Saturday, April 16, 2011

Veni, vidi, vici

Triumph.
(Disclaimer: the point of this blog, despite the title, is never, ever to be impressed with me. I am 5'1" and weigh 245 lbs, have acne all over my face, have been horrible to my husband and children all week and my house is just, well, dirty - do not be impressed with me. The point is to give glory to God for working in and through a disaster zone like myself - if He can do good things here, He can do good things there.)

I am in that camp of weird Christians who believe in the entire Bible, including the part that talks about wrestling not with flesh and blood but with the powers and principalities, about demons and a real devil, about an unseen battle and an unseen Kingdom. And we have been at war lately.

Any time we, as Christians, try to do anything besides sit, we face warfare. Because we have a real actual enemy. Now the Bible says that if we resist that enemy, he will flee from us. But, at least for me, sometimes it takes me a little to figure out what the enemy is. And I am often convinced that I'm married to it.

I'm getting my tippee toes wet at pursuing a life of prayer and fasting again, of being who I want to be but haven't been, and have met resistance. My little mini-set is Tuesday afternoon. The fight begins on Sunday, or so. I feel discouraged, hopeless, and like a complete failure. I am certain my husband cares nothing about me, appreciates nothing I do, and would rather be alone on an island with power and a good internet connection with all his devices than with me. I also am led to believe that I am a horrible mother and worthless example to my children.

And then sometimes I remember that I have an enemy and that I also have a King Who fights for me, and the pressure lifts.

But this week it never let up. It just got worse and worse. My little set was terrible. My attitude sank lower and lower. Until last night, my husband and I dared an attempt at communication. I'm not going to lie to you. It wasn't pretty. Snippy and short, we both misunderstood and were offended by everything the other said. We went to sleep unhappy, having said many unkind words.

This morning was much the same. It seemed for all our attempts at reconciliation, we could not get to each other. I had no hope.

All the while I was aware that there may well be a battle raging. Because, you see, our plan for today was to go, as a family, to Planned Parenthood to pray as part of our church's committment to the 40 days for life campaign. We have gone several times over the years, but never with dad, never with 12. We don't stay very long, so we don't sign up for a whole time slot. We just show up, pray for a bit and then leave. I don't want to stay longer than my children are engaged in what we're doing, don't want them to just be there waiting while mom does her thing. That was today.

Today we took our dozen children, including one grown in another's womb and given to us rather than aborted, and stood in the wet cold, some with signs, some with red tape with the word LIFE written on it covering their mouths, all praying. It was simple and yet profound.

I don't know if we made much of a difference in the natural realm. As far as I know, none of us talked to anyone except others there praying. We didn't change any lives that we are aware of. But this is what I told the kids on the way home:

"You know how you guys set up pretend battles with your armies on the dining room table all the time? Well today, there was a real battle, and the army was you. You fought a battle that no one sees when you prayed and asked God to protect the babies, to help the mommies and save the doctors and workers. What you did today was maybe the most important thing you have ever done."

We came home, Dad took several to the library, some stayed and played, and I sat on the big purple couch, nursing two and feeding a bottle to a third, reflecting with great peace and mountains of hope on the goodness of God, the gift of my husband and children, and all the grace that had seemed lacking for the week.

We came, we saw, we kicked demonic butt.

1 comment:

Tara said...

In tears as I read this. You did, indeed kick some demonic butt, my friend. You did, indeed.

I am always amazed when I miss the fact that the enemy doesn't like what I'm doing. I remember one awful, ugly week with my children, when I was convinced that they were a huge burden to me and I was a terrible mother. It was the same week that I was involved in intercession for a mother whose termination date for her unborn baby with Down syndrome was fast approaching. When I finally read that she had chosen life and even named her baby, I was overcome with relief...and awareness of "Oh. THAT's why it was such a tough week." Sometimes, you just have to say, "Duh." :-)