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For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing of soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.
HEBREWS 4:12 NIV

Living By the Sword

Sunday morning on the way to church I stopped by my brother’s house to deliver something. Leaving my two small children in the van, I went up to the door for just a moment, then dashed back down the steps to where my van was running. As I slid into my seat, I shivered. Something cold, thin and hard was pressed against my neck. Without moving my head, I strained my eyes downward to see that there was a silver blade poking through the space between the headrest and seat. Someone sinister was holding it to my throat. “I’ve got you now!” He bellowed in a cruel voice.

With a shriek of terror, I turned around to face my attacker. He stared long and hard into my eyes, the blade unflinching, as I begged him to spare my life. With his teeth gnashing, he finally relented. I burst into laughter. My three year old son, Harper, reluctantly pulled his sword back into his car seat scabbard, and away we went down the hill.

You will rarely catch Harper without his sword. It’s the first thing he grabs in the morning (after a sippy cup of milk), and the last thing he relinquishes at night. He carts it everywhere with him, brandished high, as he gallops around on his trusty stick horse. When he’s not the villain, chasing his sister with his sword and delighting in her fearful screams, he becomes a handsome prince, and bravely declares he will protect her from “robbers...crocodiles...pirates...mooses...” whatever the enemy of the moment may be. He challenges us all to fencing matches. As he swings his plastic sword he yells, “Ya! Ya!” and “Get back, you scoundrel!” Or, my personal favorite, a quote from Peter Pan, “Take that, you codfish!” When we pretend to fall down wounded, the dark marauder kisses us back to life. Oh the joy of having a little boy!

It occurs to me as I watch Harper play with his sword that I have a sword of a different kind that means so much to me. I first came to love it as a little girl growing up at home. It is far more powerful, sharper, and of course more beautiful than any toy. I can take it with me wherever I go, by literally carrying a copy, or just by hiding it in my heart. Knowledge of it protects me from enemies of any form—doubt, discouragement, anger, bitterness, jealousy, condemnation, hurt...and I can also use it to speak life into the hearts of those around me.

I am challenged by the fervor of my son for his make-believe sword. I pray that one day he will have the same passion for God’s word. May I reach for my sword, the real sword of the Spirit, each morning, and meditate on it day and night. May it never gather dust in my home or heart. May it shine so brightly in my life that others will want to read it, learn it, and cherish it and carry it always as their guide through life.

—by Gwen Ford Faulkenberry

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