My family and I moved to a new town just before my freshman year in high school. I was the proverbial “new girl” and worked hard to make new friends, and surprisingly made new enemies without any effort at all. One fine fall afternoon, after a Pep Rally, another student and I had “words” with each other, which ended with her slapping me on the mouth, the pain accentuated by braces.
Stunned, I rushed to find some friends (of which I had few since I was still fairly new). Upon stepping outside of the building, I found myself surrounded by the same girl and a bunch of her friends. They proceeded to kick me and hurl curses and insults. I stood, frozen in place, and cried. Eventually Jimmy jumped off his bus and came to my rescue. It was all quite traumatic. It wasn’t the last time the girl tried to pick a fight with me, but that’s another story.
This morning I feel like I’m in a fight, only this time it’s with my flesh. Frustration and anger, weariness and despair, judgment and pride all circle, ready to pounce. I know they’re there, taunting and testing my resolve. I want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over the head, block out the light, and drift into dreamless sleep. Trouble is, I’d wake up in the middle of the same ugly mob.
So, I cling to Jesus. Grateful that for now He stands guard against the enemy. He reminds me that I’m hidden with Him in the Father, protected underneath the shadow of His wing. I hide in the secret place of His refuge, safe, secure, loved. I cry out for the Spirit whose power overcomes even the most vile emotion and choose to set my mind on whatever is true, right, pure, lovely, excellent. He is all together lovely. Even when I falter or forget, He stands firm, and although it’s a constant fight He’s my faithful warrior.
Eventually the flag of victory will unfurl and rise high for all to see. The war will end and He will reign. I long for that day.