I have seen this picture a few times and I have always been drawn to it. I do not know where this lighthouse is located. I imagine it may be somewhere in the North Sea with frigid temperatures and overwhelming winds. The sheer power of the ocean storm is humbling and even a little frightening. If you look closely, you can see a yellow character in the doorway of the lighthouse. He stands inside the lighthouse with the doorway on the opposite side of the storm. He is still. He is not panicking. He almost looks as if he is leaning against the doorway as if to imply, he has been in these storms before. I do not see any connection from the lighthouse to a land mass. I imagine this is out in the sea. Standing alone. Standing firm….

I was fourteen years old, sitting in a classroom at a desk where the chair and desk were all one cohesive piece. Getting in and out of those things was hazardous to your health and ego as a freshman in high school. The room was filled with mostly juniors and seniors and a sprinkling of sophomores and freshmen. The Coach of the Varsity Swim Team stood at the front of the class…..

I grew up desperate to belong. See, when I was 7 years old my family and I moved to a distant island in the South Pacific, where no one looked like me and the culture was vastly different than that of Fresno, CA where I came from. For some of the kids out there, it was their first time ever seeing someone that looked like me. One little boy, upon seeing my blue eyes, incredulously asked me, “Is everything blue when you look around?!”

Of course, the Apostle Paul’s description of the weapons and armor necessary for spiritual battle includes something that protects the body’s torso—the “breastplate of righteousness” (Ephesians 6:14). As has been the theme of this series on the “armor of God,” sometimes it’s strategically wise to be simply reminded that we’re in a battle. And we need to be ready!

I don't know about you, but this has been a week. This morning I was reading in 2 Kings and I was overwhelmed by all the violence, all the war, all the evil and I thought to myself - "this is just not right." And then it hit me, as I sit here in my house today, I feel the same way. This is just not right. Our world is just not right. And then I’m reminded that we are told to put on the breastplate of righteousness. THANK GOD the righteousness is based on the “right-ness” of God and not the “right-ness” of me or anyone else.

My mom has a Billy Graham daily calendar sitting in the window sill over her kitchen sink. It has a cranberry-colored spiral binding across the top that allows for easy flipping of the pages. Each page has a brief devotional, dated with the month and day but no year, so it can be used year after year. She’s had it for so long it has quadrupled in size, with decades of love, fingerprints, and sink mist having puffed out the pages. Over the years, it’s been a joy to encounter a familiar anecdote from its pages, like a treasured friend you only see occasionally. And it’s always timely. Remarkably timely.

It happened when I was getting ready for church, typically running a little late. I opened up the top right dresser drawer where I thought I had stored my two or three (or was it four?) belts. And to my mild surprise, there was only one, a slightly tattered brown belt—the others had decided to hide on me. But I just grabbed the only one in its proper place and promptly slid it through the belt loops on my grey dress pants. Who said brown doesn’t typically match with grey? No one would see it any way, after pulling my blue sweater over it.

When I was a child many people had their own opinions about who I was. To some, I was the smart, friendly, caring girl. To others I was the fat, four-eyed girl with frizzy hair. It was a tough pill to swallow when I heard myself described as the latter. I wish I would have known the truth about who I was because it would have saved a lot of years of self-hatred and feeling like I was unworthy of love.

I don’t know about you but sometimes in the face of fear, I forget to focus on the truth – because fear can appear so big.  I’ve heard a lot of fear talk these past few weeks and I’m sure a lot more will come so I am hunkering down and focusing on the truth.

Fear makes me do crazy things. Yesterday I had to go to Walmart to get some snacks for an all day staff day I am having today.  This is the first time I’ve gone grocery shopping since the Corona virus because my husband is our shopper.  I walked into the store and grabbed a shopping cart and stepped into the arena. The shelf to my left was lined with strawberries and to the right was full of all kinds of fruit. So I continued…then I turned the corner to the meat section.  Nothing. Bare freezers. 

Recently, I re-watched a YouTube video of Priscilla Shirer giving a sermon on the Armor of God. One of the most impactful statements Shirer makes reminds us that we may have conflict with our co-workers, spouse, other family members, and even our finances, and while it’s easy to be angry with the person or the situation, she reminds us that there is typically another force at work against us.

I remember as a little boy hearing about putting on the “full armor of God.” I especially recall the part about taking up the “sword of the Spirit” which is the word of God. Our patient and gentle teachers in what was called “Junior Church”—filled with us kids eleven and under--would put up flannel graph figures on their board, little paper cut-outs of the elements of armor typical of any soldier during the days of the Roman Empire.

As a mama of four beautiful, crazy, high energy kids, I’m tired. One of the reasons that I am tired is because my kids climb into bed with us. Almost every night. I know what time of the night it is based on who I hear tip-toeing into our room. Our bedroom and, specifically our bed, is a safe place for our kids. They know when they are scared from a dream, shadows on the wall, or their mind playing tricks on them, they can come and find safety in bed with mom and dad. It gets crowded, and I may have a permanent muscle cramp from a foot pressed into my back; but there is joy in knowing that my children feel protected in this place.

What is the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear the word “armor”? I always think about an old castle with the huge suits of armor standing in the hallways. Can you imagine putting one of those on? It would probably take at least three people to manage all of that and get it on correctly! Why would soldiers be willing to go through that process? Because it kept them alive while fighting an enemy that had swords, axes, and other pointy things that could really cause some damage. The armor protected their bodies from injury and even death.

Several years ago, I underwent a long audition process in an attempt to become a Universal Studios studio guide. Each step of the way, the people in charge had to choose me. It started with an open call alongside hundreds of other hopefuls. Once I made it past multiple rounds, I was then invited into the final phase: the studio guide training class.

I sat in tears on the hard tile of the little house in Las Vegas I had just arrived at. My friend who traveled with me cross-country to my new internship as a youth pastor was struggling for words to comfort me. I had just quit my graduate work in my home state of Illinois to work in an innovative church in Vegas as a $500/month intern. The only person I knew in Vegas was the youth pastor who hired me.

I listened intently to my husband as he told me about standing on the border of Iraq in the middle of the night in March 2003. He watched the sandy desert in front of him, wondering who and what was out there. He was 20 years old, and about to invade a foreign country to fight an enemy.

I once had the pleasure of seeing the African Children’s Choir perform at an international celebration for Operation Christmas Child. It was an unforgettable thing to behold. Decked out in matching bright blue and green outfits, they sang and danced several numbers. One song stands out particularly bold in my memory. With giant smiles and unbridled boldness and passion they belted out: “I love Jesus…He’s my friend…I will never leave Him…He’s my friend.  I hate Satan…He’s my enemy…I will never follow him…He’s my enemy.”

I have a dear, brilliant eleven-year-old grandson, Caleb. For several years he was extremely interested in long-distance running. It started when he and I ran together in a 5K race. He was seven at the time and I figured I’d run alongside him, encouraging him even as he would predictably need to slow down to a snail’s walking crawl. Half a mile in, Caleb decided to shoot off ahead of me. I never caught up. He beat me by several minutes. As a seven-year-old, second grader he came in third for all runners 19 and under. I watched proudly as the official placed the bronze medal around his neck.

I ventured to the Sundance Film Festival with heart, mind, hands, eyes, and ears wide open—ready to receive any insights the films and the people and the place had to offer. I partook of fourteen films during my week at the festival. As I listened and pondered, I realized that fourteen films made by fourteen different groups of people from around the world remarkably possessed a common set of themes. Most notably, almost every movie I saw spoke to the yearning in all humans for friendship, love, and relationship.

I walked into my bathroom after a long day, ready to get into those comfy, soft, sweats.  I turned on the light and grabbed a hair tie to pull my hair up and out of the way. I glanced up at the mirror to see the sight of smeared eye liner and broccoli in my teeth from lunch.

Mirrors have a powerful way of showing me the reality of my condition.