Many Americans, however, choose a pro-life standing, one that is firmly against the abortion decision and sees the unborn as persons of value, created in the image of God and deserving of basic human rights such as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

But is that all there is? What, truly, does it mean to be pro-life? It includes the abortion issue, to be sure, but it goes far beyond that.

Being pro-life is a worldview and a life-view. We see life as beginning with conception and ending in natural death, which determines how we treat others. It means we stand against abortion, suicide, homicide, genocide, euthanasia, domestic violence, abuse, and discrimination against race, sex, and religion.

It means we visit and serve those in prison and stand for their redemption, and help the poor and homeless find food, shelter, and quality employment. It means we respect those that differ in opinion, but will not tolerate the degradation and destruction of human life.

It means we stand with women who are facing unwanted and unplanned pregnancies to find alternatives to abortion, recognizing that their life is equal to but not more important than that of their unborn child. It means we stand for the right to choose abortion when the life of the mother is endangered, not because her life is more important than her child’s, but because we save the life that we can.

It means we stand for protection of children, the elderly, and the disabled. It is why we stand for the death penalty when someone, with premeditation, takes a life. It means we value human life above plant or animal life.

It means that we preach, teach, live out, and are not ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ, for it is through Him that we live and move and have our being (Acts 17:28). It means we see all human life as worth the blood of Christ.

This is what it means to be pro-life.

Ten years ago today.

I really don’t remember much about that day. I don’t remember if it was sunny or cloudy, windy or calm. I don’t remember if there was snow on the ground or even if it had been very cold. But I remember well the chill that permeated my being that December night ten years ago.

I grew up a daddy’s girl, no doubt about it. My daddy was a preacher, a barber, a race car driver, an author, and a paralegal. He was smart and he inspired me. He taught me about love, family, and fun. We traveled, camped, celebrated every holiday to the fullest, trusted each other, championed one another, and treated each other with value and honor. He taught me to search for, find, and stand for what I believed in, no matter what the cost. He showed me how to stand on my own feet yet lean on God, say I’m sorry and I love you, value relational success over financial success, and strive for excellence in all.

He had a passion for teaching his children that we find our firm foundation not in man or man’s teaching, but in the inerrant, unshakable Word of God, and that our worth is not found in what others think of us, but in the knowledge that we are worth the very blood of Christ.

He and I dated, held hands, and loved my mother. We debated religious, political, and personal issues. We laughed, cried, and were quiet together. He wasn’t perfect, but he was my hero, and I was sure that he knew everything. But ten years ago, December 14th, 2001, my hero crumbled. With the pull of a trigger he ended his own life.

I was twenty-three. My life changed forever and my heart would never be the same. They say time heals all wounds. It doesn’t. Time does ease the pain, though, and faith, hope and love can restore and make whole the broken.

As I began to put the shattered pieces of my life that he had touched so profoundly back together, I saw they would never fit as they did before. They would need to be placed somewhere else, somewhere called the past, tucked in my heart as memories. Every time I take them out, I see the jagged cracks where they were broken. I see that they don’t fit perfectly, like a puzzle that was put together with the wrong pieces.

Many things, though, remain just as they were. My dad instilled in me what mattered. I stand on my own feet yet lean on God, say I’m sorry and I love you, value relationships and strive for excellence. My value did not diminish when I realized that, to him, I was not worth living for, because I am worth the life of the Son of God. I searched for and found what I believed in, and my foundation was not found in man, not even my first man, my hero.

The ten years since my father died have been good, even great. I have faced head-on the heartbreak, the dissolution of an irreplaceable relationship, and the loss of my childhood mentor and pastor. I am still facing things: the loss of my daughter’s grandfather, some holes that can never be filled, and, at times, feelings that threaten the delicate adhesive that holds those once-shattered pieces together.

An unknown author wrote, “Sometimes on the Rock I tremble, but the steadfast Rock of ages never trembles under me.” I do tremble at times, but I know Whom I have believed, and my foundation is firm.

“When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
For I will be with thee thy trouble to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.”

How Firm A Foundation v3 by John Keith, 1787

In all 

“True love is the greatest thing in the world. Except for a nice MLT: a mutton, lettuce and tomato sandwich, where the mutton is nice and lean and the tomato is ripe. They’re so perky, I love that.” ~ Miracle Max, The Princess Bride.

For my 33^rd birthday last week my parents gifted me with money and instructed me to buy something for myself. That is tough for me these days since almost any cash that comes through my fingers is automatically spent on my daughter. The money-tree life of a parent – sigh. Besides, if I did use money to pamper myself, I would buy one thing: Time. Or a massage. Thankfully, though, my sweet husband knew that and gave me a certificate for an hour-long massage! =)

Fondling my perfectly straight greenbacks and contemplating how to spend these precious dollars, I watched Shelby as she sat happily batting at fuzzy rattling dice on a bulky, gigantic pink “jumparoo” play station.

Our home is tiny, not quite 1,000 square feet. I learned early on that to have a fairly organized and mess-free home, I must be space conscious and fill it with perfectly sized treasures. I endeavor to keep toys, bouncers, swings and socks from intruding into our living space, or at the very least keep them to an unobtrusive minimum (although bibs, bottles and shop towels are a lost cause). This massive bouncing blob of baby paraphernalia, however, was not helping my quest to make our small home feel “unsquished”.

I giggled at my daughter’s goofy grin but crinkled my nose at the monstrosity in my living room. Then again, when you find something – anything – that your 5-month-old is willing to sit in for more than five minutes, you take it with open arms and provide it with a loving home. It gives a busy mama precious time.

Time! I really could buy myself time…and bring unsquishyness, er, organization, back to our home. I promptly and excitedly drug my weary husband and sleepy child through Wal-Mart until I found the perfect thing: the Fisher-Price Space Saver Bounce ‘N Spin Froggy. Light and compact with sanity-saving volume control and musical spinning eyes, my daughter can bounce, bat, jump and play to her heart’s content, my home is clutter-free, and I have time! Some might say the Bounce ‘n Spin Froggy is “all that and a bag of chips.” I say it’s true love…and an MLT!

Shelby is five months today. It has been an extraordinary five months learning how to adjust to a new little life in our home, striving to remain a married lover as well as a mommy, discovering the art of listening for cues as to what a tiny, squalling creature is trying to communicate, and watching the Lord lead day by day. I have shared with you my birth story, the story of God’s provision and guidance in the first moments of my daughter’s life. Now let me share with you His guidance in writing the first five months of my mom story.

On June 10th, I sat in our living room with my fuzzy-headed three-day-old lying on my lap. I simply gazed at her, stroking her tiny starfish hands, drinking in every miraculous moment. My heart overflowed with praise, thanksgiving and wonder. Suddenly, my entire being filled with dread and fear.

To be quite frank, I have experienced very little fear or apprehension at bringing a new life into the world and the accompanying complexities. I do not fear my child or much of anything that comes with motherhood. I know I will make my mistakes and I will learn from them. I was desperate to leave the hospital after Shelby was born to begin the newest adventure in my life, take care of my baby, and sleep in my bed (if your idea of a hospital stay with a newborn is one of rest, think again!). Once home, there was nothing that stood in my way of being able to rock this mom thing – except one.

There are so many opinions and so much advice that is thrust upon a woman from the moment the new life growing in her belly is revealed that, unfortunately, this can cause a new mother to question the very intuition the Creator of her child placed within her. The issue that caused such dread for me is not the subject of this post, but it is controversial in nature, thereby ensuring many differing points of view with no lack of expression and recommendations of corresponding books.

I am an avid reader and have several books pertaining to the very subject I was dreading. But in that moment, God again spoke to my heart as He had three days before. He quieted my fears and showed me that if I would stay close enough to hear Him, He would be my guide and would show me the answer for the questions I had. I began to realize that it is my privilege to embrace the instincts and develop the common sense I already posses.

As I have walked in the light of Mother’s Intuition, I am reminded that I don’t have all the answers right now, and I don’t have to. I just need “enough light for the step I’m on.” I just need to make each decision as it comes. If it’s the wrong one, I’ll make a new one. If it goes against the advise of the day, so be it. Yes, I still read lots of books and have several that I recommend. But this is my own story, and I get to write it. If somewhere along the way I find I don’t like the story line, I can change it. All I need is to hold on to God’s unchanging hand.

My birth story begins the day before my daughter was born, on June 6^th, 2011. It was a Monday, and I was thirty-six weeks and 3 days pregnant. I had experienced a delightful and energetic pregnancy up until somewhere around thirty-three weeks, when the fact that I was housing a nearly full-term child in my ever-growing belly caught up to me. While I still remained somewhat active, I was constantly tired and consistently irritable.

 But this day was different. I woke up early, full of energy, determination, and excitement. I had been given a baby shower the weekend before, so I used my energy to shop for what was left that we needed for the baby and to completely organize her nursery.

 The next day, I had less energy than the day before, but still more so than in the last few weeks. I had a pre-natal appointment that morning, so I showered and arrived at the doctor’s office with my husband. We had known from a previous appointment that our daughter would be born before her due date of July 1^st, but as the doctor checked my progress, he said he felt she would most likely wait another week or more. But, knowing my propensity for pushing myself further than perhaps I should at times, he told me to begin to take things easier.

 I went home and began to write when the Holy Spirit reminded me that I had one phone call I needed to make to prepare for my daughter’s arrival, and since I was ordered to rest, I may as well do it. I made the necessary call, but that led to another. After that was finished, I sat back down to work and chat with my husband on Facebook. I began to notice that the Braxton Hicks contractions seemed to be stronger and more patterned than usual. At 4pm, within a half hour of finishing the last before-baby call, my water broke. Facebook chat just wouldn’t do; I excitedly called my husband!

 My contractions were extremely intense and were coming 3 – 5 minutes apart within a half hour. We arrived at the hospital approximately forty-five minutes later, where we were informed that our daughter was in the breech position with the umbilical cord trapped beneath her foot, causing the danger of the cord being pushed out first, breaking the placenta away from the wall of the uterus. This could cause massive hemorrhage and possible death for one or both of us. This meant I needed to deliver via Cesarean – something I was desperate to not have.

 When I heard the news, a black cloud of intense anger swept over me. My husband took a couple of steps backward, fearing my reaction. But then the still, small voice spoke to me. Scenes from the past 2 days flashed through my mind’s eye in a matter of seconds, and I was shown how everything worked within a Divine plan. God showed me where He gave me energy to complete every physical task necessary before my daughter’s arrival, how He prompted me to complete last-minute details even when it wasn’t supposed to be “the last minute”, and that my husband was completely available and even talking to me at the time! My sweet Friend, Provider, and Protector had set every moment in motion, and gently reminded me that just because I was out of control did not mean that my circumstances were out of control, for HE was in control. He gently showed me that my daughter was not coming too early and she was not coming in the wrong way. This was His timing and I had nothing to fear.

 Within seconds, the anger that so controlled my heart transitioned to intense grief. It was as though the entire process of grieving the loss of the birth I wanted was completed in that moment. Then came the peace – the peace that surpasses human understanding, the promised peace that is the inheritance of those that love God and keep their hearts and minds stayed upon Him. I looked at the nurse, then to my husband, and said “OK, let’s have a baby!”

 And so, on June 7^th, 2011 at 6:03pm, Shelby Deanne, the light of our lives and joy of our hearts was born at thirty-six weeks and 4 days, weighing in at a strong and healthy 5lbs, 10oz, and measuring 18.5 inches long.

 “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1, KJV.

Ah, the changes of life. I am sitting on my front porch with my lap top computer busily working on a fitness blog. Well, I was until I started writing this. =) My bare feet are propped up on a weathered wooden table with chipped red paint (it’s called shabby chic right?), and the breeze is lazily blowing white fluffy clouds that resemble dragons, buffalo and Care Bears eastward as the sun casts shadows from the gigantic old elm tree that is dying slowly by the side of my house.

This is my life. I work from home, so I sit out here often, morning and evening, watching the leaves bounce with the breeze, the ice cream truck drive in a molasses like manner down the street playing a catchy tune I would rather forget, and my neighbor walking her small dog down the street in a baby carriage.

But there is something very different about my front porch time these days. I am no longer alone. There is a small, fuzzy-headed creature that hangs out with me, sometimes in a baby swing that plays tunes not unlike the ice cream truck, sometimes in one of the most creative and unique bouncers I’ve yet to see, and sometimes snuggled up to my chest in a sling or front pack carrier.

My daughter’s arrival into my world has been fun, challenging, joyful, messy, and downright wild and wacky. Many things have not changed all that much. My daughter has become my little add-on while going to church, hiking, shopping, wheeling, traveling, sitting on the front porch, working, and having lunch with friends. I still work out and straighten my house, get dressed and put on makeup. My husband and I still sit out until the wee hours – ok, well, until 11pm or so – drinking wine on the porch talking about our day after she is in bed.

But many things have changed significantly: not one place I go with her is without an extra 5 – 10 (and possibly more!) minutes to get there and twice as much stuff to take. I am awake at 3am most mornings, and can now get up and stay up at 6am, even though my husband will most often take her until seven. We walk softer on our creaky wooden floors, talk a lot about poop, and, as mentioned earlier, come in from our front porch time at 11pm instead of 1am. We come home from dinner with friends earlier than before, put our DVD player on a softer sound mode, don’t slam the back door, take more pictures than we thought humanly possible, are never found more than 2 feet from a shop towel (AKA, a burp cloth), know words like Bumbo, Boppy, and Snoogle, and compare schedules to see which of us can take her when a massage, bubble bath, or evening work is needed.

And, I don’t blog much for myself anymore.  Between my job and an ever growing and aware baby, writing for pleasure has become something I only reminisce about. Until now.

I recently read a blog post written by a friend, a fellow professional, work-from-home blogger and new mom that wrote a simple piece on her favorite things: baby items that she loved. Simple, short, perfect. My heart ached to write my own blog again.

And so, dear friends, my heart and soul, sweat-out, bled-out blog posts need to, at this time in my life, become short and simple, but always real. I don’t have time to proof-read them, I don’t have time to check grammar or punctuation. But then again, this isn’t for work, this is for me; I want to share my heart with you. I need to write.

I want to tell you about my baby’s birth story, how my sweet Friend and Lord showed me His righteous right hand holding, protecting and providing for me and my tiny love. I want to tell you how my perfect, sweet child can be a royal pain in my proverbial patootie. I want to share what I find that works for us, how and where I struggle, what makes me laugh, what God shows me, and the general fun, challenging, joyful, messy, and downright wild and wacky world I have been living in since my daughter’s arrival in it…and I want to hear from you! Come enjoy the fun, and tell me all about your journey too. Join me won’t you?

I drove directly from the office to the department store and bought a pink diaper bag. Her first pink thing. A girl. I am having a girl! As you may have caught, I am in awe.

A rush of emotions have surged through me since finding out our bundle of joy will come home in soft pink jammies. I must admit to having felt fear among the joy and excitement. Boys seem so easy to raise. Don’t all you have to do for boys is give them a stick and some rocks to play with and tell them to go break something? But a girl is fragile and precious, a creature with emotions that run deep, a heart that is gentle, and a face that makes you melt.

So I posed a question to those already raising daughters: how do you raise a girl? What advice could these daughter-raising forerunners afford me? I received many responses, nuggets and gems aplenty. I was inspired by the answers I was given. But then I posed another question, this one to daughters. I asked them to tell me what their parents did that made a positive impact on them; what was important to them as little girls. These answers were the truest, most raw and honest looks into a daughter’s heart. As I read them, my tears flowed openly.

I began to think of my own girlhood, and looked into the heart that was shaped by being my parents’ daughter. There I found what I was looking for. This is what I learned from my reflections:

I learned to always wrap a girl up in a blanket when she is frightened, hurt, or sick. Making her warm milk and honey is the next best thing, so I should do both.

I must teach her to search God’s Word for herself. This way her foundation will be built on truth, and she can stand unshaken even when her heroes fail and crumble.

I learned to allow her to wear shoes that I hate, but not skirts that I think are too short.

I want to tell her that dirty dishes were invented so mothers and daughters could talk. There isn’t a much better time to talk about anything.

I learned that her daddy should teach her to read a map, shoot straight, drive a stick shift, and paint a good edge.

I need to let her know that as long as she will be honest with me, I will never, ever take anyone else’s word above hers. When trust is broken, it needs rebuilt. It may take time, but it will happen.

I want her to know that thunderstorms and mountains may be God’s most magnificent creations.

I will teach her that her self-worth is founded on the very fact that her soul was bought by the blood of Christ.

I must tell her to seize every opportunity and that every moment counts, but even when she fails, the mercies of God are new every morning and they do not fail.

I want her to enjoy each stage of her lovely life, for her to know that the “real world” can be fun, and that while it presents its own challenges, she’ll be just fine when she gets there.

I will pray with her at the end of each day, and let her know that the Creator of heaven and earth shields her as she sleeps, and no evil in the dark can stand against her tonight.

I will passionately love her father, and I will tell her every day how much her daddy loves her.

I want her to love music, laugh too loud, enjoy food, and stand for truth no matter what the cost.

I want to teach her that boys should open doors, walk closest to the street on a sidewalk leaving her the inside, and always understand that no means no. If he doesn’t understand this, she should talk to her daddy; he will assist the boy in this understanding.

I want her to know that I do not care what career path she chooses, but when a woman decides to have children, that responsibility supersedes career. As far as it is up to her, she should never be satisfied to allow someone else to raise her child.

I wish for her to treasure memories above things, to treasure the photographs that capture those memories, but even more important, to treasure the people in those memories.

And above all, I want to train up a fierce and feminine warrior for the Kingdom of God, a champion of righteousness, a woman to storm the gates of hell and claim her corner of the world for her Lord…and she can do it all with curves and curls.

I had spent the last three years searching for God’s call on my life. This quest found me at the end of 2009 with my fingers in many proverbial pots and I was feeling the pressure and becoming exhausted. So I contentedly accepted the reprieve and asked God to grant me the grace and wisdom to understand and accomplish what He had for me to do.

The year’s adventures began at the end of January clothed in pain and trauma, yet adorned with hope and possibilities. We never got to know about our baby before the miscarriage. As my body healed, my heart gave the sacrifice of praise. I began creating and settling into a warm and secure refuge by presenting my praise in writing. Soon, as He said, God began to show me a large part of who I was to become, and I was offered a stay-at-home writing job that was quickly turned into a promising career.

Watching and recognizing God’s provision in His plan for things to change and grow in my life gave even greater motivation to “nest” our home, our refuge, for what may still come. A sense of great purpose filled my soul.

The year progressed with a flurry of activities and work. Never one to miss the fun, busyness, and party that is life, I participated happily and fully. Then came an unexpected and surprising opportunity to adopt an unborn child. Was this the purpose I was to fulfill? Was this how God was to show me who I was to become? My husband and I searched out the possibility while staying in prayer, but this baby was not to be ours. I went back to the flurry of activities, but the year was finding its way fast into a beautiful Colorado fall. My job was multiplying and life was rolling on fast and furiously.

And then, on October 27^th, I understood 2010′s complete picture. Two pink lines provided the answer to why I was to stay home, why I was to nest our home, why I was to create and settle into a warm and secure refuge, and who I was to become.

I am excited, I am blessed. As I look forward to everything that 2011 holds, I am preparing not only my home, but my heart. Raising and molding a child is an awesome and heavy responsibility, one that I know I can only handle through God’s grace and strength. And so, I am nesting…nesting my home, nesting my heart, creating and settling into my warm and secure refuge of God’s grace and strength.

 I was contemplating the tendency of others to need a Bucket List the other day and wondering if I were missing out somehow. But nothing came to mind – outside of maybe sky-diving or climbing Mt. Everest – that would even make for an interesting Bucket List for my life. The activities that I’m blessed to enjoy definitely put my life into “a-blast-and-a-half” category, and I’ve learned to live as though every day may be my last. Yet I am simply loving every minute of this beautiful ride on the third rock from the sun as I wait to go home to my Savior and my heavenly mansion – which I picture as an Americana style mountain cottage with a rock wall, Sunflowers, Daisy’s, and a hot tub. This struck me as a very pious solution to why I don’t have a Bucket List.

 Then a thought hit me: What if a Bucket List had less to do with what I want to accomplish or experience, and more to do with what I would want to do for Christ? Faith without works, after all, is dead (James 2:20). With that in mind, I excitedly began compiling my Spiritual Bucket List: Would I choose 3 souls or 7 to have the privilege of leading to Christ in my lifetime? Would I like to teach a women’s small group or a couple’s? Would the book I want to write be on flip-flop sexual desires in marriage or Calvinism vs. Arminianism? Is my neighborhood my mission field or should I look at going to Ireland (I hear the beer is excellent there!)? Would I like to give x amount of money to Focus on the Family or Christian Law Association?

 Right in the middle of my righteous B.L. planning, God interrupted my thought process. “My thoughts are not your thoughts”, declared the Lord (Is. 55:8). “Really Lord, ’cause I’m on a roll here.” “You are My workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to good works, which I have before ordained that you should walk in them. I know the plans I have for you.” (Eph. 2:10; Jer. 29:11).

 I began to see that what He was trying to get through to me was that if it were MY Spiritual Bucket List that I accomplished through MY works I could boast, but it’s not by my might nor by my power, but by God’s Spirit working in me to walk in the Bucket List HE had planned for me to do (Eph. 2:9; Zech 4:6)! What’s important is not what I want to see done before I leave this world, it’s what He wants to see done.

 All of my pious plans dissipated in the light of His glory and grace, and I began to seek His plans for me. I asked that He would so indelibly write His Bucket List on my heart that I would clearly see it and be able to write those things out on paper. (If – and when – He gives me that list, be assured, I will share with you God’s Bucket List for me!) I began to ask that He would open the eyes of my heart to see His plans and to move the direction and events of my life to accomplish those things. I re-affirmed my desire and intent to never be conformed to the pattern of this world but to be transformed by the renewing of my mind so that I could attest and approve what His perfect will was for me, and committed to put on the mind of Christ (Rom 12:2; Phil. 2:5; 1 Cor. 2:16).

 The most exciting aspect of asking God to write my Bucket List is knowing that this is the truest way to experience a mortality-defying, thrill-seeking, high-adrenaline rush! This is the only way to live the abundant life and the best way to live above myself, all the while knowing this is the best life I can have. This IS living the quote “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive, well-preserved body, but rather to slide in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming, ‘Woo-Hoo, what a ride!!’”, and all the while knowing that the next life, well, that life will be even better.

 I must admit, however, I am hoping that God will slide sky-diving and climbing Mt. Everest into His plan for me somewhere; I will happily witness to the sky diving instructor about the true leap of faith of a life lived in Christ, and what better way to experience the second coming of my Lord than at the top of Mt. Everest…Even so, come Lord Jesus!

This past Saturday my husband and I experienced a new adventure…we competed in The Warrior Dash, a grueling 3.27 mile race held at Copper Mountain Ski area that boasted 12

In a world crammed full and racing at break-neck speed toward the next thing to be done, the spiritual can become dim, even to those well aware of the powers and principalities of this present darkness against which we war. Often this can happen when things are running smoothly and circumstances seem to indicate that we have won the battle. Then the inevitable fiery darts of the enemy come flying in from somewhere in the dark and our comfortable but unprotected flesh gets pierced, and we are left reeling and bleeding and wondering: What does it take to become a battle-ready warrior?

Thankfully, we do not have a High Priest that is unable to sympathize with our weakness (Heb. 4:15), but One that outlines the rules of engagement for us in a victorious Battle Plan for the purpose of training (2 Tim 3:16)! Ephesians 6:11 is one of many Scriptures that gives insight into what is needed to stand strong, prepared, and firm, and become warriors that are more than conquerors (Rom 8:37) through Him that has overcome the world (John 16:33)!

Throughout the book of Ephesians, we see Paul showing the church of Ephesus the power, grace, provision, protection, love, and inheritance they have through Christ. In chapter 6, Paul looks to the armor of the Roman soldier to provide an adequate understanding of what is needed to be ready for the battle against the enemy of our souls. It is interesting to note both the offensive and defensive items and qualities mentioned. “Stand therefore, having girded your waist with truth, having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; above all, taking the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one. And take the helmet of Salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God” (v 14 – 17). Verse 18 puts it all together with the essential, power-giving ingredient, “Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit.” We must be constant in prayer living minute by minute in the power God infuses within us as we lift all things up to Him for His use.

Another vitally necessary part of preparedness in the battle against darkness is fellowship with others that are engaged in the same battle we are in, on the same side of the fight, and able to encourage us and spur us on. Verse 18 continues, “…with all perseverance and supplication for all the saints.”

My husband and I were not the only mentally unstable adventurers in the Warrior Dash this weekend! One of my dearest friends ran the same race. After finishing (10 minutes faster than I!), she was telling me of a time in the race that she was tired, worn down, slowing down, and feeling the pain. Another runner touched her on the shoulder and said, “I’ve been following you the whole way, and there is no need to slow down now.” The encouragement, understanding, and sharpening of this fellow racer was just what my friend needed to keep going and finish the race strong. They ran the rest of the race together, silently spurring the other on. Encouragement, accountability, love, and companionship from fellow believers can be the key to staying battle-ready when feeling battle-weary (Prov 27:17; Heb 10:24; Heb 12:1).

There is an obscure story of a man in the Bible that I recently discovered. His name is Benaiah and his story is found in 2 Samuel chapter 23, verses 20 and 21. This passage describes the warrior-esque behavior and accomplishments of Benaiah. I have said this before, but I do get an absolute kick out of reading the Bible! You have got to check this one out: “He did many heroic deeds…he chased a lion down into a pit. Then, despite the snow and slippery ground, he caught and killed the lion.” In the minds of the vast majority of the general public, this would not be considered the wisest course of action. Personally, I would prefer to opt out of chasing a lion into a pit on a snowy day. King David, however, was inclined to admire this sort of warrior mentality since two verses later, “David put (Benaiah) in charge of his bodyguard.” There is not much else written on this lion-chaser, but there is much reason to believe that battle-readiness was a normal, natural way of life for him.

So as I look to the inspired Word of God, I find the answer to what I need to become and stay ready for the battle I know is before me. And the best thing? The best thing is knowing that if God is for me, none can stand against me (Rom 8:31)! The best thing is knowing that we are overcomers because He is the Overcomer (1 John 5:4; John 16:33)! In the Warrior Dash, we ran for the prize of a fuzzy viking helmet! But spiritually, I want to finish the course and keep the faith for the reward of the crown of righteousness (2 Tim. 4:7-8).