The truest hero that ever was,
Was naught but one who saw, and loved.
A Paladin, a hero indeed,
Is but a servant to those in need.
How could I not be a Paladin, a servant? Because indeed, the factors that formed me from the clay of my past into the rock of the present could scarcely leave room for any other designation of my soul. I could not be anything but a Paladin. Here are the three major steps to this one answer, this one end for the path of my life:
1.) I should, by rights, not be alive today.
2.) I have never lived as anything but a victim, but I refuse to be less
than a hero.
3.) I am more afraid than an average person, but fear is the ultimate
enemy.
Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, in a beautiful land known as “the Arrowhead Campground” in the far-off kingdom of New York State, a young girl found herself lost upon a forest path with her brother and a newfound friend, whom we shall call Emily. Emily was the oldest, a wise and strong girl of 10 years of age, whereas the young Kelly was only a tender 8 years old, and her small brother Adam only 6.
The children had wandered into the woods for a last walk together, and they became lost. The path had forked, you see, and while all Kelly’s instincts drove her to the left, Emily insisted on the path to the right, claiming it looked cooler in the woods than in the sun. Both the younger children bowed to Emily’s superior thinking and followed, until they found themselves deep in the forest, no longer on a recognizable trail, and far from help. They came upon the scene of a recent mudslide, a steep, wet, muddy hill, which revealed at the bottom a clearing that looked to lead back to the campsite from whence they had come, but the base of the hill was littered with great and jagged rocks from the slide. Emily insisted that by descending the hill, they could find their way home, and again, the younger children relented.
Emily made her way half-way down the hill, and then Kelly helped her young brother stumble down the path as best she could. In securing him, however, she lost her balance in the soft, wet mud, and fell, plummeting head-first towards the boulders below. And then, a whoosh of air and a hard thump on the back shook Kelly to her senses; she had her arm caught by a lone, thin tree-root sticking out of the mud, and she was literally dangling helpless only feet from the rocks, unable to free herself, but no longer in danger. It took a great deal of effort for the others to free her from the stubborn root, and Emily shed many remorseful tears as they returned along the line of trees to their familiar campsites. But on that day, a tiny tree-root, only as wide as a worm saved the childhood life of a very young Kelly.
This is a true story, and was is only the beginning of times when, by chance or fate or whatever you wish to curse it as, I found myself leaving situations largely unharmed which, by rights, I should not have. As my life went on, I experienced more such “adventures” which only grew in the severity of danger, such as near-misses with car accidents and extreme illnesses, and yet I continued to survive. I consider myself blessed and fortunate in that I continue to have a chance in this world, and I take it as my responsibility that because I have been granted more time on earth, I must make use of that time. I have the rare gift of life, and I cannot waste it; I must use it to serve others. It falls to me to be no less than I have been given, and even the truest of heroes cannot make up for miraculous life-saving on the part of luck. But it is my responsibility to try.
My history, beyond these experiences when my life was saved, is a dark one indeed. I was the long-time victim of abuse, physical as well as emotional, mostly by my own family. Once or twice I was in very serious danger, and I still remember those times, frightened, bruised, and locked in my room praying that tempers would calm themselves and I would be safe again. As a child, I learned two important lessons: how to run for my own safety and how to protect myself. I prevented serious injury time and again by catching blows in the places my body could handle (muscles instead of organs), and then by fleeing and hiding until it was safe. And through it all, I was not believed. No one believed the danger or the abuse I suffered. So I suffered alone for most of my childhood and into my early teens before the behaviors stopped. And then, a few years ago, I found the abuse in my life reborn, this time of a sexual nature.
I was caught in a relationship wherein I had been practically brainwashed into an emotionless sex slave, my boyfriend forcing himself upon me out of frustration and betrayal. My friends saw the symptoms, but I could not hear them above the desires of my abuser, and he raped me again and again for a year, even after he left me for another, younger, woman. He came back to demand sexual acts of me more than once, and again and again I gave in, until I could do no more. My friends rallied around me, then, and helped me break the bonds he held on my soul. They helped me force him away, and I can say with great pride that I have not known any form of abuse for more than two years.
These experiences left many scars on me, physically as well as emotionally. The mentality of a victim is perhaps the most hurtful and relentless abuser of any a person can face, for this mentality destroys a person from the inside, ripping holes in the very fabric of a person’s sense of self and hope for the future. For a time, I wandered the world feeling utterly hopeless, worthless, and meaningless. But I slowly came to understand that I am a victim only so long as I allow myself to be, and so I have turned around on that mentality and forced it from me with all the passion I could muster. Having lived through so much, I cannot be anything but an advocate, a healer, and a protector. How could I watch another person suffer even the smallest nuance of what I have known? Even if it is totally unrelated, even if it isn’t abuse, how can I sit by and lend no aid to another person, when such aid could have served me so well? I have been a victim, but I am one no longer. It now falls to me to prevent others from becoming victims themselves. Now I am a shield for those who need one, callused and scarred, but those very scars make my skin impenetrable. No sword or arrow can break the skin of a scar so deep and long in healing. I alone have a unique ability to serve, in that I have been in the darkest alleys, the places most people never go and dare not look, and I have come out alive and strong. I am immune to those dangers that could threaten others. And I must, driven as I am by my own sense of self, use this terrible gift and curse to save others.
But, of course, this lifetime led to great fear and trepidation in everyday life, fear which plagues me still. I always check the doors two or three times a day to see that they are locked. I have developed an intense fear of the dark and a fear of unfamiliar men. Both, if left alone in the dark or with a man I don’t trust well, I am liable to tremble, to become pale, and my muscles all tighten. I look for escape routes, I look for possible weapons to defend myself (I do actually know some hand-to-hand fighting, but I also know how to use a staff), and all my instincts and senses go on alert and I prepare myself for the worst. I am haunted by fears that most people would dismiss, but I know better. I know how dark the world can be, and how dangerous. I know how easy it is to be hurt by someone who will never regret what they’ve done. And not a single day goes by that I don’t experience some residual fear from my history. I will likely experience this same fear for the rest of my life.
But I also believe that fear is the greatest enemy that every person must face. If I give in to my fear, if I give it power over me, it will control me. As an independent person, I value the ability to have and hold control over myself and my life. I do not want to let fear control me. So although I experience fear, I try not to change myself to compensate for it. I will not give this fear power over myself, and for as long as I retain control, I am still a step ahead of all that I see in my nightmares. So when faced with a situation involving someone who needs my help, even when I react with fear, I refuse to let that fear control or confine me. I will not be silenced or constrained by the dark “what ifs” of the world. I stand with others who are also afraid, to be strong for and with them, to shield them and light their way. I have faced my fear, which is not to say it does not remain a part of me, but I live in spite of it. I hope that through my life, I can help others do the same.
So I ask again, how could I not be a Paladin? I have seen and known too much to be anything less. I have been given chance after chance to keep on living, and while my life has been anything but easy, I have greater and greater reasons to right the wrongs in the world and support those who may also have hard timesI have learned that problems are only as large as people perceive them to be, so a bad grade could very well mean the end of the world to someone, or it could be of no concern to another. It all depends on the person, and no problem or situation is any “worse” than any other, because they are all as important as we make them. There are no “more worthy” troubles in the world, just more troubles. And I try to do my very best to be there for everyone, to help them. My unique scars make me strong against problems and so I make a good shield for those who need one, for those who cannot protect themselves. What more is a Paladin, really?
When I sat down to write this, I wondered if I should approach this particular assignment with the more gentle side of my nature, the empath, the healer, the care-taker in me, or with the stronger, more dangerous and tragic side of my nature. Obviously I chose the latter, and the reason is this: I cannot see a Paladin as just a caring helper. Although being a Paladin is that, I see the work of a Paladin as being the most difficult kind of work, higher and requiring more strength and courage than a Warrior, more cleverness and flexibility than a Wizard, and more tenacity and subtlety than a Rogue. We are the defenders of those who cannot defend themselves, the voices for those who cannot speak for themselves, the hands for those who cannot lift their own hands. We have to be compassionate, caring, and full of love and kindness for those that need us. But we also have to be willing to stand and fight, because healing and holding is not enough without also protecting and rescuing. We have to be the greatest of the heroes, because we take on the greatest responsibility. We don’t just step in to save the day at the crucial moment; we also commit ourselves to the long process of healing and rebuilding. And in that, we cannot just be one thing or the other. The best Paladins of the world are those scarred by their lives and experiences, and therefore able to be a sword, a shield, and a balm against the worst the world can offer. And it is for this reason that I believe it is my strength that makes me a Paladin. Of course I am a deeply caring person, but without this history that built courage, strength, hope, and a burning desire to make my life prevent the repetition of my own experiences, I would be a weak Paladin indeed.
But I am not weak. I am strong. I am caring and deeply committed to
the Way of the Paladin. I will serve this world and those around me with
all the strength and heart and hope and faith and love and light and
blood I can manage for as along as I live. This is my promise to myself
and to my God. This is my path and I am happy upon it. And so I ask you,
had you walked in my shoes for my years on this earth, could you help
but be a Paladin as well?
