Let’s talk about the devil. And I’m going to do my darndest to not use profanity...
I believe in heaven, and I believe in hell. That being said, some you reading this maybe don’t. In which case, this post might not be for you. Just a heads up.
So, this devil, man. He’s a real character, he is. His work is nasty and devastating. It’s also cunning. What a pain in the “butt.”
In regards to him, I have some strong feelings. And they’re not good ones. I probably hate him more today than I’ve ever hated him before. Probably because I’m learning more and more every day just how much of a little “female dog” he is. He’s desperate and pathetic. But he’s also got some power, finite as it may be. As if those majorly tragic events aren’t enough for him, he has to go for the minor annoyances too. Here’s what I’m talking about…
Depression. It’s not a lost loved one, a terminal illness (although, that could actually be debated), a horrific crime, etc. But it’s annoying. My depression tells me every day that I am alone. No, let’s call it what it is. The DEVIL tells me every day that I am alone. He just uses “depression” to do it. He tells me that I have to suffer alone. Ironically, I know I’m not the only one being fed that lie.
You know what else he uses to tell me that I am alone? Pride. He tries to tell me that I can succeed alone. That I need to be independent and self-sufficient. That all I need to do is put on a facade of “confidence,” look professional, deal with my problems on my own, and viola! Success. Does he tell you the same? I bet he does...That little “poop.” *Head shaking.*
He uses depression to tell me that I am nothing. That I am incapable of great things. That I have no real value. That I have no hope.
He uses my pride to keep me isolated. To make my hope false. To take away my need for others. To keep my attention on well, me...So that the next wave of depression comes crashing down harder than the last.
That son-of-a-”gun” is fighting for my life, gosh darn-it (I hope the sarcasm is thick...these words are stronger in my head!)! He’s fighting to take it away…
But he’s not the only one fighting for my life. He’s in battle with someone far mightier than he. He’s in battle with someone who’s already won. Whose glory, power, and dominion is coming, whether he likes it or not. He’s in battle with someone who isn’t fighting to take away my life. He’s in battle with someone who’s already given me life. The Lord Almighty. Jesus Christ.
At the end of the day, at the end of this life, I have this hope: that because he sacrificed his life and conquered death, I get to run into the redeeming arms of Jesus, refuging in HIS glory and grace. Sorry Satan! You’re not taking this one to the pit with you!
The devil knows that his days are numbered. He will face death. His desperation shows that.
But his opponent will not face death. He already has, and he laughed in its face! The devil’s days are numbered. But mine are not. Because I am in Jesus, and he is in me. Nothing is going to take that away, especially not some weasley, spineless, piece of “poop.”
So, since he’s still going to try to strap himself to my back like a rodeo cowboy at a bronc riding event, I’m going to give him the most regretful damn eight seconds of his life! And regardless of whether he makes it the full eight seconds or not, he’s still going to go rocketing off at the end...And I’m aiming for his man-parts to meet forcefully with the arena railing.
If he’s going to mess with my life, well, I’m going to “buck” with his...
How ‘bout you?