I want to write about how I've finally finished decorating our master bedroom.
I'd like to share the color I chose to give the room a bit more......character.
And I'd like to post a picture of my chair that now actually has a covered seat cushion, and not a big hunk of foam.
But I can't.
There are days that no matter how hard I try to think about something different, I cannot.
The days that I remember that we are at war.
And, no, I don't mean the fighting exploding all over the Middle East, the hatred pulsing in the Midwest, or the monster of Ebola that swallows up families in vicious gulps.
I mean the war I was called to fight here.....
right where I live....
Sunday morning starts early,
much earlier than I desire to be awake.
The wind is still, the cars and trucks on the main road are not yet honking and screeching there way into town, the dawn is still graying.
My dim mind struggles to find the source of the sound that has called me out of slumber, not sweetly, but harshly, jarringly.
It is drums.
They are a common sound here, one I've learned to lived with many days of my life.
But these drums, *these* are the hardest ones for me.
Someone's soul now living somewhere for eternity.
They continue as I drag myself out of my bed and into the day.
Now babes are stirring, and roosters are crowing, and clock is ticking, and I have just a few minutes to prepare my mind for the war I am in.......
and the drums beat on.
They sound like war drums to me......
the war for souls.
A dear friend's niece has been staying with her for the last month, and I've been sharing the gospel with her.
a religious person.
As I've shared with her God's freeing plan of redemption, I've seen the understanding slowly begin to glow in her eyes.
She hears the stories of Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, Abraham and Isaac, the Passover Lamb, the Ten Commandments, and the Brasen Serpent.
As I tell them, the battle begins.
I can see the fear, sense the conviction, feel the push and pull in her soul.
Is what I'm telling her true?
Dare she believe it?
Can she really throw down her self-honed weapons of good works and twisted half-truths and surrender
or should she run away?
This is supposed to be my last day to meet with her.
My heart is heavy, my spirit troubled.
What if she doesn't come?
What if she flees from Truth?
When we arrive at our place of worship, the drums are pounding again.
The four "churches" within a few hundred yards of us are all beating out their calls.
They call it worship.
Worship it may be, but they do not worship the One we are gathering to praise and glorify.
Their drums are a cry to all those who want to dance until they are too tired to think of their troubles, and then sing them to sleep with visions of wealth and the destruction of their enemies.
These are war drums.
The war against the soul.
I wait impatiently for her to arrive.
They are late.
The drums are incessant now: drilling into my thoughts, driving me to worry.
It is a constant fight to control my mind.
My friend steps around the corner......
but her niece does not.
"She said she had a headache......"
And at that moment, the beating stops.
The drums are quiet.
I've feel like Life has lost.
*The battle for souls never stops. I have one last chance to meet with N on Thursday. Would you please join us in prayer for her soul?