My Lonely Battle

It is a lonely battle. I stand alone. My shield dented, my sword blood stained, and gaping wounds on my face, arms, sides and legs. My banner is not torn down. I have arisen. The war is not yet over. I have not given up. Alone I stand, just me…and God.

I wipe the sweat and blood from my eyes. Resolution fills my wounded heart. I may have been knocked down, but I’m now on my feet, ready to fight.

The memory of my father is painted brightly in my mind. For him I fight, for his name and memory. My mom and sisters too, as well as for my brother; I cannot let them down. And for my future wife, I know not who she is, but I know she is beautiful, and I know she is kind and loving, she is strong and she is captivating, and she is good. Someday I’ll meet her, and I cannot die before that day. The battle is yet begun.

As I view the innumerable host that is my enemy, my heart pounds. Can I defeat them? Even so hopelessly outnumbered? But the battles of my past have hardened me and strenthened me. I’m not the amatuer fighter I was before. I am now confident. God has never let me be killed, and will not let it be so now. My past battles have made a man of me. I came onto the battlefield a boy, I now stand a man.

The scars I bare are evidences of the brutality of war, but more than that, they are my pride and honor. “These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.” They are medallions of victory—they are my personal medal of honor.

No wound can kill me, unless I give up. No attack can overcome me, unless I give in. With God’s help I can receive no mortal wound, no matter how deep or painful. I can overcome, I can heal, I can rise again. And with each healed wound another scar of honor is added. I become a better man, a more dangerous warrior.

The enemy is afraid. They band together and council late into the night on how to defeat me. They hate me, and would destroy me. They would take away my freedom, my family and my friends. Their goal is bondage and misery; mine is freedom and happiness. There can be no treaty, no “parlee”. My enemy will not sleep until I’m destroyed. I will not sleep until I’m free.

Let them come.

I do not fear the battle, I do not fear my enemy. I cannot lose, no matter how much I am wounded. I love the victory, it is so sweet to my taste. The spoils of war far outweigh the suffering of the battle. I am married to the battle. I cannot divorce it. Until the day I die, I will fight. I must fight.

I am alone with God—and I will win.

The Sorrow of the Daughters; My Resolve

Last night I had a heart-wrentching conversation with a wonderful friend of mine. She is a beautiful and capable woman, who does so much good, but she told me of a secret wound—a wound caused by her father.

Without details, she explained how her father had filled her childhood with abuse, making her feel unworthy, bad, ugly and worthless. Like a thief robbing the treasury of a palace, he stole the precious jewels that make up a whole and happy woman; leaving her alone, destitute, empty and with an innate distrust of men. She has to re-learn how to receive love from men, because for so long “love” meant pain and deception.

How my heart ached as I heard this wonderful daughter of God explain her pain.

I was reminded of the words of Jacob:

“For behold, I the Lord, have seen the sorrow, and heard the mourning of the daughters of my people in the land of Jerusalem, yea, and the lands of my people…And I will not suffer that the cries of the fair daughters of this people…shall come up unto me against the men of my people, saith the Lord of Hosts” (Jacob 2:31-32).

A man is a scalple, John Eldridge says, extremely sharp and can be used to heal or to hurt. With my friend, her father had done the latter. I was filled with indignation and disgust; how could someone call himself a man and hurt a daughter of God? How could he look in the mirror and call himself a man?

What cowardice! With so much evil on every side to fight and he choses to hurt a woman. Men, by nature, should use their natural power and strength to protect the precious porcelain of feminity, not to send it crashing to the floor.

Let true manhood fill the earth! Let the boys grow up and learn to love and to serve, to sacrifice and to fight against evil. I don’t want palcid, nice men, I want good, powerful men. Men who are warrriors who fight evil, not cowards who pick on women.

I resolved, once again, never to be that abusive man. I never want a daughter of God to have to raise up cries against me. I am resolved to protect, provide and preside, and never to manipulate, coerce or abuse.