“For evil to be vanquished there must be a willing victim.”
Two days ago I jumped off the altar. A pound of flesh was being required of me and I did not want to give it. Things hidden came into the light and instead of taking the beating, turning the other cheek, I turned around and required the same pound of flesh back. Payment. He must pay. Someone has got to pay!
Sacrifice in times when I am not sacrificing much seems like such a noble and high calling. I feel my heart swell and I want to be that person. I want to be that soldier who jumps on the grenade for his team mate. But when I stand in line at the grocery store I for sure do not want to be the one who has to wait longer when someone cuts. I don’t want to pay then. Why? Because I didn’t get to choose that sacrifice.
I like to choose my sacrifices. Don’t surprise me. Prepare me in advance and we’re A-ok. But I don’t get to choose some and those are the ones that really hurt. The ones that require so much from me…all of me. I want evil to be vanquished but I don’t want to be the willing victim.
The day I jumped off the altar (had I really even been on it though?) preceded the day I heard about the willing victim and the vanquishing of evil. Would it have changed anything? I don’t know.
I wish I had offered more to my husband than payment when his sin demanded my flesh. Tears? Shared grief over something we both hate? Maybe next time… Maybe next time I’ll hand over the pound of flesh.