The Cry of Her Heart - Historical Fiction

Chapter 5

"Look at me!" His demand caused Vianna's head to turn slowly towards him. Her tears continued to escape, making numerous pathways down her cheeks. Through the blurry cloud of her eyes, she could barely make out the shape of the young man beside her, yet she could not bring herself to meet his stony gaze.

"I have no need for love and yet I am still powerful enough to do anything I wish." His teeth gritted firmly together and, with a harsh shove, he threw her to the ground. As he turned away, he added, "Love will neither help you nor your son."

The finality of his words hurt Vianna even more than the physical pain traveling through her body. Still, she was pained far worse by the realization that this man truly believed his own words; he had lost both his faith and trust in love.

What if he is right? What if love is simply an illusion? She snuffed out the doubts as quickly as they entered her thoughts. Could she allow this man to cause her to question something she had experienced her entire life? She had seen the glow of heart-warming love in a man's eyes, felt the emotion overtaking her as she looked at her son playing peacefully on the floor of their home. Even stronger, she had felt the love of her Heavenly Father as he protected her and showered her with blessings.

How much is love worth to you? Vianna blinked as the question entered her mind. What could that possibly mean, Lord? She asked with just a little bit of frustration. Her love for her son was second only to her steadfast love for God. She loved Jonathan more than life itself...

More than life itself? Truly? Seemed to come the answer. Would you truly sacrifice your life if I asked you?

Vianna knew her face must be dramatically turning shades whiter. I must be dreaming, she convinced herself, mishearing the Lord.  

The young woman made one sweeping glance across the room. Nothing seemed to have changed. The young man who had so dramatically changed her life by his abrupt entrance still stood with his back towards her. She, Vianna Anderson, still lay on the floor where he had so callously tossed her and two invisible but dangerous men still stared at her from the shadows, the body of her son in their arms.

This is not the message I need right now, Lord! She cried out inwardly, her heart pleading with her Savior for simple and speedy deliverance. I need you to rescue me, take me away from this trial. Let my son and I live in peace!

A verse entered her mind the moment the thought left her and, as she recalled it, she knew that it could only have come from God. "Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Your heart must not be troubled or fearful." My peace... The words seemed to echo. Not as the world gives...

What are you asking of me, Lord? She prayed desperately, her heart genuinely open to whatever His answer might be.

Give your life. The words came loud and clear and there was no mistaking them. Give your life.

Nothing could have prepared Vianna for the emotions those three words caused or the way they seemed to slash through her, much as a blade would.

Throughout her twenty-two years of existence, she had countlessly surrendered her life to God, sacrificed her means to His service, tried to honor Him in her ways. She had given of herself in every way she knew how. But - a martyr? Why would He ask that of her? She hardly had an inspirational story or a model existence. She was not even in the coliseum in Rome or in front of a mob threatening her with death if she would not renounce her faith.