They’re coming for us.
It is uttered from the dark.
I don’t know yet. But they are.
And they won’t rest until they get every last one of us.
And it’s a phrase spoken not in fear, but as fact. I give my husband 15-20 years before he’s jailed for his Gospel proclamations.
Because, for the first time, I see the battle raging on the homefront and the enemy’s tactics increasingly clear, and I see him gaining ground.
I mentally prepare the young troups. Strategies cry out and I feel the desperation of a leader in battle. We must be ready.
I wake this morning and turn on my 2-dimensional trainer.
It’s plyometrics today- “jump training,” Tony calls it.
“You’ll jump higher,” he promises.
“You’ll run faster.”
I believe he even says I’ll “beat the panties” off anyone else.
And my heart and lungs will be stronger than ever.
So I jump.
My knees protest. My thighs, my feet, my mind, my heart- a deafening chorus of protest.
But I jump.
And I pump.
I swivel, pivot, raise, and the fancy plates on the wall join the protestations.
Yet, I jump.
And the burning in my legs and heart and lungs tell me that I am doing the hard things to prepare for the battle.
And I open the Word. And I do the hard things. I train. I jump.
Not so I can be the best jumper. My husband coaches better jumpers than I.
Not so I can be the best Biblical scholar. I’m light-years behind so many.
Because I will face physical battles, and the jumping will ease the blow.
Because the spiritual powers wage their battles as well, and I have a God who is mightier than anyone can imagine. And He is my trainer. And the battle will be waged. And the war will be won.
And that makes all this jumping more than worth it.