{the solider in white}

I love God's little signs for me.

 Not putting words into His mouth, but it's like He's saying,

"I feel you, dawg."

 It's that place of ugly & uncertain we all battle from time to time.

I'm there.

 Squatting down with my M-16 and monochromatic army green fatigues loaded and ready to pop a round off at the devil masqued in the full-on form of insecurity and second guessing.

Only this battle is more gruesome than the last.  

It's more intense; it's more painful.

 The slithery serpent twists his powerful molted body around mine only to suffocate me in a truer sense.

 Real & heavy.

 Compacted with pressure, I continue on.  But, my gun is so heavy to carry.  Not to mention, the green monochromatic look only depresses me more.  I sink inside myself only to dig a deeper trench for protection.

God says,

"I'm here."

 I look around.  

"Yeah, I know you are."

 I murmur.  But, my mind is more intent on grieving the sickness I am saturated in.  

The sickness of self doubt.

 With all of my gut, I dig my heels deep into the dark dirt as if my firm stance will intimidate the enemy to flee from my being.  He squeezes tighter.  

Around my chest.  In my diaphragm.  Slithering around to the core of my back.

I stretch and breath quick short breaths in panic to keep my life sustained.

Satan takes hold of just whoever he can.

 His military background is highly decorated and precisely keen in tactic.  

He cares not of what you have or what you don't.  Of your social status.  Your income.  Your church affiliation.  Your gender or your genes. He seeks you.

 Knows just when to strike.  And, above all, knows your battle plan too.

"I feel you, dawg.  I'm here."

Consumed by the heartache and sickly shallow breaths, my muscles are tautly tense with an index finger steady on the trigger.  Tears streamline violently down my face as I squint through my scope to find my target of me.  

Of me.

 My battleground is creeping; closer & confined my boundaries are becoming more realized.  Unclear and clouded, I internally scream for no more.  

Not one more single second.

 I pick up rocks to throw and sling half handfuls of dry clay at my insides in a desperate attempt to make it all go away.

He cares not of your blessings or your barren.  

He takes hold of whoever he can.

The trigger's tug is intense in my hand.  I anticipate the kickback of the pain intended for defense's sake.  I pull and release.  Knowing all too well, the damage has already been done.  

Nothing.

 Not a single bullet sends out my rage.

 My gun is not loaded.

"I feel you, dawg.  I'm here.  I'm right beside you. I'm wearing white."

And, just like that, His gun dismisses umpteen million rounds.  

They're grace loaded and full of certainty.

 Not a single miss.  Plowed down is my anguish and my doubt.  Dead in the water, my inadequacies perish.  Toppled one atop the other on a bloody battleground of me.

Of me.

Right beside me wearing white.

My prayers unload the remaining rounds for His glory.  In a mucky mess of battle, I cry obtuse tears of freedom for the plans He has for me.

For me.

 And, my gun drops as my heart spills out all of me.

"I feel you, dawg"

He repeats over and again.  

"I'm here."

With rich conviction, I feel my pain ease.  Physically, it releases.  A husband, off to the far right, in the same army green fatigues I wear, holds me all through the night and again the next day.  His gun is empty as well.  But, he helps to refill the rounds of the soldier in white beside us.  As do best friends decked in that same monochromatic attire with words and reminders.

He cares not of your blessings or your barren.

He takes hold of whoever he can.

I'm thankful for an empty gun and a troop of army green fatigues beside me.  For the highly skilled marksman known as the soldier in white who has me.  And, for the beautiful power

He

has in triumphing over evil with just the same exact mindset.  

He cares not of what you have or what you don't.  Of your social status.  Your income.  Your church affiliation.  Your gender or your genes.

He seeks you.   

For goodness and for gain and for growth.

For life eternal.

I love God's little signs for me.

I feel you too, dawg.

 And I am so thankful that I can.

With all my love & gratitude,

Meghan Alicia