me, I know that I will die in this cell.” She raised her hand to silence my protests. “That is my fate, and my assurance of it is God’s gift to me. But you, righteous daughter, you have the seal of freedom upon your forehead. The Lord will not forsake you behind these prison walls. Your destiny reaches beyond the borders of this camp.” As I listened to the Old Woman’s words, something swelled in my heart that I hadn’t experienced in my entire detainment:
Hope.
“The Lord will lift you up on angels’ wings,” the Old Woman proclaimed, breathing faith and conviction into my languishing soul. A sense of power and truth tarried in our cell, so poignant that I held my breath to keep from spoiling its beauty. “God Almighty will himself provide you safe escort beyond prison walls, over rivers, even across borders of nations.” I stared at the Old Woman, not daring to move for fear of destroying the spell of life and inspiration that her words cast upon my troubled heart.
Then suddenly, without warning or reason, the Old Woman chuckled. The sound startled me. “Little daughter, why do you keep on gazing at me as if I were something supernatural?”
“Your words,” I stammered. “What you just said …”
The Old Woman smiled.
Call of Freedom
“The cowering prisoners will soon be set free; they will not die in their dungeon, nor will they lack bread.” Psalm 79:11
The nights grew warm. The air was humid, and I ached to feel the warmth of sunshine again.
“Summer is on its way once more,” the Old Woman announced late one evening. I didn’t reply; I couldn’t help but think of all the summers I lost locked away in this bleak prison. Nearly four years had passed since my last breath of fresh air.
“My little daughter is quiet tonight,” stated the Old Woman, who sat calmly, looking as content as if she had been lounging by a rippling brook in by-gone days.
“I just want to see the sun,” I muttered. I was certain that the Old Woman would find some way to make me regret my complaints, to show me how much I had to be grateful for. In the Old Woman’s cell, I was always reminded that I needed so much growth if I ever wished to be truly as righteous and godly as she.
This time, however, the Old Woman simply nodded her head. “Yes,” she agreed. “It is the warmth of summer, even more so than the chill of winter, that makes me also long for freedom.”
“Freedom,” I mumbled, as if remembering the word for the first time. As a child, the idea of freedom brought such a melancholy emptiness. How foolish I had been to waste my childhood pining away for something other than the mountains of Hasambong. I grew up with such restlessness. And now here I was, twenty-one years old, and my only wish was to see the blue sky or the green grass again, even if for a moment.
The Old Woman studied me as I brooded. After several minutes, she moved over beside me and held my gaze with her steady blue eyes. “Our souls’ yearnings remind us that heaven is our true home,” she remarked. “It is only there that we will ever find real and lasting freedom.”
Her words were far from comforting. “Does God expect me to wait until I die here before I see color again?” I asked. “Or feel the wind? Or gaze at the stars?” I looked at the Old Woman’s pale complexion and immediately despised myself.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t complain. Not to you.” The Old Woman began her solitary confinement in this cell before I was born, yet she had such a peaceful contentedness about her that I never wondered before if she also pined away for fresh air, for sunlight, for freedom.
The Old Woman clucked her tongue. “You have no reason to apologize,” she assured me. “Little daughter, the reason that you are restless for freedom is that God has plans for you that extend beyond the walls of this prison.” The Old Woman squinted as she studied me. “As for me, I know that I will die in this cell.” She raised her hand to silence my protests. “That is my fate, and my assurance of it is God’s gift to me. But you, righteous daughter, you have the seal of freedom upon your forehead. The Lord will not forsake you behind these prison walls. Your destiny reaches beyond the borders of this camp.” As I listened to the Old Woman’s words, something swelled in my heart that I hadn’t experienced in my entire detainment:
Hope.
“The Lord will lift you up on angels’ wings,” the Old Woman proclaimed, breathing faith and conviction into my languishing soul. A sense of power and truth tarried in our cell, so poignant that I held my breath to keep from spoiling its beauty. “God Almighty will himself provide you safe escort beyond prison walls, over rivers, even across borders of nations.” I stared at the Old Woman, not daring to move for fear of destroying the spell of life and inspiration that her words cast upon my troubled heart.
Then suddenly, without warning or reason, the Old Woman chuckled. The sound startled me. “Little daughter, why do you keep on gazing at me as if I were something supernatural?”
“Your words,” I stammered. “What you just said …”
The Old Woman smiled.