where waves grow sweet

I got clobbered on Friday. It’s hard to say exactly what happened, but I got knocked completely off balance. It was like someone else was walking around in my body, behaving like themselves and not me. Nothing felt right or came out right. It was like the scene in the movie, Bewitched, when Nicole Kidman kept messing with Will Farrell’s lines, causing him to say things like “Where art thou dog? You will lick my face and I shall lick your snout.” Really, these are the sorts of things I said. My boss later questioned one such thing that escaped my mouth at a board meeting…. “What the heck were you thinking??” I don’t know what I was thinking. Because it wasn’t my brain or my mouth operating that day.

But it wasn’t just about feeling or acting strangely. Doubt about my whole identity washed over me. My view of myself tanked and all I could see was an ugly wrinkly worthless thing. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve been hit with this kind of thinking. It unnerved me.

I find it interesting that I made some strong declarations the night before about taking down the kingdom of addiction. It was in the context of conversation and prayer for someone who has had a lifelong struggle in this area. This rouses in me an anger so ferocious that I want to annihilate something. Not, of course, the people wrestling with addiction for whom I have great compassion, but the forces going on behind the scenes. Frankly, I think the enemy is threatened. Not by me and my broken self. But by the great and mighty God living in me who is getting ready to do some business.

Quite a few years ago I was part of a church program that dealt with sexual brokenness and a myriad of other issues. As one of the leaders, I had the opportunity to teach a couple of the classes. Everything went well with each class – until I taught on addiction. Immediately following that session, I experienced some of the greatest doubt and oppression I have ever experienced. I felt turned inside out, anguished, and bullied. It was as if I had shoved a stick into a nest full of angry wasps who weren’t too keen on the invasion and were tormenting me enough to prevent a reoccurrence. I went into the back office and cried like a baby.

It makes me think of that dream I wrote about a little while ago. The one when I had a mighty weapon to use, but chose instead to bow to satan’s intimidation. I’m still feeling sensitive and wobbly and can see how easy it would be to back off, soften my words, or cease the fervent prayers for this person – or others – in the struggle against addiction. But I’m not gonna do it. I reiterate my intent to take up my crossbow and do some serious damage. I’m going to see people set free. Period.

The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. 2 Corinthians 10:4