The Fight

The first blow caught me by surprise. I simply didn’t see it coming…

The force of the blow knocked my head to the left. Another resounding blow turns my head back to the right – like an old fashion typewriter, the carriage flying furiously to the other side.
Right

Left

Right

Left

Stunning me, rendering me helpless; I’ve become a spiritual punching bag.

One

Two

One

Two

Unbelievable pain that I can’t seem to rid; can’t seem to get away from; I can’t raise my hands, they lay helpless at my sides.

“Raise your hands!” The Holy Spirit cries out in my ear.

“I can’t.” I croak back, feeling as one does with a cracked, swelling fat lip. An upper cut to the chin jerks my head backwards.

Accusations plummet against me. Raining blows all over my mind; but the real pain are the searing blows to my heart which cause me to cry out and stagger backwards.

“Raise your hands! You’ve no protection!” The Holy Spirit cries out again. 

“I can’t!” I moan as the attack relentlessly goes on.  Through the pain I wonder why I haven’t yet passed out?  Where is my relief? Haven’t I yet reached the entitled point of passing out? When will it end? How much can one person take?

“Come on! Raise your hands! I can’t do it for you.” The Holy Spirit calls out again. “Why won’t you protect yourself?”

I lift my battered spirit in the direction I’ve heard the Holy Spirit call, not able to see for my eyes have become swollen shut. I yell out.  “BECAUSE I’M A PRODIGAL! THE FAULT IS MINE.  MINE, MINE, MINE, MINE!” 

The blows become more frantic with each self-proclaimed declaration.

“I deserve this!”  A blow to the right. “It is my fault!”  A jar to the left. I can feel the blood trickling down my left brow. 

“Enough! Though your sins are scarlet He shall make them white as snow!”(Isaiah 1:18) The Holy Spirit booms. “RAISE YOUR HANDS.”

I’m tired. I’m worn. I’m beaten.  I have no strength of my own. My arms feel like led. Slowly, I raise my hands to my face in a spiritual warrior’s stance... Not as a boxer; not as fisticuffs - but palm against palm.

“Now make your way back home!”

I peek out throw swollen eyes, noticing the self-inflicted fighting arena surrounding me.  I try and open my eyes wider to see who my enemy is.  There is no one in the ring, but me. It dawns on me that I have become my own worst enemy. The enemy is ME. I know what I need to do.

I raise my hands to trembling lips.

“Help me Father. I can’t do this by myself.”

“Not by power, nor by might – but by my Spirit.” Says the Lord (Zechariah 4:6)

“I’ve lost my way and I don’t know how to find the way back to you…”

“I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father, except through me.” (John 14:6)

Gently and lovingly He washed my wounds in His forgiveness and love; and clothed me in His mercy; with His Grace He directed me back to the path I had previously and stupidly left.  The first step was the heaviest but each following step felt lighter and lighter as I realized my steps have always been ordained by Him, how even at my worst moments, He is with me, loving me in spite of myself.  Even during the times when I have become my own "worst" enemy.  The fight is over, the bell goes off ding ding...

And the winner (due to the shed blood of Jesus) is...

ME!