Sometimes one would love to speak. To pour out from the deepest depths of the heart grief inducing observances, to shake the world’s numb conscience, to pour fire into veins of lethargy. But sometimes, the words just won’t come. The subject seems too harsh, too awful to actually put into words. Henry David Thoreau commented, “Write while the heat is in you….” Perhaps as believers we chose rather to practice grace, to allow July’s heat to fade into January’s snow before formulating tangible evidence of inner turmoil.

Tonight though, I think I will take Mr. Thoreau’s advice. I have done it before of course; they are words that I hope the world will never have to read. I literally begin to shake, the odd time I chance upon those documents in my writing folder. Somehow, though, I feel tonight’s subject matter necessary. I have to write. I have to publish. 

You know, whenever I post anything, I am very aware that there are eyes on earth reading my thoughts. God above is witnessing every word I send to the world. And, the wicked one below has also the capability of knowing exactly what is written. That can be downright frightening. 

Last post, I mentioned that with the help of God, we felt energized, full of joy in His work. We were looking forward to these years ahead to fill them with the gospel. 

The devil is so wicked. His imagination is filled with hatred towards all things good and true and righteous. He still lifts himself up to bruise man’s heel, he fills our paths with stumbling blocks, he goes again and again to God, to accuse and tear down the hedges. He fills our brains with fog, our hearts with consternation. 

He finds an unsaved neighbor, a fellow mom at a school, a co-worker, he fills them with strange thoughts, hateful imaginations. He sends them on a crusade against us, battling to destroy our testimony and good name before all those around us. They’ll bring in authorities, make stuff up, complicate and frustrate our life. 

Sometimes it is a government, an authority, some reigning power that he inundates with wickedness to ruin the lives of believers, to send them fleeing, to forsake the gospel, to neglect searching for lost souls. He makes it so hard to just live that there is no thought or energy left for the after life. 

And sometimes, yes, sometimes, he looks with incredible astuteness into the very body of Christ. He finds traces of pride, of jealousy, of anger. Oh, how he capitalizes upon our weak flesh! He comfortably hands out beds of ivory, lambs and calves, viols and wine, filling hearts that belong to Christ with the luxury of indulging the flesh. “But they are not grieved for the affliction of Joseph.” Their brother! Their fellow man! Sold! They had heard his wails, they had seen his dirt streaked face and merely pocketed their few pieces of dirty silver. They had stood there watching as he was dragged off, the Ishmaelites tossing around their newest possession like just another bolt of silk. “Good riddance!” they had cried in relief, fingering again with pleasure the little round coins of assured indulgence. 

Oh my brothers, my sisters in Christ. When will we stop our ears to the whisperings of below? When is false testimony ever okay? When is betrayal ever of God? What place does gossip and verbal attack have among the holy priesthood? At what point did we cease comparing our holiness with God and begin to compare ourselves with a weaker brother? When did sin ever justify sin? 

I ask of you to pray. It is one of those times we literally ask the Lord to send His Heavenly army to camp around our home.  

The accuser, the wicked one, the liar, will never, ever be satisfied as long as there is blood to drink from the veins of Christ’s precious children. 

And now for the sequel, because I wrote that last night. 

We were pretty thrashed today. The last several days have been on the tough side and aside from that, it has been a long time since David was home to just relax in the evening. I told him to stay in. To not worry about evangelizing or visiting. To let someone else do it tonight. 

I’m humbled and thankful he didn’t listen to a wife who was allowing the devil to now use her to hinder the Lord’s work. I am ashamed I let my guard down and gave place to those whispers of complacency. 

He did go and was gone for a long time. 

And he finally came home with the best news we could have hoped to hear. No wonder the devil has been so angry, so determined, so full of attacks. One from his kingdom of chains has been translated. The kingdom of the dear Son is richer by one. To God be the glory. 

Jabin tree, Campeche

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