Some days I get so worn out...from fighting...from struggling. Against sin. Fighting against those things I love, but hate. My swollen eyes. Beating my chest while the Pharisees look down on me with self-righteous indignation. Against being offended by the world. By inconsiderate, selfish people. (Then remembering that I'm one of them on most days. By God's grace there are days I get it right...so I muster the strength and humility to pray for them and myself.) By the media, politicians, my boss, half my colleagues, my neighbor, even my church some days...I remind myself that they are flesh...and not my battle. Not my fight.
A wise man once told me that the Christian life is one of being crushed and getting back up. So I get back up. I wipe off the dust. I throw off the burdens that hinder me and the sin that entraps me. I set my gaze upward. My feet forward. I pick up my sword. I pray. I suit up. I paint my face. For the glory of Christ. I run...I fight.
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