Prelude:
I published this piece on my old blog two months and a couple weeks after my Mom died on November 6, 2012.
Written during the throes of the deepest grief I’ve experienced, I find my old thoughts still ringing true today. Yet in other ways, I am encouraged by the progress I see. In the second paragraph I talked about many of us not being willing to share honestly about the battles we faced. In the five years since I wrote this, I think that’s changed–at least among my friends. We are much quicker to “just be real.” It may even be to a fault, but I think I’d rather people be a little too honest about their struggles, then try to pretend they’re totally okay or perfect when they’re not. (I don’t know, what are your thoughts? Am I right about the change in atmosphere?)
From the very first two paragraphs, I can see the hand of God weaving a thread through my story that would eventually lead me to make a major, life-changing decision (watch for my next “Revisited” post a week from now).
I pray this is a comfort to those of you going through the same.
battle
The Soldier
“Tell me a story, Daddy!” the little boy exclaimed.
Looking down at his son, the Dad did not see a little boy, but a future soldier. A man who was in training to face the battles of real life, someone who would one day face the world and need to be prepared for it.
So the Dad softly began the story.
“Once upon a time there was a soldier, who served a mighty king. One day, the mighty king called all his soldiers to battle. Like a good man, our soldier responded and headed for the battle.
“The enemy was fierce and terrible. It was said that the enemy was as fierce as a roaring lion. At first this intimidated the soldier, but he pressed on because the king had called him.
“The fighting was intense and many men died. The enemy ravaged the towns and villages of the countryside, burned buildings and killed families. It was brutal. But still the soldier fought on, knowing his king would not let him fight alone.
“At one point, the enemy fought especially hard. It seemed like there was no way for the kingsmen to live out the fight. Some soldiers fled, but our soldier sent a petition to the king and the king sent reinforcements that drove the enemy away—but not after a long night’s fighting. During the night, the enemy made a surprise attack and our soldier was injured. The kingsmen took him aside and comforted him, but eventually they all went back to their fighting.
“The soldier felt all alone. It was dark and he could hear the screams and horrors of the battle. He almost despaired, but just then he felt a firm hand and heard a friendly voice say, ‘I am with you, soldier! Don’t give up; you will be healed if you make it through the night!’ It was the army’s great physician, who had come to help!
“The soldier was encouraged and able to tolerate the darkness a little more after this. But it was still so very lonely. He could hear the enemy making a great noise and he was intimidated.
“Soon the sun began to rise. The soldier could see the glimmer in the far eastern sky. Already the soldier could tell that whatever the great physician had done was healing his body. He sat up and looked around. By now the fighting was over, and had moved to a different place, but the destruction was obvious. The enemy had killed and destroyed, burned and plundered, what hope was left?
“The soldier wondered if there was hope. He saw the destruction from the battle and wondered what good could come from it? Could anything beautiful ever arise again? The soldier looked at his arms and legs, all bruised and bloody: could he ever live normally again?
“Questions and doubt plagued his mind. At first he resigned to the destruction, realizing there was no way around it. This was reality. But as the soldier crawled through the dirt and the ashes, he became angry. Why hadn’t the king responded sooner? Why did the king allow the army’s numbers to become so depleted? Hadn’t the king failed?
“But just then, the soldier looked up, and right there, right in front of him stood the king.
“‘The enemy has been routed and the nation has been saved,’ the king said.
“The soldier was ashamed at his thoughts and anger and looked down mournfully. ‘I am sorry to doubt you,’ said he.
“‘Do not be ashamed, sir,’ said the king. ‘But come and arise, we are victorious!’ And with that the king grabbed hold of the soldier’s shoulders and hoisted the man to his feet.
“‘There is nothing to fear because I will always protect you,’ affirmed the great king. ‘You will never be alone, but always safe under my protection. So go now walk in my joy because you are my victorious soldier.”
The Dad looked at his son who was now fast asleep. It was his story: the Dad was the soldier, and Jesus was the king. One day the little boy was going to face the same experience and the same struggle. He was going to be hurt and would need healing; he was going to doubt, and would need renewed faith. But until then, he would sleep in the safe and loving arms of his dad.
Phil Wickham
To the one whose dreams have fallen all apart And all you’re left with is a tired and broken heart I can tell by your eyes you think you’re on your own But you’re not alone
Have you heard of the One who can calm the raging seas Give sight to the blind, pull the lame up to their feet With a love so strong it never lets you go No you’re not alone
You will be safe in His arms. You will be safe in His arms The hands that hold the world are holding your heart This is the promise He made, He will be with you always When everything is falling apart, you will be safe in His arms
Did you know that the voice that brings the dead to life Is the very same voice that calls you now to rise So hear Him now, He’s calling you home. You will never be alone
You will be safe in His arms. You will be safe in His arms The hands that hold the world are holding your heart This is the promise He made, He will be with you always When everything is falling apart, you will be safe in His arms
Cause these are the hands that built the mountains,
the hands that calm the sea These are the arms that hold the lame
and they are holding you and me These are the hands that heal the leper
pull the lame up to their feet These are the arms that were nailed to the cross
to break our chains and set us free
You will be safe in His arms. You will be safe in His arms The hands that hold the world are holding your heart This is the promise He made, He will be with you always When everything is falling apart, you will be safe in His arms
C.D.
The Battle Rages
Have you ever noticed how many “guy” movies include many intense action scenes? Most guys can relate to this, and many guys get a thrill out of it. The battle, the sweat, the uphill climb—is all very realistic to us. We identify because that is who we are. We are fighters. We are made to fight—to struggle [not with flesh and blood, but against principalities (spiritually)].
But when it comes to real life, very few guys actually like to fight. Who would? It is so easy to quit and give it all up: to say it is impossible. Who wants to keep fighting while struggling against lie after lie that the enemy throws at you? Giving up looks so easy when “blood” is spilt and God seems farther away than ever.
So what do we do? We give up. We surrender to the enemy and withdraw. We turn our attention to things which are not real. Trucks and movies, sports and girls, jobs and perfecting personal doctrines suddenly become really important to us. We disengage our forces and turn into wet-noodle knights. We forget reality and begin to think that trucks, sports, and girls are what life is really all about.
But we were made to fight and protect, yet we are doing neither; inside we are longing to fulfill our nature, but we have forsaken it. So we turn to other fulfillments. We begin to indulge into personal pleasures at unnatural proportions. Numerous guys become consumed by video games that give them a vague sense of feeling like a winner. Many men devote their lives to jobs, deceiving themselves into thinking they are providing and protecting. Countless others turn to sex, feeling like they have conquered. And many just give up trying, all together, and dive into drugs and alcohol to escape the pain.
The battle is real, and it does not go away. Satan comes to kill, steal, and destroy. He never rests, he never stops for a breather, but is constantly fighting. Satan cannot defeat God, but every soul he drags down to hell is a victory for him.
I write this because it describes who I once was—and could easily become again. I write this because it seems like so many of us guys, or young people in general, just sit down and quit as soon as the internal warfare begins. Are we as young people truly content with being the wet noodles we often appear to be? Spiritual battles are not the quaint occurrences we often imagine them to be where Satan discourages us with a headache and we say “Go away, boo!” Spiritual battles are genuine battles! They are bloody and gory and messy. Satan attacks the very foundation of our faith and belief in God. He throws at us pitiful lies that he was wanted us to believe for years. And he does not stop. He does it again, and again. Like a battering ram at a castle gate, just waiting for us to crumble.
This is when we need to cry out to God. We need someone more powerful than the enemy to come in and defeat him. So we fall flat on our faces desperate for help. And the Almighty steps in, picks us up, and fights our battles with us.
This is reality. This is warfare. This is Christianity. Let’s keep fighting, because there is a Savior and there is an end—and it’s not too far away. Hallelujah!
C.D.