Of Our Brush with Fame

A number of years ago, my sister-in-law began telling us about this show she loved that we should try out. She happened to have the first couple of seasons on DVD and would be happy to let us borrow them.

That's cool, we thought, but we had our own series we were in the middle of and weren't interested in investing in something new. A looong while later, we had finished one of these series (of such major importance I can no longer remember what it was) and I mentioned to my wonderfully forgetful husband this show his sister has been wanting us to watch. So we borrowed the first season. And it sat around our house for another few months before we finally returned it, entirely un-watched.

Long story short, by the time she had four seasons on her shelf, we finally decided to really give it a shot.

Thus we watched our first episode of Castle. And were quickly hooked (and just as quickly felt guilty for how long we'd been ignoring her adamant recommendations). Before we knew it, we had zoomed through four seasons, often staying up way too late watching two or three episodes after we laid the kids down for bed.

We anxiously awaited the release of the fifth season on DVD (because it was too late to catch up in real time). But by the end of that series of binge-watching we began to question our use of time, overall, and put all TV-watching on hold.

Until recently. And as we began to realize we were easing ourselves back into a life in front of the television, while also hoping to stay still relatively detached, we also realized, Season 6 is now over on her shelf . . .

And as the kids were visiting grandparents this past week, we binged unashamedly through much of the season. Snuggling together, with popcorn, pizza or chocolate, watching the drama unfold, giggling at pop culture references and congratulating ourselves on successfully naming the killer as soon as they appeared on-screen (hint: it's generally the first person they talk to in the episode).

On Wednesday, we spent the evening with our beloved sister, and actually spent a portion of our time in an in-depth discussion over just how much fun this show is - as though having an artistic dialogue over the merits of Castle.

On Friday, I posted my typical POTD (Picture of the Day), this time featuring just a little of what had become our nightly ritual over the past week.

12 June 2015 - This is how we do a night cap: popcorn and Castle. #POTD2015

A photo posted by @wiredangela on Jun 12, 2015 at 10:38pm PDT

To some this may be even more sad, still, but as we looked forward to an evening in a local bed and breakfast Saturday night, we also anticipated snuggling up to, you guessed it, watch more of our favorite show.

And we watched four episodes during our one-night stay.

As we wrapped up the fourth episode, it was time to check out for the morning and head to our next stop on our getaway weekend: the Oklahoma City Museum of Art (I had a Groupon!).

Of course, Castle was clearly on our minds as I confessed I was beginning to question everything: our safety in the creaky, family-owned bed and breakfast, the sincerity of the guy who took our key as we attempted to check out, claiming he used to work there and we were good to go. In an art museum, as they prepared for the new Faberge exhibit, I felt we were walking into a potential crime scene. Who would be the one to commit a murder in this museum, and why?

I mean, my brain was on serious Castle overload.

Which is why when I saw another museum patron from behind and noted her beautifully long red hair, and then just a glimpse of her profile, I laughed it off with Philip as he, too, turned to me saying, "That girl looks kind of like - "

"I was thinking the same thing!"

We geeked out for a moment over how remarkably this girl, enjoying the museum with a few friends, resembled a character from the very show we had been consuming non-stop for the past week. We texted the very sister who had introduced us to the show: "There's a girl here who looks JUST like Alexis. We would take a picture, but we don't want to be awkward."

Her response: "Be awkward!"

I attempted to do my very best spy work, so she could see what an amazing coincidence this was. But, of course, we didn't want to get too close or too obvious, and we had still only really seen her from a distance and mostly from behind or the side. I used my phone, glad that stalker-photographing has become so much easier these days, when I don't have to point an actual camera in anyone's general direction, and can very easily play it off as texting something super important to a friend, rather than capturing unauthorized images of innocent museum-goers.

Meanwhile, I was freaking out inside, because I recognize I'm no good in the face of celebrity and thought it would be best to leave this poor girl alone who probably had never even seen Castle nor would appreciate random strangers asking her awkward questions.

So, I snapped my stalker-esque photos and we moved on, both of us too nervous to actually attempt to ask about our suspicions.

Yet, as we toured the next level of the museum, I began to hope we'd run into her again, as I worked up the nerve to at least inquire into whether she might be an actress . . . just to open the door to conversation. And, then, our opportunity came. As we attempted to make the decision about the best way to casually locate this mystery red-head, there she was, comfortably sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Here was our chance.

My hands were shaking as I attempted to be polite while rudely, awkwardly interrupting a conversation between this stranger and her friend. Though, at this point, at this distance, there was no question in our minds. We were standing a mere couple of feet from a face we had been watching on our TV screen for a number of years, not to mention this past week, and the four episodes we had seen in the past 24 hours alone.

"I'm sorry, but, are you an actress?"

She lowered her gaze slightly while also giving an understanding smile, "I'm on the show Castle."

Inside: "Aaaaaaaaahhhh. We knew it!!!!!!" Outside: "We thought so! We've been watching your show non-stop for the past week."

And as we bantered a little about some of the episodes we had just seen, this surreal feeling overwhelmed me: this girl was there on the other side of that screen - this was her! And that episode was just another day of work for her, full of embarrassing costume choices and probably even unexpected glitches. She was a real person. And we were talking to her. As strangers who just happened to bump into each other at an art museum.

Of course, we had to complete the awkward fan-dom and get a picture, and, of course, while we had been so nervous to approach a "celebrity" who just wanted to enjoy the museum, she was, in actuality, just as sweet in person as she was on the other side of the screen, happy to oblige a few star-struck fans, as she positioned herself for a photo, while offering her hand, "I'm Molly."

We chatted for just a few moments before offering an official Oklahoma welcome (though, as a Texas native, she said she'd been here before), and giving her her space. We walked away on cloud nine. The most crazy coincidence that felt like a dream.

So, thank you to Molly Quinn for indulging these parents of four who acted like a couple of silly teenagers. We appreciate you and we may be slightly bigger fans than we were even 48 hours ago (and that's saying something).

Of Becoming a Nerd

Some nights I am a Twi'lek Jedi. But I've been a Wookie Tank, a Bothan Assasin and an Elf Healer. At least that's who I roll the dice for.

And the honest truth: I have a lot of fun.

You need to understand, though, before I was married I didn't know what any of that meant (okay, let's be honest, I still had to ask my husband what those Star Wars characters were called as I wrote this post, because I still don't have a clue). I was a nerd, by some standards, but not a gaming nerd.

At least not outside of Life, Uno, or any other standard family games. I loved party games - Trivial Pursuit, Taboo, Cranium. Those were my jam.

Dungeon crawls, MMO's, RPG's? I neither knew, nor wanted to know what any of it meant or how it worked. Because didn't it involve getting super into an other-worldly character and hiding in your mom's basement with potato chips and energy drinks?

The sad truth, though, was I married a gamer. One who knew what all of those nerdy things meant. And thrived on them. One who knew what the next gaming console was going to be, when it would be released, and every game he wanted for it. But he couldn't tell you my favorite flower.

And I was ready to make him choose his time wisely - I was the wife who helped my brand new husband draw up a signed contract regarding how much time he would spend playing video games so I didn't get left by the wayside. Because am I not more fascinating than a tv screen or computer monitor filled with digital creatures of evil?

But I had a friend who did things differently. She's the type of friend who prepares for each new stage in life by gleaning wisdom from anyone who can offer valuable insight. She not only accepts advice, she seeks it out. I am not that way. But I so appreciate being friends with someone who is (because then I don't have to humble myself by admitting I need help, as she just shares all her well-sought knowledge with me without my having to ask. Because friends are awesome).

Before she was ever married,in an effort to aid her relationship with someone of the male persuasion she, wisely, sat down with a male friend who gave her this advice: "Women relate by talking. Men relate by playing. If you want to relate to your man, play with him."

So, when she was married a few short weeks after we were, rather than throwing down an ultimatum to limit his video-game nerd-dom, she sat down and watched him play. She took it in, learned the dynamics, offered helfpul (maybe undesired?) suggestions and helped Link find every Rupee on the way to Zelda's castle. She played alongside him (in a one person game, that's the best you can hope for).

And I started to think differently about how I approached my own husband's interests. After all, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

So I sat down at his computer, overlooking the World of Warcraft, and I became a Night Elf. And it was kind of fun. I joined a guild, I increased my abilities. I made it level 20 and felt like I was amazing (for the record, it's not, but to a newbie like me, it might as well have been the black belt of WoW).

But even more than opening the doors to new worlds, I opened the doors to our relationships. Instead of rolling my eyes at his descriptions of his latest exploits, I could honestly congratulate him for the succes in his latest raid, because I knew what that meant. I could understand why he said he couldn't pause his game to come help me in the kitchen that moment (because you really can't, or you die, and it's so annoying to get your spirit back to your body, seriously), but he would get to a safe place as soon as he could so I could have his full attention.

From there, I discovered card games, strategy games, miniatures and more. I'm still not hard-core. I play the games he's excited about, but I don't go out of my way to investigate the latest in nerd news.

I go out of my way to take an interest in him. And to relate to him.

So I play.

But I don't just sit down grudgingly, because I'm not under-achiever, and because I've honestly come to enjoy finding line of sight to kill his Storm Troopers. I play to win. And sometimes I do.

But win or lose, we're spending time together and I know he's proud that I'm trying. And I know he feels loved. So it's always a win.

Of the Fool

A couple weeks ago, I was reading through Proverbs, in chapter 26, to be exact, and I found myself amidst verses I had heard many times before. All those ones talking about a "fool" - you know, that other guy, the one who just doesn't get it. Here is a sampling:

"Like snow in summer or rain in harvest,
    so honor is not fitting for a fool.
2 3 A whip for the horse, a bridle for the donkey,
    and a rod for the back of fools.
4 Answer not a fool according to his folly,
    lest you be like him yourself.
5 Answer a fool according to his folly,
    lest he be wise in his own eyes.
6 Whoever sends a message by the hand of a fool
    cuts off his own feet and drinks violence.
7 Like a lame man's legs, which hang useless,
    is a proverb in the mouth of fools.
8 Like one who binds the stone in the sling
    is one who gives honor to a fool.
9 Like a thorn that goes up into the hand of a drunkard
    is a proverb in the mouth of fools.
10 Like an archer who wounds everyone
    is one who hires a passing fool or drunkard.
11 Like a dog that returns to his vomit
    is a fool who repeats his folly. " (Proverbs 26:1,3-11, ESV, emphasis added)

Right around this time, after eleven verses going on, and on, and on, about how useless fools are and how little hope they have in the world, I was kind of done. I am not just being overly dramatic when I say, literally, at this point in my reading I thought to myself, "Ok, we get it."

And then came verse number 12, one I had heard before, but, when read in the context of the previous eleven tiring verses, was rather a sucker punch to the gut:

"Do you see a man who is wise in his own eyes?
    There is more hope for a fool than for him."(Proverbs 26:12)

Say what now? Now I'm awake.

Because if ever there was a person who was wise in his own eyes, I'm the girl. I'm the one who can pass any test, solve any riddle. If you have a problem, I guarantee I have a solution (not that I'll share it, because I don't necessarily need to tell you what to do, I just like the satisfaction of knowing that I know). And if you're not solving it the way I would have, I will have an opinion about that. I probably won't share that opinion with you, but, trust me, I've definitely shared it with someone (probably my husband because we kind of shame spiral together into gossip and petty judgments - it's totally a healthy bonding experience).

Wise in her own eyes? Yep, that's me.

And, yet, here it is, plain as day - there is more hope for a fool than for a person like me.

A fool.

You know, that one who deserves no honor, but, rather, a rod to the back. The man whose mouth is not even worthy to hold a wise saying. The one who is like a dog returning to his vomit in the way he continues after the filth of this world.

This man has more hope than I.

Let it not be true. May my eyes be torn out before they continue to see wisdom in my own frivolity, petty thoughts or belittling opinions.

May I see the worth and value in the hearts of others, in the opinions of others. May I no longer seek my own honor or the worthless validation that comes from thinking better of myself than of those around me.

May there be hope for me yet.

Oh, Lord, that you would humble me to hear the words of others more than my own voice. Grant me your eyes to see those around me and ear to hear Your wisdom alone.

Of Our Provider

A month and a half ago we celebrated our first anniversary of this beautiful place we so enjoy calling home. But at the turn of this calendar year, after only nine months in this beautiful place we so enjoy calling home, this house had begun to fall apart. Well, let's be honest, it started before that, but January was when I cried over tossing precious books in the trash which had been destroyed by a roof that doesn't understand its sole purpose to be that of protecting us from the elements. 

We should not have rain water, or melting snow, as it were, seeping into our home, down built-in bookshelves, dripping off light fixtures or plopping into our closet. 

But that's what we had. 

And so we began to wonder what could be done, began to pray for provision, fully trusting God would provide.

A month later, we first heard about a trip to Germany to visit good friends who were working overseas. We felt in our hearts this was a trip we were supposed to be on.

But that roof.

And how could we dream of paying for such a journey when the roof over our heads was failing?

Yet we heard the advice, do not let finances keep you from doing what you know God has called you to do.

So we prayed, and we applied. And we told ourselves, if this was what He wanted, He would provide. And we waited.

We searched out financing options for our roof and began seeking contributions for our trip.

I sent out letters, I set up a GoFundMe account, and I waited. I did the math - if only 700 people gave $10, we would be funded. I laughed. I don't know 700 people. So, I adjusted the numbers. Only seven people would need to give $1000 each. I laughed even more.

I told myself in the back of my mind, if all else failed, yet we really felt as though we should go on this trip, we had our tax refund. We would set that aside, and if we needed it to finish funding this excursion, we would have it.

And then our plumbing backed up. There was water pouring into our garage from a bathroom upstairs. Then there was water pooling in our laundry room, seeping under the carpets of our den.

And it was fixed. Because we had money. Money set aside "just in case."

And, as we had water dripping overhead and water pooling underneath, I realized we were learning a lesson. A lesson in His faithfulness. And if I was going to insist we could do this ourselves, "just in case" He didn't come through, all our options for paying it out of our own pockets would be stripped.

So I let it go. I prayed, and I waited. But I knew, if nothing else, we would not be paying for this trip ourselves. Either He would do it, or we would not be going.

And we waited.

The GoFundMe account remained at $0. Our fundraising letters, with the exception of two responses, almost seemed to have entered the void.

After a month with little response, I began to feel defeated.

Perhaps we had been wrong. If we said we would go if He provided, and He's not providing, what does that say? I doubted, I wondered at what point we should pack it all in and say this was it. We'd made a mistake.

And then we received our second check for $1,000. 

And I laughed. Not a laugh of mocking this time, but of disbelief. He would provide. In His time.

Over time, we have reached 3/4 of our necessary funds. I praise Him because He is Jehovah Jireh. Our provider. And I remain grateful for those who have followed His lead and given generously from their own pockets.

Yet, still, there is that roof. And the money we realized was not meant for our trip was set aside for that cause. Not nearly enough, but set aside as we looked into finance options for such a large undertaking of completely building up a roof that now is flat and needs to be pitched. And when we thought we had it taken care of, an option that maybe wouldn't need our precious savings, I began to assure myself - we only have 1/4 of the cost of the trip left to pay. Maybe we could still use this money for that.

Then we woke up to a bucket in our living room. A bucket that had been in our attic, catching the drip, drip, drip of leaking rain water. A bucket that had held all it could manage and when the drop came that broke the camel's back, it crashed through the ceiling of our living room, leaving a pool on the floor and a hole in the ceiling.

Two days after the bucket fell through, our financing for the roof did the same.

And the hole will be ok. Because we have money. Set aside, "just in case." Money that is clearly, clearly not meant for us to pay for our own journey overseas. 

But I wondered, when will I learn?

If He has told me He will provide, if He has shown me He will provide, when will I stop trusting in myself and start trusting in Him?

Thus, I repent. I repent of my independent self-reliance and I trust.

I trust that Jehovah Jireh, the One who continues to hold this entire world, and all its possessions and wordly wealth in the palm of His very hands, can handle what we need. He can handle financing a trip He has ordained. And, more than that, He feeds the birds of the air and clothes the flowers of the fields.

How much more can He house these precious ones of His?

So, it's all there, in His hands. Every one of our needs. For Him to handle. For Him to lead us in His wisdom toward wherever we are to go.

And we're praying.

And we're waiting. Faithfully.

Of a Prayer for All Women this Mother's Day

I have been anticipating Mother's Day as a woman whose Love Language is gifts does these days - or one whose Love Language is gifts who has a husband that doesn't speak the same Language, and has a small budget with which to work, and four kids under the age of seven whose idea of a perfect gift for Mom is a My Little Pony DVD or a Supehero Matching Game - I'm keeping my expectations low. And trying really hard to keep my mouth shut in planning my own Special Day (it's not working too well).

But as I prepare my low expectations with secret wishes that they will be far exceeded, there are those who do not anticipate this Sunday at all. They dread it. They hate it. They maybe just want to sleep through it with the covers over their heads. They'll be the ones avoiding Social Media because those posts about everyone's perfect day - the breakfast in bed, the hand-drawn cards, or the spa gift certificates - will be too much to handle. Or those posts thanking Mom for all those years of hard work - those yank at hearts, too. Mother's Day, much like Valentine's Day is a sleeper holiday - one of those that seems to make it onto the calendar as an afterthought, meant to honor something beautiful while, in the end, creating unreal expectations and alienating those without.

As this Mother's Day approaches, I am praying.

For those in the trenches, wiping poopy bottoms, nursing in the night, sneaking chocolate in the closet, and facing endless piles of dirty laundry (or baskets of clean laundry that just can't get folded), I pray supernatural energy over you. I pray rest for the weary heart and renewed strength for the long days and short years ahead. He sees you.

For those waiting with the weight of empty arms, those who are mothers in their souls and are turning another month without the living embodiment of a dream, I pray supernatural peace over you. I pray for a satisfied soul whose desires are met, whether in expected or unimagined ways. I pray endurance. I pray for understanding companions to lift you up as you grow weary in anticipation. He sees you.

For those who have opened their arms to the child of another's womb, who have birthed a family in their hearts and created a home of acceptance to those who had none. I pray supernatural blessing over you. I pray your family will forge together with an unbreakable bond and that your welcoming heart would be filled to overflowing with the love you have allowed into your home. He sees you.

For those who wait beside machines this Mother's Day - machines that measure the life in your little one - not knowing what the future holds as you pray for a miracle. I pray a supernatural strength over you. I, too, pray for that miracle. I pray for a child who can come home into your loving arms and I pray peace over you as you wait for a day you are unsure will ever come. He sees you.

For those seeing the years fly by too fast while they seek to settle sibling squabbles, manage family schedules and still tackle that laundry, while creating a home of love and belonging. I pray supernatural wisdom over you. I pray for the ability to savor these waning hours, preserving the precious moments of the past and present, as you slip into the future. He sees you.

For those visiting their children where a mother never should, under a graven stone marking their small place of earth on this Earth, I pray supernatural comfort over you. I pray His arms would wrap around you in a way you've never known as His peace washes over you and you bathe in the beauty of your memories. He sees you.

For those preparing to send their babies into a world of wolves, wondering if they have prepared these little ones enough, wondering what you'll do with a home that feels a little emptier, I pray supernatural courage over you. I pray for a heart willing to let go, looking ahead to a brilliant future they will write for themselves. He sees them. He sees you.

For those waiting for the phone to ring or a card in the mail - who can't even handle including these in their low expectations. Those who feel forgotten by the ones whose hands they held and tears they wiped. I pray supernatural love over you. I pray you know your hard work has not been overlooked by the One in Heaven who formed those precious ones in the womb many years ago. He still sees you.

For those with a Momma on the other end of the phone, the one who held your hand and wiped your tears, those with a mother who prayed over you and listened to your stories. I pray supernatural understanding over you. I pray you would treasure what you have and see the ways you can model your life after hers as you wonder how she ever did it. He sees you.

For those whose hand to hold is now held in the Everlasting Arms, who are now left to wipe their own tears, of which there are many when they long to pick up that phone but have no one to call in those wee hours when life is heavy and they just need a listening ear. I pray supernatural belonging over you. I pray you would know and feel your home is not on this Earth and you have a Father in Heaven. I pray for another earthly soul, not to fill a void which cannot be filled, but to bridge the gaps, to be that listening ear or the voice on the other end of the line. He sees you.

For those who struggle to know the mother who birthed them, who feel a need for her, but don't feel her love, only her distance, whether physically, emotionally, or both. Those for whom the standard well-wishes of this day seem incomprehensible and empty. I pray supernatural guidance over you. I pray you, too, would feel your belonging in Heaven and would find a soul who can walk beside you, speak wisdom over you and be an example of loving motherhood where you had none. He sees you.

For all of us on Mother's Day, I pray for a moment in the arms of El Roi, the God Who Sees, as we are wrapped in His love, as we are grateful for his blessings, wherever they are found, as we mourn what we thought we would have and rejoice for what we do. Praise Him, for we are all fearfully and wonderfully made, prepared for the task at hand and loved with a light that shatters the darkness of this fallen world.

He sees you. He loves you.

Happy Mother's Day.

Of Parenting Four

I recently saw on facebook, this article and video by parents of three who were tired of the judgment regarding their pregancy with their fourth child. I'm not gonna lie, I've had the parody stuck in my head all week - because this is so where we are.

So, this morning, as I'm singing in my head, "Can't you see it's we who love this life?" on repeat in my head, I'm also throwing away one boy's lunch that he didn't finish the day before, because, yes, I'm the mom who most often is only cleaning up the table from the last meal when it's time to eat the next.

And, later, as I'm glad to finally have gotten all the munchkins their eggs and cereal and I'm ready to finally go nurse that precious baby who is fine with the Cheerios but would really like her Momma, I walk into the kitchen to see a gagging little boy who decided one man's trash was another man's treasure and had opted to ingest his brother's day-old lunch I had haphazardly dumped in the sink. And he's now regretting that decision and as I attempt to direct him over the trash can to spit it out, his body decides to be quicker about it and he's vomiting now on the kitchen rug. Not the tile that's easy to mop, but the one 2'x3' patch of wide kitchen floor that actually has any form of synthetic covering.

Meanwhile, hungry baby is now REALLY done with her empty high chair tray and is crying pretty angrily. And I have a three-year-old with vomit on his clothes and a beautiful mess to clean up on the floor. Boy is stripped, sent to wait for new clothes in his room and the floor is quickly cleaned, rug sprayed in the sink, hung to dry on the patio. I grab the baby on my way upstairs, so I can get to feeding her after quickly dressing her brother.

But the brother ended up vomiting further on the carpeted hallway and his underwear, the only remaining item of clothing from the earlier mess. And his only clean underwear is folded on the couch downstairs.

So, now naked boy is running for underwear while, with a baby on the hip, Momma is cleaning up vomit. And eventually setting the baby down while hoping she'll be so satisfied with the toy she found (which may or may not be a choking hazard because who can keep up with what gets left all over the floor by the older three?) that she won't feel the need to grab for the mess and you know you're running against a ticking time bomb - get it clean before she decides to crawl in it.

And before I know it, that mess is clean, that boy is dressed and the baby is settling in to nurse and that five crazy minutes of my morning is over. And I still have over five hundred to go before bed time.

And I'm still humming, "Don't you know it's we who love this life?"

Because we do.

Because while I was cleaning up vomit and finally going to nurse a baby girl, I could hear downstairs the two older ones contentedly reading through piles of library books. And I know that baby girl will be ready to play when she's done eating and will bless me with the most heart-melting grins. And that little boy, stomach now emptied of yesterday's disgusting leftovers, will be telling me silly stories and hurrying to look at the pictures over his siblings' shoulders.

And it's a crazy life, this mothering a herd, but it's also exciting, silly, snuggly, and full.

And I wouldn't trade it. Because sometimes I am overwhelmed by this life, but mostly it is such a blessing.

Of Our Enemy

Having been a Christian the majority of my life, I find it almost embarrassing to admit: I have only just begun to hate Satan.

Until this point I had only found him mildly annoying - like a bee buzzing in your ear that won't go away, or a mosquito caught extracting your blood who then leaves you with an obnoxious itch that lingers awhile.

I mean, I certainly didn't like the guy. He's the enemy of my Lord, so of course I'm not in his fan club, nor do I want anything to do with him. But I'd also fallen into the trap of otherwise dismissing him.

I had been told before, as a very true fact, that we, as Christians, tend to give Satan too much credit. He, as many would tell it, is the source for all the annoyances in life. When our mission trip flight is canceled, or we're stuck in traffic on the way to church, or our printer dies just when we need it to print the most important document we'll ever need (or, you know, a coupon, whatever). That's Satan. Oh, that pesky little devil. There are even moments, like when traveling and caught in a snow storm in a tiny little vehicle not meant for this kind of weather, we get so egotistical as to think, "Maybe Satan is trying to stop me from getting there because something important is going to happen." Because, of course, I'm so important that it's going to snow across three states and cause a 27 car pile-up on a different portion of road just because Satan wants to frustrate me. Unlikely. Plus, I'm not certain, but I'm not sure he can control the weather. He's not God.

Which, of course, is what this whole mess is about. He's so selfish. That pesky little devil.

But when I'm sitting across from a precious friend opening for me the depths of her soul and the struggles of her flesh, and I am recognizing that these conclusions to which she has come are the direct result of lies whispered in her ear, I hate him. For the very first time, I hate him. I want to drop-kick his ugly face. About fifty-seven times in a row.

Because I've heard his lies before - the ones that say I'm not good enough, or I've failed, or no one truly cares. But those ones are generally pretty easy to pick out. They are so contrary to what I have been told, by people and by God, that, though they mess with me for a moment, or a day, or even a week, I can eventually weed them out and overcome them with Truth.

But when he takes the God-given gifts and attributes given to a beautiful sister - characteristics made to show the very essence of our Creator - and twists them for his purposes, causing doubt and confusion, the kind that wreaks havoc to the very soul and the kind that has turned an entire culture in the complete opposite direction of who they were made to be and how they were made to view a love like no other, the very unconditional love of an all-powerful God, that plain pisses me off (excuse my Baptist-girl version of language, but this is what happens when I'm angry).

And I can hear her words and see a light shed on controversy that has shattered our culture, is changing our laws and has left everyone questioning what we have been told, both in church and out of it. It's all a lie. And Satan is so pleased with himself.

Because maybe he can't control the weather, but he can surely whisper into our ears. And a whisper that is a tiny portion of truth enshrouded in lies is infinitely more devastating than canceled flight, an empty ink cartridge or a slippery road with traction-less wheels.

Yet he has made us so comfortable in our annoyance that we barely even notice the buzz anymore. And we don't hate him. We dislike him. We bat him away. Sometimes we fear him. But we don't hate.

And an enemy we don't hate is an enemy we don't fight.

Annoyance makes us keep our distance. Fear can cripple and gives power to the one from whom we cower.

Hate drives us to action.

It makes us pick up that weapon and swing with all our might.

And we need to fight.

We need to fight not only for ourselves, but for our sister who struggles with who she was created to be and for our church who has been lulled to indifference.

And as we fight, we must remember always, "we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places" (Ephesians 6:12).

People are not our enemy. Not even those who disagree with us or accuse us with the voices of darkness. We battle not with verbal attacks or empassioned diatribes, but on our knees, "with the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God" (Ephesians 6:17). And we fight as though this is a life or death battle, not for our own lives, but for those of our sisters and brothers, as well as those who are not yet protected by the shield of faith or the helmet of salvation.

Let him hear your battle cry. And let him be the one to cower in fear.