Monday, December 28, 2015

What gets a prayer warrior out of bed...


 “It’s time.”

Burt heard, but didn’t open his eyes. He just listened, to be sure.

“It’s time.”

This time he opened his eyes and pulled in a deep breath.

His wife shifted her head from his shoulder to her pillow. She knew the drill.

He watched her breathe. He felt the warmth of her hand on his chest and closed his eyes.  Just a little longer.

His ears started ringing again. He figured it was from too many years in the factory without wearing ear plugs. But it sounded just like the vibrating ring of a sword, being knocked from a warrior’s hand—at least the way it sounded in the movies. And then the dream returned all at once in a flash.

He lifted her hand from his chest, slid to the side of the bed and sat on the edge.

Mighty warrior? It’s just a dream. I can’t even help my own kids, let alone…forget it. 

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. How’d his life get so messed up? Even worse…so ordinary?

What happened to all the big plans?

Four kids from his first marriage and two through his third. The middle marriage was still kind of a blur. He entered it to try and kill the pain of the first. It didn’t work.  

His life was spent in stages. The first half he set out to be…well, to be a mighty warrior for God. He had big dreams of going into the highways and bi-ways and changing the world for Jesus. But, something happened. About the time he was getting settled in as a dad, a husband, a provider and moving toward his calling. It all came undone.

No sense going back to rehash. He’d done that a thousand times. Cried a million tears, too. But, what was done was done.

The worst of it was the pain it’d caused the kids. They went from a Godly Christian home and a loving church family to being raised by an angry single mom and a wounded, weary, every-other-weekend dad. The kids were the casualties of this war.   

Burt spent the second half of his life playing it safe. He got a job in a glass factory making bottles. He let his world changing dreams die. And other than taking one more chance on love after a decade of mourning, he pretty much lived the description of ordinary.

The only thing he had to show for it all was an ordinary house just outside, Ordinary Oklahoma. He had a pretty decent assortment of homemade fly fishing jigs—but they were nothing special, just plumb ordinary, too. He figured they could’ve named the town after him. 

That’s how he lived. That’s how he retired and that’s how planned to die. Ordinary. It rubbed him the wrong way if he thought about it too much, but for the most part, he’d surrendered to it. His youthful dreams were just that—dreams. He was never meant to do anything great, when he had tried all it did was put him in a spiritual battle that cost him his wife and precious time with his children. He’d not make that mistake again. No, he was ordinary—and that’s how he’d stay.

Except for one thing, but truth be told, he thought, The Voice, was ordinary, too.

He knew The Voice that woke him in the night or arrested him by day was God. But doesn’t that happen to everyone? Just like back in the Garden of Eden, when God walked with Adam and Eve, in the cool of the day just to chat. God doesn’t change. He still likes to do that today. Everybody knows that—it’s just normal, right?

“It’s time.” 

It’s the same thing every night and nothing changes. What difference does it make? Go back to bed. 

The words that never failed to push him off the bed echoed in the silence of the night.

“It’s not about you.”

His knees cracked as he stood and his ankles did as he shuffled toward the door.




 Let me know if you’d like a signed and prayed over copy for you or a friend.


Battles are won or lost in the midnight hour
 By those who dare to wear
The Mantle of

The Silent Knight

The question is...

Will you be one of them?



Prayerfully yours,

Doug,



Thank you for sharing:

1 comment:

Paul Schweim said...

Hi Doug, yes, I'd like a signed copy of your book!