Wounded....

"He was despised and rejected by people. He was a man of sorrows, familiar with suffering. He was despised like one from whom people turn their faces, and we didn't consider him to be worth anything." Isaiah 53:3 (GWT)

Wednesday was a day of sorrows for me; the eviction court date, watching my son struggle with other kids for a fair shake, the continued disobedience and rebellion from my young daughter, and the ultimate stab; Wright's gospel of health............

There are days when swinging the sword of righteousness is as easy as slicing the air with a steak knife. There are those days when it is a bit harder to stand in a Spartan phalanx and dedicate yourself to your job of using the shield to protect your brothers. And there are still other days when the enemy you stand against delivers vicous and deep-cutting strikes, leaving you bloodied and bleeding profusely from the wounds.

Wednesday was a day of losing, hammered by blows that connected all over my body from an enemy that is familiar and 'loving', a 'brother Christian'.

I remarked to my dear friend, "I am at my breaking point" last night at dinner. I feel like I have fallen to one knee, sword point quivering with fatigue and shield broken, cracked and barely dangling on my arm, head bent down from the weight of a helmet much too heavy to carry upright anymore. The laughter of the enemy reverberates in my ears.

I feel defeated.

Where are the brethren who are called to fight alongside?

Some have dropped their swords, cast away their shields, and stalked away from the battlefront. They go a few steps and are swallowed into the darkness that surrounds the soldiers of Light. I don't know if I'll see them again.

Others stand back, as if watching a spectator sport...offering encouragement through shouts that barely register on my ears already filled with the sounds of battle; clashing steel, banging shield, and the sharp thuds of connection with spiritual flesh. Their words fall useless upon the littered ground, temporary bandages to mortal wounds. Except those who would decide that they are better warriors than I, and therefore more capable of calling out judgments and 'teaching techniques' on my skills. Those hurt the most, almost as bad as an enemy wound.

These two groups of warriors, the ones who have faded into the darkness that they once fought against and the ones who seem oblivious to the darkness gathered around them, they cause me to 'distrust' to a degree those brothers still with swords raised, shields at the ready, because both groups used to be as they were, "brothers in arms" standing against a common enemy.

Wright's spewing of 'doctrine' has pierced my side and left me wounded and bleeding. And for the first time in four years, I despair.....for the warriors in the Army of God are being led astray, being deceived, for a few grains of rice mixed in with the putrid taste of maggoty stew. There are enough morsels of 'good food' to nourish a solider for a moment, and by the time they hit the putrid decay, it is already too late. They are consumed by the quarter-slot Commander; demanding their due as soldiers from the storehouses of the King.

Now, not only is it a demon-infestation, that is clouding my mind that controls all function in the body....regardless of the fact that it is the heart that is the life-giving, and maintenance system that delivers whatever the mind dumps into the body AND something the mind itself relies upon for life. No, not only that, but it is my birth that has made me a target of the enemy and his servants. I was born out of wedlock. And, coupled with such a bastardly birth, it is the fact that I was undesired and a middle child that has caused further attraction from those forces that would oppose my King and my God. Oh yes, being an 'unplanned pregnancy' also adds another 'door point' for those forces to 'enter' in. Regardless the fact the Holy Spirit indwells within me.

No longer do I only have to contend with the Adamic sin, but I have to deal with the sins passed upon me by my father, mother, uncles, aunts, and others in my family tree. Sins from learned behavior from poorly modeled portrayals in my life have suddenly become spirit-infesting sins inherited through biology and mythical machinations.

These are door points in my life, entries that allow the demonic to pepper my body with influences and sickness. These are inherited, alleged 'sins of my father', that I only have to say a formulaic prayer, confess, and repent for all the wrong doing in my family past. New Age mysticism wrapped up in poorly translated scriptural meaning.

And it is closely enough to some biblical truths and has parallel paths to necessary waypoints in a Christian's journey that it is not that worrisome, not that 'bad', because there is some 'truth' wrapped up in the garbage. Instead of eating at the table set by our King, we want to eat the scrapes tossed in the pile to rot so to provide nourishment to seedling plants.

Of course, it is set up so that any 'objection' I can bring to bear is easily dismissed. After all, I am sensitive, feel unloved and unwanted in wounds from my past, have a difficult time receiving praise and compliments from others, get offended when gospel is misprofessed, and so on. Oh yes, I am also 'spiritual'.
Yet, this doctrine is supposed to prove with volumes and volumes of data and research that God wants us to NEVER be sick, healing is just a path to that declaration. And all I can see it doing is wounding the brethren more and more until such time as there won't be a group of true Christians gathered together to worship God, give glory to the Son, and listen to instruction through the Holy Spirit.

But it is the prophecy in Isaiah that brings me back to my feet, that cause me wearily to raise my shield tight against my body, and my feet to step slowly forward, a guttural moan escaping my lips as I start pressing the enemy back.
Christ faced so much worse than I ever will. He knew one was to betray Him, another to deny Him, and many to crucify Him upon a cross of wooden sorrow and metallic pain. He knew the hearts of the Twelve who walked with Him, despairing and rejoicing with them during His ministry, and even getting upset with them from time to time. Yet, after a night of sweating blood through His very pores, and a time of severe beating and torture, He dragged that cross to the hill where He knew they were going to put Him to death.

I will be glad when this teaching is over and I hope that I will find separation being taken place before it is retaught, as promised. I just want to find a biblically-based church to fellowship with.

Even if I have to build my own...........one person at a time.

Fight the GOOD fight, not a hopeless one. Keep your eyes upon the One who sits at the Right Hand of the Father, and the words His Father spoke through the generations.

Draw your line in the sand and declare that none will cross.

Hold yourself accountable through the Father, not some smooth-talking 'preacher'.

Stand firm!

I have ten days before the current crisis explodes in my face, but I will continue to struggle, fight, and declare my God until that final blow comes.

Your prayers, as always, are welcomed, desired, and cherished.