The Red Chord

Once upon a time...

There was a woman who loved her daughter very much. From the day she came home from the hospital with her, to the day she waved goodbye when she left for college, the woman had eyes only for her little girl. The life of her daughter she held more dear to her than even her own, and prayed night and day that it would be prosperous, fruitful, and lasting.

When her daughter was very young, she learned that there was a Love far greater than what even her mother could offer her, the undying, unconditional love of Jesus. And she fell in love with Him. Her mother rejoiced.

But the little girl grew up, as most young children eventually do, and with that growing up came the loss of what once meant so much. The woman’s daughter found delight in what she once never knew. And soon, she fell out of love with Jesus, and into love with the world. The woman watched as year after year, day after day, her precious daughter slipped away from her first Love. And her heart ached for her, ached for Jesus to bring her daughter back to Him.

One day, when the woman was in the quiet of her room, with grateful hands folded in prayer for her daughter, she pleaded with the Lord to show her what to do. He heard her prayers and answered, placing an assurance within her heart, a confidence, and a peace. When she rose, she walked to another room and pulled from a drawer a strand of red chord. Taking its frayed end in hand, the woman tied the bit of chord to the window of her room so that it hung loosely in the center. When she stepped back to admire it, the woman then prayed again, "dear Jesus, let this chord be a sign of your unending love for my daughter. May it be a symbol of your faithfulness to her, of your redeeming grace, that you might bring her back again into your arms." And so the chord hung for many years.

Then once crisp, autumn night, when the moon could not be seen behind the settling fog, something unexpected and tragical happened. There was a fire in the house of the woman, a relentless, powerful fire that swept over the entire home, devouring everything in its path. It stopped at nothing, and roared and blazed without control, taking and never giving back. The woman escaped in terror, and watched with fear as the fire consumed her house. After much time had passed, and the fire had at last relented, the woman’s eyes grazed over the skeleton-like house. It still stood, what remained of it. And she was grateful her daughter was gone away to college, free from the flame devoured sight.

A day or two had passed, and the woman returned to her blackened home, in hopes of salvaging something, anything. But among the charcoaled rubble, and dusty debris, she found nothing worth trying to restore, nothing that cried for help, until she tilted her heard up toward the peak of the house, her bedroom window, and a small bit of color could be seem among the ashy window frame. Yes, it was the piece of red chord, still hanging frailly on the pane.

The woman covered her mouth with her hand, and fought the lone tear rising to the brim of her eyelid. She closed her eyes and let out a small sight. "Oh, Lord..." she prayed, "even fire could not destroy this chord..." She paused and smiled, tilting her head toward the heavens. "And not even the world can take my little girl from you..."