this morning i woke up early - well, late for me, but still hours before anyone else in the house. i was tempted to sin, but i had put on my breastplate before leaving the bedroom, so that blade was quickly turned. when i was younger, the mere existence of temptation would have made me doubt whether i was truly redeemed -- because i used to expect that who i will be after the end of things, when He has reconciled all things, is who i should be right this second. but now i sleep with my helmet on. i don't take it off. no bother.
i started to make coffee, though the cats had not been fed, and i hadn't seen to hugging them good morning yet, but was taking care of my own flesh first. stubbed my toe. ((good thing for that helmet now!)) -- so i put on the shoes, and saw to them while the coffee brewed. one of them likes to sit in the garage with me in the mornings - he is 'the cat whom post loved' i guess lol - so i took him with me and started practicing with my sword.
i did this because of the shield which was now strapped around my back. i have faith that i need this sword, and i need to be well-trained with it -- so i started going through basic stances and forms with it as i slipped the girdle around my waist.
i continued to train, and i did some light sparring.
later it was almost time to leave - there is a small group of elders in the church who have a 'mens breakfast' a few times a month, where we pray together and train further with our swords, and discuss how to take care of our armor. soldier-type stuff. making sure the shoes were snug, i checked the house. everyone is still sleeping, except some cats. saw to them. this is also swordwork: "a righteous man cares for his beasts" is part of the engraving on the blade.
drove to the church building. on the way there, a bird flew across the path, and i thought i had killed it. a flaming arrow in my shield - what are you, buddhist? you are driving too fast! death follows you, because you are condemned for your failrues, even though you escape them with your actions, your flesh still harbors them, and the universe knows. why do you have this car anyway? idolater! -- but the shield is thick, and the flames extinguish. i ray for the bird, but i'm afraid to check. i keep driving. every time i stop, i think about it, but i keep going until i get to the church lot, afraid to discover that i have actually killed something. that's a rock in my shoe.
so i get there, and i get out and check the grill. the scoop. no bird! i thank God, and pull the charred remains of the arrow from the shield. a brother from his chariot hails me - "another Bambi?" he jokes. "no - a bird" i call, and tell him after checking that it's OK. we both thank God. i go in -- he's talking to some civilians that he serves.
the pastor greets me at the door - "good morning, rock star"
((what does that mean?)) i didn't even notice it, but later i see that a thrown knife, cheaply made, has glanced off my breastplate. it was aimed at my vanity. but this is a thing long dead, that i hate.
we make merry, and there is a long-lost kin here today. we look at each other's reflections in the shields hung by the coffee bar while we talk. we have the same Father - shared memories; similar childhoods. raised in some of the same realms. the same heraldry emblazons our arms, and we are fast friends, in brotherly affection.
we eat, and then feed on the bread of life. we take up our arms, and practice. each man wears his shoes, and is courteous, quick to forgive. each man is gird tightly, and if any come loose, another quickly tightens his kit for him. it is hard, in armor, to see to your own securing; so brothers are invaluable - we are not wealthy men now, who could afford squires. but there are times when angels have seen to us all, to do what we could not, for the bulk of our gear - in battle, when we are called to the service of the King.
each man wears his helmet securely, and there is no danger in our sparring. some are skilled with the shield, and some with the sword, and we teach each other techniques, and we learn of each other: sharpening like iron. oddly, no sparks fly! haha.
i taught at a large group on wednesday. while we are training, one of the others remarks on how well i did. another agrees. i protest - that old dagger wound, under my breastplate, complains. a third says the same: the pastor. ((there it is again, the "rockstar" comment)) it hurts, like it has happened all over again in my mind.
"i don't need any help being puffed up" i say. "it isn't me, but the Lord"
the blade twists away from my heart on the hard platemail. shatters. there's a mark, but it's not a scratch - just a spot where some grime has been rubbed off.
their shields flash - and someone takes a bundle of arrows and shakes it, scattering light - a sign of triumph; coup has been counted on an enemy.
it is good; we train now in more earnest.
one man, who is leading the sword training today, remarks how he had been in the fray for many seasons, and in the heat of it, only last week realized that he had at some point lost a gauntlet, and discovered that his had had several deep wounds in it. infected. there are tears in his eyes. some men look down; i think they aren't wearing gauntlets either - out of the corner of my eye i might have caught someone scratching at their forearm absently.. ? but my gaze is fixed on that man with the tear on his cheek. not his wound - his eyes, under the helmet, that even now he wears. i see dents in it. streaks of odd colors, bright spots and scratches. those are signs of victory.
he maneuvers his shield to the other arm, covering it, and goes on telling us about the riposte and stance of Jacob.
later, after training, we pray together. i pray for all of them, for the wound i saw, that they all might be protected. not just for them, but for every brother and sister. i have been to the infirmary and seen how common this is.
after we have prayed the group breaks up into pairs and starts to disperse. i find the man with the wound - the one who discovered it, and did not hide it from us, but then didn't want to see to it. out of my girdle i bring a bandage and a salve. i show him some things engraved on the hilt of my weapon, that speak about the construction of gauntlets. i tell him that i have visited the infirmary at the battle lines, and how i have wept over so many with similar wounds. it is endemic, a cut from a poison scimitar, and the stench of the putrification of it drives brothers apart. but the salve will cure this. all a soldier needs to do is understand and admit that they have been cut, and it is easily healed -- although, if you go out again without the gauntlets, and you drop the guard of your blade in that certain way again, you will likely receive again the same wound.
we will teach others these techniques, so that the whole force may be strengthened. ignorance and lack of discipline can destroy even the best equipped.
i drive home. i look for the bird, in the place where i thought i hit it, but there is a turtle! a living one! and no bird. i take the rock out of my shoe, scoop up the little life, and praise God again -- i take her home, just a few miles away now, to show my wife & son, who is waking up by now. my shield gleams as i tell her what had happened. my wife says, "you thought you would find death, but you found life! praise God!"
we share some time with the little animal, then let her go behind the house, in some dark woods. the place where i found her was open land, in the middle of houses where many dogs run free, who kill for no reason. and a road where many people drive too fast, and don't care for the life of other creatures. that is, they are shoeless, bare chested.
these are the first 5 hours of my day today, in my armor.
only when thinking back on it later, do i realize that i had been walking through a veritable storm of darts, arrows, thrown knives, and footmen thrusting at me with spears, javelins, knives and short-arms.
angels struggles all around me with the heavier foes, and the armor is strong, and with few openings, well hidden by a proper gait and stance, and a defensive position of sword and shield, which by itself can cut off as much as 75% of attack planes. they are weak opponents, and weak weapons ((though poison if one goes out unshod)) -- and most splinter or turn aside without me even noticing. like a stone golem, oblivious to the wooden clubs, soft, bronze daggers and brittle flint arrows of short-bows bouncing off of him and shattering.
it's only in the replay i see this. then, i look like a different man to myself - almost unrecognizable. determined. focused. looking straight ahead, neither to the left nor to the right. and why not? it is not me that lives in there -- it is Christ. i walk the way the dead walk, raised again as if a lich, inhabited by a spirit who laughs at death. oblivious. strong. purposeful. unrelenting.
because i know that i can trust fully in this aegis. that the foe is powerless.
that's the way it looks, anyway - in some parts, when i watch the film. in other parts, i'm cowering, waving away a dagger that doesn't even exist, clutching at a scar, afraid of .. of what? that a dead man will die again? there is no way that brittle blade will actually penetrate that shield. it is not possible for it to pierce that mailshirt. i look stupid now, to myself, in the vid, but in that moment, it was so real.
i suppose it's like this for everyone.
but that's the reason we watch the replays. it teaches us more than one thing: to be confident, and joyful -- and also to be humble, and meek. because under all that armor, we are still weak men, and without that armor, nothing.
so i sleep with the helmet on. always.
