A Parable Inspired by John 11:9–10

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The Parable of the Three Women

There was once a man who lived at the gates of power. He was newly wed to a woman of gentle heart, and they loved one another in the simplicity of truth. Though the world around them was full of games and ladders, their hearts were still tender and uncluttered.

Now this man had two companions—both women, both wise in different ways. One was called Shadow, and the other, Light.

Shadow moved with elegance and knew every secret path through the courts of men. She smiled often, but her heart was not open. She whispered words that twisted, and she climbed not by labor or love, but by taking what others longed to give, only to use it for her own rising. She had slept in the chambers of judges and kings—not for desire, but for influence. Her touch left fingerprints on scrolls of law and whispers in the mouths of rulers.

Light, however, walked differently. She did not seek the center of the feast, but knelt to serve the least. Her words were few and full. She did not barter with her beauty or flatter for favor. And yet, when she spoke, even the proud lowered their eyes—for they knew her spirit was aligned with righteousness. She wept for the wicked as she did for the just, and sought peace without boasting.

The man welcomed both into his house, for he had not yet discerned their natures. His wife, young in years but not in soul, watched in silence. She saw how Shadow leaned near the ear of the powerful, and how her laughter could change the course of a vote. She saw how Light sat beside the wounded, offering neither gold nor gain—only presence, only love.

One night, Shadow found the wife alone and said,

“If you would see your husband rise, learn to turn your head when the winds blow against conscience. A little silence buys a great many blessings.”

But the wife remembered the face of Light, calm in the midst of storms. She began to wonder what kind of crown was worth a kingdom built on compromise.

Seasons passed, and then came a reckoning.

Those who had traded in deception were unmasked. The halls trembled, and many who had dined in gold were cast into shame. Shadow fled, for her web could no longer hold.

And Light remained.

She stood beside the man and his wife—not for reward, but because love, like truth, endures. The man wept, not for loss, but for the clarity that had come too late.

And the wife understood this:

A friend who flatters the path of power will vanish when the fire comes.
But one who walks in humility, who reflects the heart of what is good, will remain when all else is shaken. And so the man and the woman turned from the palace and planted a garden. And in that garden, Light often came to sit.