The Warrior is a Child

Lately I've been winning battles left and right

But even winners can get wounded in the fight

People say that I'm amazing

I'm strong beyond my years

But they don't see inside of me

I'm hiding all the tears

They don't know that I come running home when I fall down

They don't know who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and cry for just a while

Because deep inside this armor

The warrior is a child

Unafraid because His armor is the best

But even soldiers need a quiet place to rest

People say that I'm amazing

I never face retreat

But they don't see the enemies

That lay me at His feet

They don't know that I come running home when I fall down

They don't know who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and cry for just a while

Because deep inside this armor

The warrior is a child

They don't know that I come running home when I fall down

They don't know who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and look up for His smile

Because deep inside this armor

The Warrior is a Child

("The Warrior is a Child," by Gary Valenciano)

I sighed as I finished copying those lyrics. I sighed because I am contented, relieved, and somewhat awed by those words. God loves me. I am His child. For the first time in my life... that is enough.

"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!"

-1 John 3:1, NIV

When I was home in October for Fall Break, my mother asked me a heartbreaking question that shook my faith. "If you could not do what you do--if you could not go to school, become a missionary, or serve God in any way--would it be enough that you are His child?" And the answer fell unbidden from my lips: "No." No? It was not enough for me to simply be God's child? I was appalled at my response, and tears fell from my eyes.

All my life I have been "so grown up," "so mature for your age," and "an old head on young shoulders." One person even went so far as to tell me that I must have been "born forty years old." Immaturity and childishness were something I looked down upon... even when I was a child myself. This realization crashed down upon me as I heard my response to my mother's question. I love children; their curiosity and creativity, their fearlessness and faith, is admirable and beautiful to me. But somewhere along the way, I stopped loving the child that I was. God, however, did not.

I was never much of a child. To be a child--or rather, to have the needs of a child--was inconvenient. There was no time or money for me to have constant desires, so I learned to desire nothing that I could not obtain for myself. I did my best to stay out of the way and never cause a fuss; my family's troubles were more than enough without my adding to them.

There is no way for me to adequately explain how I learned to shut off every outward showing of fear, disappointment and depression. Oftentimes, when what I most wanted was to be held while I cried, I would throw myself into work instead. I busied myself in order to cover up the secret ache; the pain and heartbreak of the child within. I was not kind to that child; she was kept locked in a dark room, and she was beaten if she dared to make her voice heard.

I became as hard as stone. I became an armored warrior, a knight who rode about rescuing others. I fought for depth; I fought for truth; I fought for the right to higher expectations. I stood in the gap for my friends and loved ones and fought for them through intercessory prayer. And I worked to train other warriors. People saw the armor, but they never saw the child.

It was not until I came to MACU that I began to learn that it is all right to be a child. It is, in fact, more than all right. It is what God desires.

"[Jesus] said to them, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.'"

-Mark 10:14-15, NIV

I've learned to play; I've learned to laugh until I cannot breathe; I've learned to let someone hold me while I cry; I've learned to be loved for myself... not for the things that I do. And through all this I've learned, bashfully peering up through my eyelashes with a blush on my cheeks, that my Father delights in me, as His child. I have known it. I have sensed it. But for the very first time, I actually believe it. It is glorious.

My answer to my mother's question has changed. It is enough for me, that I am God's child. It is more than enough.

Stained-Glass Masquerade

Is there anyone who's been there?

Are there any hands to raise?

Am I the only one who's traded

In the altar for a stage?

The performance is convincing

And we know every line by heart

Only when no one is watching

Can we really fall apart

But would it set me free

If I dared to let you see

The truth behind the person

You imagine me to be?

Would your arms be open

Or would you walk away?

Would the love of Jesus

Be enough to make you stay?

("Stained-Glass Masquerade," by Casting Crowns)

"If you try to hang on to your life you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it."

-Jesus of Nazareth

(Matthew 16:25, NLT)

Since my arrival here at MACU, God has been relentlessly stripping me of everything comfortable and familiar. Through trials and temptations, and through my own failures, God revealed to me a level of self-righteousness, pride and fear that I did not know existed in me. He showed me that my pursuit of perfection was not pleasing to Him; it was pharisaical, and was in fact separating me from Him. I cared about preserving the holier-than-thou image I was trying to project, but I did not care at all for the condition of my heart. I looked into God's eyes and saw myself reflected in them, and I was ashamed of and repulsed by what I saw there.

"We may think we are doing the right thing, but the LORD always knows what is in our hearts."

(Proverbs 21:2, CEV)

One morning before fall break, when I had overslept and was late for chapel, God literally brought me to my knees. I slipped silently into the pitch-dark chapel and slid into the very back row, because I was embarrassed about being late. I was glad of the darkness, because no one could see who had come in; the shadows hid my shame. Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief, I heard God speaking to me, using the voice of the chapel speaker. His question was this:

"Where are you?"

(Genesis 3:9, NIV)

It was the saddest question I had ever heard. Where are you? Why are you hiding from me? I sat there trembling as the speaker explained the origin of shame; the beginning of God's loneliness and longing in the garden of Eden. I felt so torn; I wanted to open my heart to God's anguished query and answer, "Here I am!" But it was safer, and less painful, to remain hidden in the dark. Coming to the light meant admitting the existence of all my secret sins. It meant confessing to God, and to other people. It meant the possibility of rejection and hurt. It was so tempting to take all that conviction, and the clear call of God, and bury it in the depths of my soul.

"Everyone who makes a practice of doing evil, addicted to denial and illusion, hates God's light and won't come near it, fearing a painful exposure."

(John 3:20, MSG)

When chapel ended, I bolted. I ran to my dormitory, knelt on the floor next to my bed, pulled my blanket over my head and cried out to God. I could hear Him; were He physically present, He would have been insistently tugging at that blanket and saying, "Look at me! Why are you hiding from me? I love you!" But I couldn't bring myself to uncover my face and talk to my Father.

When my sobs had quieted and I was finally still, God reminded me of the truths in His Word. He agreed with me: Yes, admission and confession would be painful, but just as necessary as the re-breaking of a bone that has been set wrong. He sobered we with a dash of cold 'living water.'

"For all that is secret will eventually be brought into the open, and everything that is concealed will be brought to light and made known to all."

(Luke 8:17, NLT)

"Make this your common practice: Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed."

(James 5:16, MSG)

"Yet if you devote your heart to Him and stretch out your hands to Him, if you put away the sin that is in your hand and allow no evil to dwell in your tent, then you will lift up your face without shame; you will stand firm and without fear. You will surely forget your trouble, recalling it only as waters gone by. Life will be brighter than noonday, and darkness will become like morning."

(Job 11:13-18, NIV)

God is bringing me out of hiding; with His help, I have begun to open my life and share my struggles with others. I have discovered, to my surprise and delight, that my friends love me even more deeply now that they have seen my imperfections. Through the love of my friends, God has been teaching me about mercy and grace; He has been showing me the full extent of His love. I am learning to close the curtain on my stained-glass masquerade.

Lingering by the Stream

The stone is smooth and heavy in my hand, glistening still, for I have just chosen it from among the countless thousands scattered across the riverbed. As I contemplate the dripping thing, a roar rises from the battlefield on the other side of the hill. The enemy is cheering on their champion. I swallow heavily, attempting to bring moisture to my dry mouth. My knuckles turn white as I clench my fist around the stone. My whole body is shaking.

I'm shaking my head as I remember my bold words: "Your servant has killed both the lion and the bear." I was so brave and confident just moments ago, before I left the camp and came down here by myself, to loosen up my throwing arm and choose my weapons. I know that God is with me; I know He will bring me success this day. Why, then, does fear coil in my stomach like a poisonous serpent?

I plunge the stone into the pouch slung over my shoulder and numbly begin to search for another. Just in case I miss my first shot, I think. I'm trembling so much, the thought is not unrealistic. When I first saw that giant man and heard him bellowing his obscenities, I was so angry that I could not imagine doing anything but going down to fight him. Now I contemplate fleeing.

But if I do not go down and fight him, who will? I think of all the seasoned warriors who are at this moment shaking in their armor, and my heart faints within me. In my mind, I know that I have been anointed, consecrated, set apart for this holy purpose of the LORD's. But all my conviction, all my passion, all my courage has deserted me. Why now? Why, in my hour of desperate need, do I lose heart?

As I drop another stone into my bag, I suddenly realize that I have collected a small arsenal. Five smooth stones, each bigger and heavier than the one before. My bag is dragging on my shoulder, the weight of my weapons pulling me down. I erupt in laughter as the absurdity of this hits me like a dash of cold water to the face. These stones are like pebbles when compared to the titanic weapons of the giant; he is superior to me in every way. For the first time since descending to this stream, I remember that it is not my weapons or my prowess that guarantee my victory.

At what point did I cease to trust in God and begin to rely only on my own strength? At what point did I forget that nothing is too hard for Him? He has delivered me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear; certainly He can strengthen my arms of weakness and steady my feeble knees. In His Spirit, I will triumph.

"'Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,' says the LORD Almighty."

-Zechariah 4:6b

I square my shoulders and shield my eyes from the sun as I look over the crest of the hill I must mount before I go down into the Valley of Elah to face my giant. My steps are hesitant and faltering, but I begin to walk. I do not walk alone.

"But the LORD is with me like a mighty warrior."

-Jeremiah 20:11a