Give the Devil a Black Eye

Give the Devil a Black Eye

Lately I wake up like a potato, wrapped up in a thick swaddle of limbs that fill with fluid and exhaustion. The demons trying to hitch their ratchet straps to my pathetic body, hitch their trailers of sickness and sorrows and fears and shame to me. So far they’ve only managed to get my body, but we anoint with oil everyday and pray in Jesus’ name.

When I came back all of Heaven said, “YES LIZZIE’s BACK!” “WE GOT LIZZIE ON OUR SIDE!” 

And Satan, that puffed up dufus shudders. 

He can saddle me, so far, with severe and tentacle like Lupus Sle, where my body betrays me– my brain is swollen and half of my body is numb and tingling and sometimes this once so-called brilliant scholar can’t finish sentences or have finished thoughts to keep conversation with a toddler. 600mg of caffeine barely puts a dent to make my thoughts swifter. 

But listen here satan,

The best defense is fanatastic offense. So I wake up and my knee is swollen, and my hair falls out in patches, and I think “oh he’s going to regret the day he picked a fight with me.” 

The shower is my home court, as I pull out long wefts of long rust colored hair, I praise God as I make a shower painting– plastering it against the wall. Later, I am on my knees praying in Jesus name, His joy is my strength.

The bed I have a hard time getting out of isn’t the straightjacket it used to be, that Satan wants it to be. Because even though I, like Biblical Sampson– potentially the most foolish, prideful, and prone to fleshly idiocies– as he chains me to the pillars of a pagan temple, God will give me the strength to tear it down, down on all of us if need be. I’m going to give the devil a black eye, one way or another 

Our marriage is one of oil and water. I’m an unruly broad, full of passions and tenacity– as cute as an english badger but twice as fierce. So many times it looked like we’d be done in by our inherent oppositions, but Satan– you can’t have my marriage. So we turn the ferocity into spiritual warfare and I remember to stomp on that serpent’s head every time it rears up, slithering at me to bite with my words. I love the scandal of our God, how He puts the most unlikely and wretched together, sewn together forced to love each other until our differences become a harmony that hell can’t comprehend. 

Hell never could comprehend where God is moving because He moves all unpredictable and crazy-like– in rushes and whispers, His music is so creative and delightful and surprising– Satan tries to trace with his finger the battle plans of God and it’s too whimsical for him to follow. 

The language of heaven is one that is constantly causing hell to scratch its head.

Satan thought he had a victory in bringing my family down, my son being born paralyzed the waist down, my Lupus causing me to be in constant pain and confusion– 

What he didn’t figure was that we are happy as larks sitting on the couch memorizing scripture, teaching my three year old the doxology or learning the fundamentals of Christian theology. 

Hell is going to regret the day it came after this family.

Every blow he hands me, God turns it against him in a hilarious and joyful double-force punch.

So yeah, I’ll give the devil a black eye with my writing. 

He thinks I can’t communicate much better than a potato clock can crudely tell time, 

I will show Him who my God is, He writes with me just like His spirit prays on my behalf in groanings that can’t be uttered when there is too much heartache for words.

Maybe all this illness is what it needs to crack my pride and self-sufficiency. When things start to close in around me, I remember to look at my back fender to see what demonic agreement satan is trying to ratchet strap to my beater of a car. Oh, you want me to feel helpless Satan? Let me show you how powerful my God is. Should I remind you how he defeated you again and again, at calvary and at the red sea and in a stable with a little virgin girl no one wanted to house, how he shames you again and again with shepherd boys and blind beggars and woefully sinful wretched women using a years wages to anoint the feet of our savior? 

You have no power Satan, but go ahead, bite at my heel, I’ll give you another black eye. 

I praise my Savior who works in ridiculous and lovely ways. He will make you regret the day you picked a fight with my family.