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.