Run to the Battle

I wake up a slave.

A slave in a battle.

I know nothing else. This is who I am. This is what I am.

I wake up fighting for myself, for my life.

I wake up dirty, wounded, broken.

I'm covered in blood. Some of it's mine. Some of it's not.

I lie, I steal, I kill.

I'm a slave to the battle, a slave to self preservation.

It's a strange war. I think there might be sides, but everything seems so individual.

Everyone is for themselves.

I don't know what's going on.

So I fight. I fire bullets. I dodge some, too.

I'm sure of two things.

One, there's something wrong here. Living isn't supposed to be like this.

This battle is wrong. What I'm doing is wrong. But what other choice do I have?

Two, I'm going to die. This battle will kill me. I feel so guilty for being a part of it.

 There's has to be punishment for what I've done. I don't know who will punish me.

But I'm sure someone will.

I've lied, I've stolen, I've killed. I know those things are wrong.

But they're all I know, but I know they're wrong. Why is everything so messed up?

All I've done is fight for myself.

I must be a traitor.

Even though I don't know the sides, I must belong to one, and I must have betrayed it.

 I've wronged everyone I've come in contact with.

I don't understand war. But I know traitors are executed. And so shall I be.

Usually, I just come across people like me. Lost. Fighting for themselves.

Once in a while I find some people fighting together. But their alliances don't last long.

Rarely, but sometimes, those alliances last.

The people in those alliances seem to be fighting FOR me instead of against me.

I want them to stop. They're just in the way. They can't change what I've done.

Nor can I. I'll just have to die.

So I ignore them. Most of them don't stick around after that.

They turn and go their own way.

And the bombs fall around me.

And I lie and I steal and I kill.

And I am a slave. A slave to a lonely battle.

I find myself wanting something. Anything. Anything more than this.

How could this be all I am?

How could this be it?

I hear the trees whisper a word I don't understand.

Freedom. Freedom. Freedom, they say.

What is freedom?

Ash falls around me like rain.

The battle just gets worse.

I'm attacked by lies. By thieving. By murder.

I know death is coming. I know pain and payment and judgment are on the horizon.

The next time I look, the day has come.

I wake up in front of a firing squad.

I'm looking at myself, thousands of times over, wielding guns and knives and lies.

My own lying, thieving, murdering face.

So this is where it ends. Everything I've done, reaped back on me. I guess that's fair.

But that doesn't mean I like it.

The weapons are raised. Death is coming.

I'm so confused. Why have I been fighting? Who am I fighting? What am I fighting for?

 War is senseless.

I long for that word I don't understand, the one the trees spoke so beautifully.

Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.

It sounds nice.

But I have to die now. I'm a killer.

But I'm so scared.

I want to take it all back. I don't want to be a slave.

I want to wake up as something else. I want to wake up free.

But my regret has no audience. It's too late.

And so I stand, in front of weapons raised.

I want so badly to stand tall and take my punishment. I know I deserve it.

But I cringe. I flinch. I cower like the coward I am.

Freedom. Freedom. Freedom, I whisper.

Save me from slavery. Save me from who I am. Make me free.

I don't know who to say that to. But I say it anyway.

I see a man in the corner of my eye. He's dressed in white.

READY.

I'm confused.

I scream for him to run. And he does. Except not in the direction I meant. He runs toward me.

He says freedom, freedom, freedom, in perfect unison with the trees. As if he created them.

I will give you freedom.

Anything. I'll do anything.

 I don't want to be a slave. I don't want to be a liar.

I don't want to be a thief. I don't want to be a killer.

 But I am. And you're too late.

Trust me.

I'm confused. I'm scared. I don't get it.

But I'm about to die. I have nothing left, nothing to lose.

I'm a slave. I woke up a slave. I never had anything of my own. I never had anything to lose.

AIM.

Okay. Okay. I trust you. I trust you. I trust you.

I'm yours.

Tears run down his face, making streaks to match the ones on mine.

You always were.

FIRE.

And he's in front of me, shielding my body with his.

I scream, I cry, and bullets fly.

He'd being pummeled, beaten, torn. He's taking on all I've done. He's taking on the death that I deserve.

His blood flows. He falls. No, no, no.

I look up and the weapon wielders are gone. Just like they came.

 They got the blood they wanted. Their job is done.

But they had the wrong person. This man was innocent of those crimes. My crimes.

He told me to trust him. Did he know this was what would happen? No, no, no.

I weep over this man. I sink to the ground and cry myself to sleep.

I wake up free.

Wait. What?

I wake up. Free.

The man dressed in white stands with his back to me. I can hear him talking. He's talking to the sky.

He's alive. I saw him die. But he's alive.

And I'm alive.

And I am free.

 I look down at myself, surprised to find my hands cleaned, 

my battle scars erased, my clothes white like his.

He turns to face me. I see his scars that should have been the death of me.

Tears slide down my face.

I am free.

So this is freedom, freedom, freedom.

It's so unfair. I owe it all to him.

And so I will use my freedom for him.

I want to know you, I want to follow you, I want other slaves to have freedom.

I want to sit at your feet and never leave.

I owe him so much more, but that's all I have to offer.

He nods. But he tells me it won't be easy.

I may have woken up free, but I still woke up in a battle.

I still woke up in war.

But this time I'm not fighting alone. And I'm not fighting for me.

I'm fighting for him. Whoever isn't for him is against him. 

And how could I be against him when he saved me?

I'm fighting for slaves, so they can have freedom.

I have a purpose to fight.

My arsenal has no weapons of lying or stealing or killing.

It only has one weapon, actually. The Word of God. The Father of this man dressed in white.

If you know me, you know Him, he says. And you will get to know Him even better.

I have armor stronger than I could ever imagine. I've never had protection before. 

But that's not even the best part. The best part is that he tells me he wins.

I have to fight, but my side will win.

That makes it a little easier. A lot easier.

I may fall before the battle ends, but I will be with him forever.

I can sit at his feet forever. I never have to die.

I have freedom, freedom, freedom.

And I will spend my freedom running to the battle,

to fight for the one who made me free and saved me from death. 

Freedom

I keep asking myself what I'm doing with my life. It's such a big question. It's such a silly question. I mean, who even am I to do anything with my life? It's not what I do that matters. It's what God does through me. It's not my life at all, it's His. He is way smarter and way more good and way more awesome that I'll ever be or can even comprehend. He knows what He's doing with my life, even if I don't. I trust in His plan. I know that it's perfect, I know that it's right, and I actually know a lot more about it than I previously thought I knew. His plan is to sanctify me, to make me like Him, to discipline me, to love me, to use me, to teach and guide me. His plan is for me to follow His word, to have a relationship with Him, to love Him and those around me, to pursue him, to give up everything I think I am and everything I think I have to follow Him because it's all already all His to begin with. His plan is for me is to trust in His Son, to trust that the only way I can be with Him is to accept His gift of grace, his Son's sacrifice on the cross. Maybe I don't know specifics of His plan, like how I'll make a living or where I'll go or who I'll meet, but if I knew those things right now, what would I have to look forward to? His plan for me is simply to be His. I'm done wondering what I'm doing with my life. It's too stressful. The Almighty God, the Creator of all things, the Author of life is in control. I'm going to focus on what He's doing in and through my life and in the lives of those around me. I'm His. My life is His. 

God Is in the Wind

On those days when it's really windy outside 
 (not hurricane winds or anything, just stronger winds than normal),
when you fear that little kids might get whisked away,
when you walk inside and people are desperately trying to fix their disheveled hair,
when girls are angry with themselves for deciding to wear skirts,
and when people keep their heads down,
I like to think that God is playing with my hair.
That's one of the most comforting things to me,
someone playing with my hair,
so I love the wind.
It's one of the many things 
that shows me God loves me.

Psalm 104:4.