“Did you put on the full armor of God?”
Dumbfounded I shook my head side to side.
“The devil hates those who go to places to expose the injustices done to women and children. He will attack!”
This firm truth from one of my pastors brought me mixed feelings of both fear and empowerment. “I must be moving where the devil doesn’t want me to go,” I thought. “Even though I’m entering into what he believes is his territory, and he is furious with fear, I’m right where I should be.”
I wasn’t aware of this epiphany, this light of truth, when I accepted an assignment to interview Susy McNally who, along with her husband, began Esperanza Viva, an orphanage in Mexico for street children. I went with the purpose of submerging myself in their world—to hear the stories of the children—to play with them, laugh with them, hold their hands, and see their hearts. I had no idea about the stories I would be stepping into and what dark realities I would face as I looked out my plane window at the eclectic, beautiful quiltwork of fields below, or as I rode down the bumpy gravel roads at dusk through the gates of the orphanage. I stepped out of the truck and into a colorful festival. Children’s laughter filled the community center as they played games and danced and ate in celebration of Mexican Independence Day.
I can be picked up and plunked down in most situations feeling fairly comfortable, even in places where I don’t speak the language. God, at this time, plunked me down in an orphanage in Mexico amongst joyful, sweet, beautiful children filled with life. But even with a translator by my side, it was as if a clouded thick pane of glass surrounded me, numbing my insides. I entertained numerous reasons for feeling this way day after day, but none resolved this feeling. I felt trapped and I so badly wanted to break free and head back home.
“What is wrong with me, Father?” I’d cry out in my empty dorm room. “Help me be here. Right here!” Resolved to change what I was feeling, I stepped back out my door. In the distance, a volcano was throwing clouds of smoke while a few yards from me children were running and playing. The little children and I would play games of duck-duck-goose and the boys and I would run until we’d fall down after an exhausting game of capture the flag. Older girls would share heart-wrenching stories of their lives before coming here. Their stories seemed to be the only thing able to penetrate this barrier surrounding me. In order to survive, some of these very young children sold themselves to men on the street, leaving them with a catastrophic distortion of love, as men kept them in their beds. They’d been sold for sex by “loved” ones. Some had lived with their incarcerated parents in jail, others were turned away from orphanages because “there’s no hope for street kids.” The lucky ones made it to this orphanage. Some of the unlucky remained on the streets, or were sold as indentured servants to the wealthy, while others were lured off the streets and sold for their organs.
How can we walk into the darkness or hell of this world? How do we look into children’s eyes and see their innocence robbed from them? What do we do with this knowledge? These questions filled my prayers every evening after a day of play and stories. However, my prayers alone seemed unable to break down this barrier that stood between me and their world. I turned to the internet, sending an email to one friend; she forwarded my message to the women we knew. They battled with me and that Sunday, standing in worship in Mexico, the clouded thick glass began to clear and disappear. Upon leaving, I caught a man’s eyes. I could see again! I could see this man’s light. I could see the children when we sat down my final night at the bonfire. I could see… for a brief moment. But I had still not written their story. Soon the enemy returned and clung to me. The effects of his attacks intensified as the weeks passed by muting all the colorful light that is me.
His return was not instantly obvious. At first, I didn’t understand my distracted mind, my lack of emotion for others, my isolation, my anger, and I surely didn’t understand why, when prayed for by others or in an attempt to bring me peace, I felt actual pain and began to tremble.
With the awareness of the return of this spiritual attack, I demanded the enemy to leave me, my home, and my children (my normally cheerful eight-year old suddenly had thoughts of her death) alone. I was becoming exhausted. And I was getting little accomplished because of the battle raging within me from all sides. Out of desperation and a sense of my own failure and apparent lack of faith, I arrived at the front desk of my church. “I have a spiritual attack going on and it’s been a month. Can someone help me?”
My pastor led me to Ephesians 6 that outlines God’s Armor. It was there I began to see the truth—the missing piece—and what I needed to do. Before the armor is described in this passage Paul says, “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms” (Eph. 6:12). Our enemy is not only evil but also invisible. He knows our weaknesses well and is the master at deceiving us with his lies (John 8:44). He is of this world, but as believers our hope is not of this world. “If you belong to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world. This is why the world hates you” (John 15:19). Spiritual battles often occur when we move away from the ways of this world, call out the enemy, exposing his darkness and move towards Christ and His ways. The battle is taking place all around us, so we need to be prepared. Paul describes in detail one of the ways to protect ourselves as he describes the Armor of God.
For those of us who are called to walk into the darkness—into the hell to expose the injustices of this world—we need to be prepared. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t. To do that, we need a group of people committed to praying over us before we step into the battle. Before we even take one step forward, we need to clothe ourselves with God’s Armor, His provision for battles like these. I turned to God’s Word and the picture became clear: a vision of a woman beautifully dressed for battle—a portrait of me, a portrait of us.
Around our lovely waists, we place the belt of God’s truth to fight all the enemy’s lies which he attempts to pour into us. The lies which say, “You don’t belong here.” “You’re only one person; there’s nothing you can do.” “Look at all the times you’ve failed.” His lies may be related to the battle we’re fighting or completely unrelated, but it’s all done in an attempt to cause us to retreat from where we’re going.
Over the top of our vulnerable hearts for the hurting and lost, we place the breast plate of righteousness to shield us from any tolerance to sin. In it we know what is right in the eyes of God. We place it there to protect us from any persuasive thoughts taking place in our minds, thoughts which may cause us to justify what we’ve experienced, yet we know in our hearts to be wrong.
On our feet, which carry us across the street or around the world, we put on the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. Armed with the knowledge of the gospel, peace washes over us. No matter how terrifying the circumstances may be, when we have our feet firmly planted in God’s truth, we can be ready for any of the enemy’s attacks, because we know God is in control—and with an inner peace we stand!
It’s not uncommon especially if we go into enemy territory—walking into paths of darkness—for terror to overtake us. It’s then with a firm grip of our delicate hands, that we place the shield of faith. The shield makes it possible for us to persevere through the suffering our eyes witness, knowing through faith, that our eyes cannot see all that our Father can. Faith allows us to continue to press forward into the dark places.
To protect our beautiful minds from the doubts we may encounter, we place the helmet of salvation. The knowledge that victory has already been accomplished allows us to believe what seems impossible when facing battlegrounds we walk into. Recall Jesus’ words: “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).
And finally, we grasp the glorious jeweled sword fit for a princess of God. The Sword of the Spirit gives us the presence of God; a presence that when seen by others, can pierce their hearts, letting God enter into the places the enemy has hardened.
Had I remained unaware of this glorious armor described in Ephesians, I would have crumbled in defeat. In my quest to go into the world and expose the darkness, I would have retreated with a sense of failure overtaking me. But God’s Word remains faithful to us. It provides us with exactly what we need in order to go where He leads us. This armor, this battle to be fought, is not just for the strongest of men. We women are lovely in His eyes. We are strong when He calls us to places of the heart and He has the most beautiful armor to adorn us with. How magnificent is this gift He gives us that radiates peace, strength, and assurance. With it we are God’s lovely warriors!
~ By Rebecca Hansen
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