Taking up arms

"The Christian life is not a playground; it is a battleground."

I am in the beginnings of Levi Lusko's sermon on Jude. He quotes Warren Wiersbie almost right away, making his point before he's even begun to preach.
This is a war.
And we are the army.

I was thinking about that this morning. At first, I was anything but humble. I imagined us, in our armor, with our weapons. And in my mind, goodness gracious, in my mind we were outfitted with it all. We were the ultimate warriors. With capable hands and countless skills. Calm and collected. Prepared and sure.
And then I imagined myself in there.
And it all fell apart.

You should know that I could probably kill someone. Quite easily. Maybe without hesitation. I've practiced for years. Learning how to kick, which strike to use, how much weight is needed to choke, how much pressure to break. I learned about my body. How it moves, feels, works. When it is most powerful and when it is weakest. I made it a goal years back to know myself, to understand my abilities as intimately as possible, to know what I am capable of. I still have more to learn, but today, right now, I claim with confidence that not only could I hurt someone, I could snatch their life away as well. I say that heavily. I understand the weight of that statement.
It's a little bit frightening.
I am a weapon. I am a warrior.

When I put myself in the army though, it suddenly looked pathetic. I made it somewhat less than before. Somehow, I did that. Me, the warrior. The one who knows herself and her abilities. The one who is actually capable.
And for good reason.
I am pitiful.
As are we all.

We are not an army of sure, strong soldiers. The truth is, we are an army of sinners saved by grace. We are a people who see ourselves as unworthy. We are only hope-filled by grace and forgiveness. We are a mess.

We are just a bunch of bondservants.

Do you see how laughable that is? I imagined us as a fierce band of brothers and sisters and comrades. With serious expressions and determined hearts and scarred, hardworking hands. Men and women who were lions. But then there was me.

I am just a girl who nailed her ear to a door as a promise to a man who died for me.
I am no fighter.
I am no lion.

But I am bought with a price. I am His. And that's enough.

In humility, I see God's army for what it truly is. A ragtag band of failures who found the light only by His sweet hand of guidance. Outfitted with love and righteousness and they all have holes in their ears as a mark of being owned. They look to be fools. Marked and broken and stained.

We are very unlikely.

But we must remember who we are by His power and blood. For by Him, the least of us will be the boldest and the bravest. The weakest will be the leaders. And those most scared will be the heartiest of fighters.

I love knowing about this war. I love even more that our God is a God of wonder and miracles.
He makes me worthy. He does the impossible. He is great. I am ever so thankful for that.