Bjcorbin's Blog

            Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a King; who had many sons and daughters.  The King cherished each of his children and greatly enjoyed their company.  Amongst his many children was a little girl that he had named Rosalyn, though he called her Rosebud.  Though she was very small, she was full of curiosity and boldness.  Some within the Kings household viewed her as being impertinent, but the King took special joy in Rosebud’s countenance.

            The Kings younger children were generally in the care of their Nurse-maid, Hannah; who was a surprisingly young woman, with boundless energy and a big heart.  She would often sing, dance and play with the children, which endeared her to their hearts.  The singing and laughter of the children could often be heard in and around the palace, and that was as the King desired it to be.  On rare occasion, Hannah was allowed to take the children outside the palace walls, though the King required that she always be accompanied by a detachment of the Palace Guard.  In these times the children especially loved the area north of the palace wall, where a small brook ran along the edge of the North Wood and a large pond provided a home for families of ducks and geese.   The children loved to feed the birds and to stick their feet in the cool water of the brook.   Hannah also loved this spot, especially because of a young shepherd named Domenic, who would often graze his sheep there.  Whenever they were there at the same time, Domenic would find excuses to speak to Hannah, and though she feigned disinterest, she clearly reveled in his attention.

            One day late in the summer, Hannah had decided to take the children to their favorite spot, but she was unable to locate the Captain of the Guard to dispatch his men.  She could see by the height of the sun in the sky, that midday was upon them and she knew that Domenic would soon be moving his flock down into the valley.  Concerned that she would miss him, she decided to take the children without the customary detachment of guards.  When they arrived, Domenic was waiting for them and Hannah immediately became distracted by his attention.  Two of the children ran to the pond, two others went amongst the sheep, while two more went to the brook, but Rosalyn was bored with these things and found herself drawn to the woods.  At first the colorful wild flowers at the base of some of the trees caught her eye and then as she went to pick them, she felt the coolness of the shade wrap around her.  She began to notice how tall the trees were and she became mesmerized by their majesty, and little by little she crept deeper into the woods.  Though she could still hear the laughter of her siblings and Hannah’s occasional giggling, the sound of her own feet on the underbrush began to fill her ears.  As she wandered through the wood, it was like a dream and suddenly something shiny caught her eye.  As she moved closer, it looked to be a piece of new silver.  As she bent over to pick it up, something sprang from the tree behind her.  Before she could scream, she found her mouth filled with burlap, a hood thrown over her head and the arms of an adult man wrapped completely around her.  Though she fought and screamed with everything within her six year old body, all that could be heard were the muffled grunts of her struggle and the sound of feet moving quickly across the underbrush.  Eventually, Rosalyn felt herself being handed into another set of powerful arms and then she was tightly bound hand and foot.  Though she continued to struggle, it was to no avail.  Her little hooded body was thrown into the back of a wagon, where she would remain for what seemed to be days.

            When the hood was finally taken from Rosalyn’s head, she found herself face to face with a bearded man.  He had thick eyebrows, sharp dark features and deep scars on his cheeks.  He had the eyes of a wild beast, which seemed to have no color at all.  He held his face so close to hers that she gulped in his acrid breath and his voice alternately boomed and hissed.  His name was Malcus and he was the head of the Gypsy tribe that had abducted her.  She was terrified of him and understood little of what he said.  The one word she was able to make out was “princess”, which seemed to be a curse word to him.  Eventually, with a look of disgust, he walked away from her and then she could see the crowd of dark eyes staring at her.  No one said anything and she could sense no pity in their glances.  Later a young girl, who seemed to be filled with fear came to her and spooned some cold broth onto her lips.  She gulped down what she could, but most of it spilled down her chin.  She remained this way for several days, until she was so weak that she could not raise her head and then she was brought to the tent which all the women of the tribe shared.  Eventually Malcus gave her the name Detra, which in the Gypsy’s dialect meant scar.  He ordered that her fair colored hair be cut off and that her head always remain covered. 

In the years that followed, she became as all of the other girls and women within the tribe, a slave to the cravings of the men.  The rootless tribe was always on the move, with the sadistic Malcus seemingly the only one who knew where they were.  The Gypsies were outcasts wherever they went and they knew to keep their eyes downcast whenever they were amongst people from outside the tribe.  As Detra grew into a woman, she was afforded more freedom, but she never entertained a thought of escape.  This had become the only life she knew; Malcus was the only authority that she understood and the little girl Rosalyn was just a dream that had died years before.

            One spring day, as Detra made her way along the muddy road to the village, she saw a large entourage moving toward her.  There were military men, flags, horses and carriages.  She moved to the edge of the road, but her feet began to sink deeply into the mud.  She struggled to stay upright and to allow the entourage to pass, but as she looked up, the forearm of a guard struck in the chin, as he bellowed, “Make way for the King”.  The blow sent her sprawling to the ground, with the mud pulling at her clothes.  All she could do was curl into a ball and hope that she would not be stepped on.  She knew that she dare not even look upon one of the Kings men and she found herself wishing that the mud would simply swallow her into the earth.  Suddenly she heard shouts, as the convoy slowly came to a halt.  In those days it was not uncommon for Gypsies to be beaten or even lynched along the road, so Detra felt certain that she was about to meet her end.  She had braced herself for the blows that were sure to follow, when all became silent.  After what seemed to be minutes, she heard a deep voice say, “child, are you hurt”?  She couldn’t imagine that this voice might be speaking to her, but she slowly cracked her eyes open to see a figure towering over her.  As her eyes opened more fully, the figure came into focus and she let out an audible gasp when she realized that it was the King and that he was in fact speaking to her.  She immediately turned her head and in a whisper said, “forgive me Lord”.  The Kings voice was filled with compassion, as he said, “forgive you for what child”?  With her voice a little louder, she said, “for looking upon your face Sire”.  The King seemed puzzled and said, “why shouldn’t you look upon my face child”.  “Because I am filth my Lord”, she replied.  She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.  “Nonsense” replied the King, “you are a child”.  “Please Lord” she cried, “don’t be troubled for me, I don’t wish to delay you as you make your way”.  The King was silent for a moment and then in a quiet voice he said, “look at me child”.  Her body became weak and her eyes felt very heavy as she turned her head toward the King.  Though her face was towards him, she could not seem to raise her eyes to meet his.  “Look into my eyes child”, he said.  It took every bit of strength within her, but finally their eyes meet and in that moment it felt as though the ground had opened up beneath her; as though a dam burst inside the deepest part of her being and as though cool water was now flowing into the parched valley of her soul.  In that instant there was a remembrance and a knowing; and in the same moment that the King said, “Rosebud”, Detra said, “Rosalyn”.  Tears streamed from their eyes, as the King knelt down in the mud to embrace his long lost daughter.  He effortlessly scooped her into his arms and carried her to his carriage.

            In the days that followed their reunion on the road, the King seemed unwilling to let Rosalyn from his sight.  He was the last face she would see before she slept and the first that she would see in the morning.  They didn’t share many words, but there was a profound sense of understanding between them.  Though life in the palace seemed strange to Rosalyn, she was at such peace in her fathers’ presence.  One night as she drifted off to sleep, she could hear the faint sounds of music outside the palace walls.  Something of it seemed familiar and her ears strained to hear the tune; suddenly she realized it was Malcus and the others; playing the song that she had been forced to dance to so many times before.  A feeling of dread swept over her and now the music seemed much louder.  She began to see the hideous face of Malcus before her and he was hissing, “princess”, “princess”, as he danced and mocked her before the tribe.  His voiced echoed in her head and she felt as though she were falling.  She then heard him calling, “Detra”, “Detra”… “it’s time to come home Detra” and she saw him again, with his arms outstretched.  Draped across his arms was the peasant dress that had been her uniform for so many years.  She began to cry, as she rose from her bed and went to her wardrobe.  She had wanted so badly to be Rosalyn the princess, but that was just a sweet dream and now reality was crashing in; it was time for Detra to come home.  Sobs welled up from within her as she put the peasant dress back on and without even thinking of it, she covered her head.  She wanted so much to run to her father, but she was once again filled with shame and unable to face him.  She suddenly felt as though she had deceived him when she claimed to be his daughter; after all, she was Detra, the gypsy girl.  She slowly opened her chamber door, intending to quietly leave the palace.  Her eyes were blurry with tears and the light was dim; but out of the shadows came the deep resonating voice of her father, “where are you going princess”?  Startled, she took a step back, gasped for air, and again began to sob, “I am going back to where I belong”.  Her father stepped into the dim light and said, “you belong here with me”.  She could not look at him, but she continued in her angst, “Don’t you understand, I am Detra; Detra the gypsy girl”.  Her father’s voice got very strong and authoritative as he said “come and let us look in the mirror”.  As she got before the mirror, she struggled to look into it, but when she did, she could see her father standing behind her.  As she studied the reflection of his face, she began to see how much she looked like him; in fact it was uncanny.  “Who do you see in this mirror child”, he said.  “I see you father” she replied.    “When you were with them, why did they have you cut your hair off”, the King asked.  “Because my hair was so light and theirs was so dark and they didn’t want anyone to know that I wasn’t really…one of them”, she replied as she began to understand her fathers intent.  “Why did they have you keep your head covered after that”, the King asked.  “Because my hair kept growing back”, she replied.  “Can you see that you never actually became a gypsy girl, that even though they gave you a Gypsy name and tried to cover up who you really are, that it was just an illusion”, he asked.  Tears once again flowed from her eyes as the truth penetrated her soul.  “Yes father, yes I can see it”, she said.  “Now turn and face me child”, he said.  Rosalyn turned to him and looked deeply into his eyes.  Warmth and peace washed over her once again and her father asked, “who did you come from”.  “You father”, she said; “and who do you belong to”, he asked.  “You father”, she said.  He bent down, gently kissed her on the cheek, and said, “you need to rest now”.  She leaned her head upon his chest and softly said, “yes father”.  He embraced her and said, “child if you are ever troubled in your heart, come to me”.  “I will father”, she replied.

            After her father had left, she changed back into her sleeping gown and she started to place the peasant dress back into the wardrobe.  She paused and looked at the dress and then slowly walked to the fireplace.  She balled the dress up and threw it in the fire, watching it burn into a pile of ashes.  She slowly made her way to the bed and laid herself upon it.  Her ears instinctively listened for the Gypsy tune, but all was quiet as she drifted into peaceful rest.  Outside the palace walls, Malcus and his tribe played through the night, unaware that Detra the gypsy girl was no longer there.

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            This story was written as a parable for what many people experience in their lives.  In the context of the story, the King represents our Creator and Heavenly Father, whose love and commitment to us does not waiver.  In the story, Hannah the Nurse-maid represents our earthly parents and/or those who God has entrusted with our care and protection.  As in the story, most parents or guardians don’t necessarily set out to hurt their children and may in fact love them deeply; but often their personal issues and desires leave their children vulnerable to the enemy.  In the story, our enemy is represented by Malcus, whose most effective weapon is to steal our identity as children of the King.  Just as the King called Rosalyn “Rosebud”, to remind her that she was a beautiful flower to him, Malcus called her scar, so that she would always identify herself with the wounds of the past.  Once someone lives under that kind of oppression for a long period of time, the enemy no longer needs to keep them tied up, because their new identity will keep them from ever walking in freedom.  As Detra walked along the muddy road, she was in fact free, but had she not encountered the King, at the end of the day she would have returned to Malcus and the tribe.  Our enemy also loves to make us feel ashamed, so that we feel like we can’t face our Heavenly Father, because he knows that if we look into our Fathers’ face, we’ll discover the truth about who we really are.  In Detra’s heart, Rosalyn was dead until she looked into her fathers eyes and remembered who she really was.  Even after such a dramatic revelation, the enemy will still come and test whether our hearts have really grasped the truth.  In my lifetime I have seen many people have an experience equivalent to what happened to Rosalyn and the King on the road, only to watch them walk away from the palace in a peasant dress sometime later.  The enemy knows that his song will remain powerful unless we take hold of our true identity.  Like in the story, his lies about our identity are often ridiculous in the natural (e.g. the fair haired, blue-eyed Rosalyn was clearly not a gypsy), but can be emotionally and spiritually compelling to us.  The only real way to find our true identity is to come face to face with our Father, because only He knows who we were made to be.  We will know that we are healed, when the song of the enemy no longer sways us.  Until the day that our hearts are there, we must learn to run to our Father as soon as that song begins.  I pray that this parable will help us to remember who we are, how our enemy works and who our Father is.  Amen.