The following is a short story I wrote a long time ago, and though not the best piece I've written, it's the only thing that I can call a testimony of my faith. He saves me, I cannot. All I can do is choose to let him.

"Beautiful"

He pounds upon the table; the sound resonates through the silenced room.

"Father, I know you are the judge," his eyes burn with a cool fervor, "but can't you see that I love her?"

"My Lord, can't you see her filth? Does she not reek of immorality? She cannot be allowed to continue the life she lives and the evil she does!" This other voice is insistent, and he convinces the crowd to murmur their agreement with him. The thing of light and beauty smiles, but it is all a shadow of something else. A different, darker gleam comes from his hard eyes. His grace is merely a mask.

She silently weeps, but even her tears cannot wash away the slime encrusted on her hands, face and body. I do not deserve this... kindness. The words of her defender fade from her ears as she remembers the reasons why she is unwelcome in these great halls.

Her eyes rove the room, its golden pillars with carved images of things her mind cannot even grasp. The shining clean floor beneath her and her rags glitters from beneath the layers of dust she leaves on it. I should leave, and then come back when I am ready.

--

Come as you are, my love, He had said to her, and she merely laughed, concealing her fear.

No, no, dearest, she feigned a smile. I should dress to impress, with rings on my fingers and bells on my toes! Everyone will look at me and love me.

That I should love you? Is that not enough? said He, Do you trust me enough to come with me, as you are now? We will make you beautiful on the way.

But she was afraid, even as she let Him take her hand and lead her down a small, narrow path. Each mirage of pleasure on their journey distracted her, and she veered off to the sides of the road to examine the small wonders of her own little world. As she stalled for time, in her fear of going with Him, He waited for her, right behind her, watching her every move.

Anytime she fell, He was there to pick her up and brush the dirt from her eyes that she might see Him clearly.

I'm sorry, I got distracted, she would say every time. Each time, He would smile back at her, lift her in His arms and guide her back to the path.

More than once was she in danger of ever returning to it. But He would never leave her.

He brought her to the citadel, and she realized she was not properly dressed. The journey had taken its toll on her clothing, her body, her grace. Her feet were calloused and cracked; her face was covered in mud. Her hands were cut and scared.

But her Beloved as well was scarred. His hands and back broken for her, saving her each time she fell and stumbled. With horror, she drew her hands to her face. My love, it is all my fault!

Hush, I will take the blame and shame for you. My father forgives.

There were others in the citadel, and they watched her with pointed noses either at her or in the air. Their arrogance made them ugly, even in the glorious city. A stern look from the Beloved shamed them, and they hurried away.

The one of False Light was wandering in the city, ready for one last try at her.

"Son of your Father, who do you bring with you today?"

"The Bride."

The cunning one raised one perfectly arched brow. She knew something was wrong with his beauty. It wasn't right, yet at the same time, she wanted to touch him. His smile held a faulty promise that her curiosity could not bear to leave.

Beloved, who is he?

The Liar.

"I am not," he laughed at his own joke. He grasped her hand suddenly, and she fell into his suffocating arms.

She cried out, and he spat in her face. "Whore," he muttered, throwing her to the ground.

"He, the Almighty, brings a whore!" the dark, beautiful one announced. Those who call themselves the protectors of the Almighty took her away from her Love.

But he was there in the darkness of the dungeons as she waited for her trial. My love, are you there?

It was a quiet whisper on the wind. Yes.

I cannot see you! she sobbed. Where are you?

Here. Always.

Stay with me, she pleaded. And he did.

--

"...see, Father, she is a beautiful soul." She snaps back to attention as He walks toward her quivering form. She is in the Judgment Hall, surrounded by all those who live in the citadel. Her beloved stands before her, unashamed of her. "She… she is beautiful."

He says it only to her, he says it for all to hear.

"No!" She falls to her knees and hides her face. "Sir, stay away!" She denies that she knows him. His kindly face and her betrayals are too much for Him to still love her, her mind races.

The suave accuser, the Liar, from across the room calls out, "Here, she denies Him once again. Will He continue? Your Majesty, he has no reason to save her. Throw her out!"

"You are the one that chose to leave this court," the judge raises his brow. He gazes at His son, and knows His love.

The son's love is ever tenderer as he comes to his own knees before her and lowers his head to lift hers. Though he seems plain, there is a beauty deep in his crystal eyes. Though he seems young, his brow tells of many burdens.

"Father, she is beautiful. Just let me..." He rips cloth from His own pure white tunic. She shudders, knowing the torture she deserves to endure would be equal to that tear, but on her own flesh. Oh, my love, I don't deserve you. I am so sorry.

"...just let me wash her clean again."

Her eyes widen. Does he dare touch her, the unclean, unfaithful?

He dips the strips of cloth into a pitcher of water and begins to wipe the dirt off her face. She lifts her hands to stop Him, but He continues, moving her hand with His. Then she moves her hand with his. The grime of her life is difficult to remove. It is painful. But, He is patient.

When their task is complete, he takes her hand, and they stand together before the Judge. "She is beautiful, my bride."