By: JANA GREENE
If no weapon formed against me shall prosper, I can only infer that includes the ones we use against ourselves. Words can be weapons sure enough.
God, where I am bent on warring with myself, help me to remember that you are not the one calling the battle cry.
When the sword of truth is forged, let me remember not to use it as an implement of pain; but instead know it protects my peace.
When I want to throw self-righteous stones at wrongdoers, remind me that I live in a glass house myself.
When I turn the pistol of shame against my own heart, remind me that you have emptied the weapon’s chambers, and filled the chambers of my heart with your love.
When life cuts like a thousand knives, you are not the one holding the hilt, nor did you forge the iron.
Nor did you authorize pain, but gave us a tool with which we ourselves can use to cut out the cancers of hatred, bigotry, misogyny, and condemnation.
Words to ourselves can be jagged, and stunting; tormenting and choking. Believing the worst things about ourselves is not the humbleness God has in mind, but a misguided martyrdom to feel holy.
“Woe is me, I’m such a screwed up human. Who shall save me from ME?”
But God had says, “No woefulness required. You’re such a well-loved human. Lay down your weapons; love is a much better tactic. It’s time you realize your identity, oh anxious one. Go tell the others too.”
We are taught our minds are evil above all else, so we collect an arsenal to keep our egos in check. Words can be self-harm.
We are told we are lost and wretched, unworthy of love on our own merit. Why wouldn’t we arm ourselves or protect our own value with harsh words, heavy-handed self-righteousness, and “heavenly” battle preparedness?
Them’s fighting’ words!
But I myself have had enough war.
I’ve learned that the armor of God is soft and comfortable, a suit of protection, a covering of pure love.
It is not only worn, but woven into our very souls. It’s part of us.
It fits like peace, and is tailored for Truth. It isn’t heavy or uncomfortable; unwieldy, or confining. There may be chinks in our armor, but that’s okay.
I’m enough, chinks in my armor and all. And so are YOU.
Blessed be, friends.
Musings of a Gypsy Soul 