A Crimson Ribbon

A gaping hole where her heart should be, Maria Jensen wandered down the lonely dirt path with no idea in the world where she was going. Her grandmother’s harsh words were still ringing in her ears, but they were all jumbled together with the other voices warring in her head. No one had endured the turmoil and tragedy that Maria had encountered in her life. Tears trickled down her dirty face and her body recoiled as she remembered being a child, sitting on her bed holding her baby doll, while her mother was being bludgeoned to death right outside her bedroom door. Maria was helpless to shelter her Momma from the blows that were being inflicted on her fragile body. Shuffling her feet, she kicked up a whirl of dust around her tiny frame as she continued aimlessly down the path of despair. Her mother had been the only one who had ever truly loved her and God had taken her in the most brutal way that Maria could ever imagine. Forced to move in with their grandmother, Maria and her sister Lisa, would never be the same again. All Maria had to remember her mother by was a crushed velvet hair ribbon that she had given her when she was just a little girl. Her mother had called it crimson and compared it to the story of the crimson blood that Jesus had shed on the cross. While Lisa compensated for her hurt with cheerleading, make-up and boys; Maria retreated into the darkness and welcomed it with open arms. Her art was her only escape; and with it brought images of hostility that gave her grandmother one more reason to criticize her. Knowing she could never be good enough, Maria’s blood finally reached the boiling point and she engaged in a physical altercation with her sister. Her grandmother intervened by splintering a broom handle into Maria’s back, which felt kinder than her grandmother’s admittance that she had never wanted her in the first place. Now she was homeless and the great darkness settled upon her with a vengeance. Finding a little shack in the middle of the woods, Maria retreated to the shelter of its wings. She could no more see the hand of God orchestrating her provision and every step than she could the beauty in the sunset. Little did she know that the tiny shack in the woods would be used to intertwine her life with June Cavanaugh’s and lead her to the Cavanaugh Ranch where a new life seemed to be calling out to her. But yet another tragedy was crouching at her door, waiting for her to step over its threshold. Brutally raped and beaten beyond recognition, Maria buried her wounds deep in the recesses of her mind. Untreated internal wounds began to fester and deepen until they oozed from every pore of her body, turning Maria into someone that even she could no longer identify. A rope lowered into her pit by the Cavanaugh family began her ascent into hope – a hope filled with forgiveness, love and reconciliation. Through the crimson blood of Jesus, God healed her wounds and used her scars to magnify His goodness and mercy in a way unlike any other. Finally understanding dawned and Maria realized that even in her anger and despair, God had never left her, but guided her into fulfilling the calling that had been placed upon her life, even before she ever took her first breath.