“My orders are to fight; Then if I bleed, or fail,
Or strongly win, what matters it? God only doth prevail.
The servant craveth naught Except to serve with might.
I was not told to win or lose—my orders are to fight.”
–Ethelwyn Wetherald
It was around eleven o’clock, and I knew I should go to bed, but my husband was out of town, and I felt uneasy. No matter that my mother lived in our basement apartment, and our house sat nestled in what was generally a quiet community, tonight, the responsibility of holding the fort hung a little heavier.
A party was underway at the house kitty-corner to us (also known as caddy-corner). Anyway, the house on the corner diagonally across from us was home to a hardworking single mom and her teenage son. Tonight, while mom was at work, her son had apparently decided to invite over a few friends.
As the evening wore on, the noise escalated. Turning out the lights and checking the doors, I stopped momentarily to glance out the front window. The number of cars that now lined our street had grown exponentially; teens were spilling out of the house and, it appeared that alcohol was flowing freely.
In case you are wondering about those exaggerations you see in television shows about teen parties getting out of hand—well, they aren’t exaggerations.
Before I knew it, a rowdy group of young men had carried the party across to our side of the street. As an end unit, in a row of townhouses, we were used to hearing conversations drift by, but this felt just a little too close for comfort.
In vain, I held my breath, hoping they would keep going down the street, but it was not to be.
Awakened by the commotion and concerned, my youngest daughter joined me downstairs. Suddenly, a loud crackling and splintering came from our backyard. We gasped and looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Tentatively, we sneaked over to the dining room window located at the back of the house. In the darkness, I gingerly pulled back a small section of the dollar-store-coffee-dyed-lace-tablecloth that now served as a curtain. We were classy like that. Hiding our faces, as much as we could, in its beige folds, we peered out to see what was happening.
That’s when we saw them kicking in our wooden fence.
Stunned, I dropped the dollar-store-coffee-dyed-lace-tablecloth-curtain and feigned calmness, assuring my youngest that everything was going to be okay.
But the fence. I sincerely hoped they were not planning on kicking down the entire fence.
As I was weighed my options, I heard a window slide open, and a voice start yelling.
Upstairs my oldest daughter had decided enough was enough. Standing on her bed and leaning out her window, she began to give those teenage boys “what-for.”
I was appalled—and not just a little concerned over the wisdom of her approach. I turned to go upstairs and speak to her, but she was faster. Before I got to the staircase, a 5-foot two-inch pajama-clad tornado came flying down. She threw open the front door and tore out on to the lawn. I am not sure, but she may have been wearing the pajama pants with the message written repeatedly across them, “Boys are stupid—throw rocks at them!” Which, in hindsight, may or may not have been a wise gift choice on our part.
Propelled forward by alarm, I ran to circumvent the situation. At this point, I was also yelling. She, however, was not even remotely interested, in my opinion, which, as I recall, was something akin to, “Get back in this house, you little idiot!”
Whipping across the lawn and making a sharp left turn, she proceeded down the street. Following the sound of her voice, I turned the corner just in time to see my 17-year-old daughter pick up a large wooden slat from the broken fence.
My heart raced in panic. Especially when I saw that, without a moment’s hesitation, she began running straight toward those boys.
And then, wonder of wonders, they also began running—away from her.
I tried to be mad. It was foolish and reckless, and she could have been hurt.
But instead, I was in awe.
Not too many years earlier, this same girl had been afraid to answer the phone. She had to be forced to walk up to the deli counter to ask for lunch meat. I will never forget her first recital. She was six and right there, in front of everybody, she turned to look at me with big tears in her eyes and asked me if she had to play.
Please don’t hate me for the fact that I looked at her, with my most encouraging smile, and nodded. I wanted her to be brave, to not be afraid of life—to know she could do hard things.
And now she stood, in her pajamas with what looked like a two by four, doing the hard thing.
More mornings then I care to admit, I wake up not wanting to do the hard thing. Lying there in my pajamas, I can already feel the enemy’s attack. And I am tired of fighting.
But I’m in a battle, and I have a choice.
I can stay behind that figurative curtain, or I can get out and fight. Sometimes, the very thought of picking up even a symbolic two by four is enough to wear me out.
The Apostle Paul said we have to get our armor on to fight the enemy—starting first with the belt of truth.
The Greek word used for truth in Ephesians 6:14 conveys sincerity and straightforwardness. It signifies truth in content, as well as trustworthiness in commitment. When that soldier put his belt on, in effect, he was saying, “Today, I prepare to fight.”
Small as it was, that belt had several essential purposes—the most significant possibly being that it reminded its wearer of two things.
His identity: a soldier in the most powerful army in the world.
His purpose: to defend the glory of the Roman empire.
His training was vital, and he needed every piece of that armor, but first, from the core of his being, he had to determine that whatever came—he would fight.
It was a decision based, not on the personal cost of the battle,
but on the kingdom, he was defending.
And so, it is with us. The decision to fight needs to be made before the battle begins. We are children of the King of kings. We live to defend His glory.
With tears running down cheeks and fear coursing through veins;
From exhaustion and pain-riddled bodies;
With fervor strong and courage high.
In the power of His might—we choose to fight.
And, like my daughter, we are never alone. You see, what she didn’t know was that our neighbor, big Eddie Biggs, had been alerted and, even as she wielded that piece of lumber, the police were arriving on the scene.
“What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?” Romans 8:31
Light slips around the edges of my bedroom curtains, and I whisper a prayer. Throwing the blankets back, I reach for my weapon.
A battle is raging, and I choose to fight.
Great article, Melissa! I laughed. I cried. I nodded in agreement. I leave encouraged. Thank you for sharing this story.
Oh, to have the grace, Krista, to laugh over every family story and glean God’s truth from them!
Loved it, Melissa! I love your feisty daughter, too! I am still worried about your fence and if any of the neighbors called the police. Not to mention, what did the boy’s mother do when she got home from work? We’ll chat later. Right now, I have to go find a 2×4!
Don’t worry! The town fixed the fence and the police quieted the neighborhood. Never knew what happened between mom and son but there we didn’t have any more surprise block parties :). Hope you found your 2 x 4. If not, I can get you one–my family keeps a supply on hand at all times!
Great message once again….keep fighting, even when we’re worn out or afraid….reminds me of an old song, not sure of the name of it, but it had the words “ it’s a battlefield brother, not a recreation room, it’s a fight and not a game…so run if you want to, run if you will, but I came here to stay”. Not even sure if I got those words right 🤣. Love you, my friend, and thank you for your encouraging words!
You are so right, Patti. It’s not a recreation room, but it is made sweeter by fellow-soldiers like you!
So true. The battle is already won, I think, by those little, difficult tasks we put our mind too. I feel my life has been little moments of decision to fight leading up to bigger. God is good – always.
Incidentally, my 4 year old now sings, “someone is walking in my footsteps”. 😁😁
Absolutely, Julie! We get our will to fight the big battles from making the right decisions in the “small” squirmishes! Love, love, love that she is singing “Someone is walking…” trust me, someone will be walking in that girl’s footsteps–she’s a force!
When soldiers are in the midst of the battle they usually only see what is right in front of them. The ranking officers see the bigger picture. The same is true in our daily lives. We trust the Lord who sees what we cannot see and so we trust him. The battle is the Lord’s.
What a great illustration, David. Thank you for sharing it here. I am so glad that I can trust my Lord to see the big picture!
I love this. I feel stronger having read it. An encouraging reminder to do right with courage and enthusiasm. We are not alone. He is with us always.
Amen, Cindy. We are never alone! I’m so glad you were encouraged.
I am encouraged!
We have to keep fighting.
Thanks again for this.
Thank you, Gemma. I am so glad we are in this battle together.
I just loved this. There are so many unknowns in this world (especially now with this virus.) Even though there are unknown, we are not called to worry we are called to know God loves us. So we can continue to fight for him. We are not meant to fear what are next step in life is we are just meant to take it.
You are so right! And who knows what next year will bring? We fight on, resting in the truth that God loves us!