Battle distractions . . .

Our youngest son is moving into his new house this week, so after lunch yesterday we helped him pack. We worked hard. Non-stop, I stood wrapping dishes in the kitchen for several hours.

Then he took us to a restaurant for supper. All of us ate too much (after all, our son was buying), so this morning I feel like a cross between a slug and a sloth, both having arthritis. It is one of those Mondays where I’d like to stay in bed the rest of the week, or maybe throw a pity party, but my body is yelling at me loud enough that it would no doubt ruin both.

Is God scolding me or does He have a sense of humor? Either way, He won’t let me get away with this attitude. The reading for today says, “Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.” (Italics are mine)

This morning I feel like my biggest enemy is my own body (and too much food), but He says not. In fact, my flesh and blood is not a concern. Instead, I’m to remember that I’m engaged in a far more important battle and not let the way I feel distract me from this very real war.

The rest of this passage in Ephesians 6 is about prayer—the real war. The people of God are called to battle the forces of evil, not only in our own lives, but in intercession for others. It is a battle we fight on our knees and in our prayer closets. It may not inflict wounds (like the bruise I have from banging my hand against a cupboard), but if I let my aches and pains stop me from fighting, I’m nonetheless a casualty.

God may have a sense of humor (judged by the timing of this reading), but He also has a non-stop concern that none of His people yield to the enemy. While I feel like quitting because my knees are aching, He urges me to pray anyway. Sore knees and fatigue aside, there are real people out there dropping like flies because they cannot resist sin’s pull. My prayers make a difference. If they didn’t, God wouldn’t tell me to pray.

So get up off my sore backside (Why is it sore? I didn’t use it yesterday?) and quit feeling sorry for myself. If I give in to the selfish indulgence that is tempting me (loaf on the sofa all day and eat chocolate), who might fall to something worse?

God seldom lets me see the victories of this war, but even without seeing the winners, the thought of what happens to the losers is far worse than painful muscles and aching bones. So despite this distraction, what else can I do but put on my spiritual armor and go into battle?