I am, by nature, a scrappy person. You wouldn’t know it, off handedly. I hate confrontation. I’m very timid. I don’t want to create drama. But there is something in me that chooses to fight. In spite of my small stature, I’ve on more than one occasion had my fist drawn, stood between a bully and the victim, or jumped in, when I probably had no business to, to defend someone. I’ve always had this sense of responsibility to.
I’ve mellowed out as I’ve gotten older, but there are mornings where I wake up ready to swing punches at the world…at the things that I cannot see. I find myself weary of the fight. Discouraged at the battles I am still fighting. Wondering where God is at. Afraid that if I let go, I’ll lose.
Sometimes, our fight isn’t so much about what we are doing, but what we are allowing God to do in and for us. Sometimes, the fight isn’t swinging punches or proving ourselves tougher than the Adversary, but to remain in persistence of running to our Good Father to defend us, protect us, and have the victory. It wasn’t meant to be carried on our shoulders, but to be surrendered to His.
He promises us in the book of Isaiah that those who place their hope in the Lord will soar with the wings of eagles. So which will you choose, fight or flight?