On Tuesday night I spoke to a women’s group at church about one of my favorite passages for women: the Armor of God. Whenever I read Ephesians 6:10-20 I like to think of myself as a mighty woman warrior for God! (And not in the dogmatic, “attack people with proof-texted Bible verses” sense, but in the “fighting against the powers of darkness by sharing the love of Christ and setting the captives free” sense!)

Battle imagery is rarely used in relation to Christian women, so whenever I talk about the armor of God I preface the message with this: Before we can put on our armor, we have to climb down from the tower. The tower I’m referring to is the one that holds the helpless damsel captive. As the popular fairy tale goes, the damsel remains trapped while she awaits the rescue of her prince. She is fragile, she is weak, and she needs someone else to save her.

For all intents and purposes, this is what many popular books for Christian women communicate about our identities. We are wounded. We are victims. We are broken. Our lives are a mess. We need someone to rescue us. Cue Wild at Heart.

To be fair, there is an extent to which the above adjectives are true of everyone, both men and women. We all need someone to rescue us, and his name is Jesus. However, those descriptors are only true of our identities prior to salvation. As Christians, none of those categories defines us. We may feel broken and wounded and messy at times, but that is not who we are.

As Christians, who we are is in Christ. Romans 8:37 tells us that “we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.” Ephesians 1:3 tells us that God “has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places.” All that is true of Christ’s identity is true of us.

And Christ was no victim. He was not defeated, and most importantly he is not still on the cross. He overcame, he won, and he rose again.

We have that same strength in us, not of ourselves but from him.

Even so, many Christian women still live in that tower. Their faith is a life support system. And a lot of Christian literature caters to that brand of Christian identity.

Now please don’t hear me saying that healing is unimportant. I cannot stress enough that it is. Books on healing certainly have an important ministry, and it is crucial that we take time to heal and recover from a blow. Grieve and cry and rest. But remember that that wound and that pain does not define you. That weakness is not who you are.

If you’ve been stuck in that proverbial tower and you’re ready to climb down, consider these words from John 8:31-32:

“If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

If truth is what sets us free, then what holds us captive is lies. Lies about who we are and lies about the God we worship all combine to paralyze us. These lies result in insecurity, woundedness, and an inability to FULLY trust God. Satan, after all, is the Father of Lies, so that’s exactly where he wants us.

But ladies, God does not think of us as damsels in a tower. The rescue has already taken place. We are now free, and God did not pluck us from our distress so that we could sit daintily on satin pillows and look pretty. He didn’t even rescue us so that we could get married and have babies and have a beautiful life. Husbands and babies aren’t bad, but there’s a bigger picture at work:

Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. (Eph. 6:10-12)

There is a cosmic battle waging, and you belong on the battlefield, not in a tower.

This question occurred to me today as I listened to a Christmas song about Mary. I don’t know why I’d never thought about Mary having morning sickness, but then again, I’d never given much thought to her pregnancy at all.

Artists rarely depict Mary in her pregnancy, a reality which may explain my lack of thought on the matter. When I visualize Mary she looks a lot like the marble statues and oil paintings that populate so many cathedrals and museums. She is a neat and tidy young woman with porcelain skin, dainty features, and an angelic face. I can see her now, sitting at home with her pregnant belly, perfectly poised while she waits for her baby to arrive. Her hands are folded in her lap as she sits by the fire and gazes up into the night sky, pondering things in her heart.

It is strange that Mary is rarely remembered in her pregnancy, and NEVER in a realistic way.  Artists never portray Mary with stretch marks and a vaguely nauseous expression. But why not? It it too human? Is it too real? Is her actual experience not worthy of contemplation?

If Mary was only 14 years old, pregnancy must have been frightening. I can’t help but wonder what she was thinking as her body changed and she felt tired and sick. God had told her the “good news” of Immanuel, yet her physical circumstances were anything but good. Her out-of-wedlock belly was a scarlet letter of shame, and her body was out of control. As she dealt with morning sickness, heartburn, and fatigue, as she lost control of her body, was she confused? Was she angry? Did she feel as though her body and her health had been hijacked? Did she ever question God’s goodness? Did she ever wonder if He was really in control?

Pregnancy is a deeply intimate experience.  Those nine months constitute an incredibly personal journey for a woman, so it is remarkable to think about them through Mary’s eyes. I can’t help but wonder if she felt less like a married woman anxiously awaiting the birth of her child, and more like a teenager who, today, might wander into a crisis pregnancy center for help.

The story of Mary’s pregnancy is a compelling one. It epitomizes the spirit of Advent, the waiting in darkness with the light of hope ahead. But Mary’s story is also a powerful reminder about the nature of calling. God called Mary to something good, but she did not experience that goodness for quite some time. In fact, she bore the negative consequences on her body in the most personal way. She lost her reputation and sacrificed her body. Throughout her pregnancy, there must have been days when the call seemed anything but good.

Calling is a lot like that. Sometimes God calls us to things that are immediately difficult or even counter-intuitive. Sometimes God calls us to sacrifice our reputations for His glory. And sometimes we might experience obstacles, such as illness or financial hardship, that lead us to wonder if God really called us at all.

Pregnancy is such a powerful analogy for the hardship of calling. A mother sacrifices and labors and gives the most personal parts of herself to bring forth new life. That is what Mary did, and that is, essentially, what many of us do every day. If you find yourself in the morning sickness part of your call, or if those labor pains are becoming unbearable, remember Mary. Her sickness and her fatigue, though difficult, were also symptoms of the growing life inside of her.

Have you ever wondered why Paul, in 2 Corinthians 12, refers to a struggle in his life as a “thorn in his flesh?” Today we take that language for granted because it’s a phrase that people use all the time. But why did Paul coin that phrase? Was there a reason?

This weekend I heard a sermon that sparked my imagination and challenged me to pursue the answer to that question. I know this seems like a really random blog post but stick with me! I think you’ll be amazed by what Scripture has to teach us about this seemingly insignificant thorn.

First, rewind thousands and thousands of years before Paul ever comes on the scene. We begin in the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve have just sinned and the world is now under a curse. Women will now suffer through child-bearing and men will have an unhealthy relationship to work. But notice what else the curse entails: “Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat of it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field.” (Gen. 3:17-18)

In the very first scene of Scripture, thorns appear as a symbol of the curse, and this symbol will continue to crop up (no pun intended!) throughout the rest of Scripture.

Now fast forward to the life of Moses. At this point in history God’s people are in bondage to Egypt. They have suffered for hundreds of years and they desperately need a savior. So what does God do? He speaks to Moses through a burning bush, and instructs Moses to deliver His people.

Now watch this–the word for “bush” in Exodus 3:2 actually refers to a thorny bush. In fact, this particular type of bush still exists today, and it’s known for its perilous thorns. With that in mind, notice that God is speaking from out of this symbol of the curse, telling Moses, “I have heard my people’s cry. I will deliver them.” What a foreshadow of God’s redemption to come!

But it gets better. Fast forward a little more to Moses’ encounter with God on Mt. Sinai. The word “sinai” literally means “thorny” in Hebrew. And on top of this “thorny” mountain is where God imparts His Law to Moses, a Law that makes it even more clear how desperately cursed and in need of salvation we are. Like the burning bush, Mt. Sinai is a picture of God’s intervention amidst our cursed and thorny state. Again, He reminds us, “I am here! I have a plan! Just hold on!”

This thorn bush appears only one more time in Scripture. This time, it’s in the Gospels. Jesus is about to be crucified, he is beaten beyond recognition, and soldiers are gambling for his clothes. In a final act of humiliation, they twist together a crown of thorns and place it on his head. Then he is crucified, and dies.

I can’t help but wonder if Paul had all this in mind in 2 Corinthians. Paul was a man well-versed in Hebrew Scripture. He would have known the history of the thorn bush and how it always appeared at strategic points in Israelite history, reminding God’s people of the curse, as well as His plan to overturn it. He also knew the story of Jesus’ death and resurrection. He must have seen the significance of that crown of thorns atop a crucified Savior.

Which leads me to conclude that Paul’s word choice was intentional in 2 Corinthians 12. He wasn’t simply being poetic. He wasn’t merely creating a helpful word picture. He was making a theological statement. That thorn in his side was a sign of the curse. Until Christ returns we will feel the effects of the curse on all our lives. But like Paul, we can endure that thorn with hope in our hearts, knowing that the thorn was literally crucified with Christ. God has redemptive plans for it. In the same way that God spoke to Moses out of a burning, thorny bush, God has a message of hope and redemption that bursts out of our own struggles.

What is the thorn in your side right now? What have you pleaded with God to take away, and for reasons beyond your understanding He has not removed? I encourage you to cling to the above visual as you battle your own thorns of the flesh. Remember that the very reason Christ had to die was because of that thorn in your side. It rested upon his head as he gasped his final breath.

So view your thorn through the lens of that story, and how that story ended. God hears your cries and He is at work, so rather than let the thorn in your flesh determine how you live, move and breathe, instead rest upon Christ’s victory over it. Then, like Paul, you can proudly boast, “I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

This weekend Duke and UNC face off for the last game of the regular season. If you live in this part of the country it’s a REALLY big deal and I just so happen to have tickets to the game (woot woot!). So in honor of this big weekend, I’m re-posting a blog I wrote a couple years ago about the spiritual insights we can gather from the rivalry. This is my attempt at redeeming the borderline idolatrous devotion we fans have to our team.

And just so you know, I love my friends who are Carolina fans. We just can’t watch the game together!

Yesterday I went to the Duke-Miami football game. It was brutal.

But not because my team lost.

Yes, it was a heart-breaking defeat, but given the fact that we led almost the entire first half, I consider it a moral victory. With a current record of 3-3, the Duke Football program is actually making a startling resurgence after years of losing seasons. I’m actually pretty proud of them!

The REAL reason the game was so brutal was the opposing team’s fans. I went to the game with some Miami supporters so I sat in the Miami section. That was my first mistake. But even this might not have been so bad, except that the guy sitting directly behind me was actually a Carolina grad who was rooting for Miami on principle.

Now in case you don’t live in North Carolina and don’t understand what that means, let me put it this way:

Carolina fans are to Duke fans as gnats to a horse. You swat and you swat and you swat, but they just keep coming back, buzzing in your face, like a slow and unending form of torture.

So this guy sits behind me and it’s like he immediately knew I was a Duke fan. I didn’t even have on a Duke shirt! He had some evil form of Duke radar, and he immediately started harrassing me. He would yell at me to get off the phone when I took a call, he flicked my pony tail if Duke made a bad play, and grabbed my arms to make me cheer for the other team when Miami scored. Oh, and there was also lots of screaming…in my ear.

I seriously almost decked the guy.

Now all of this was somewhat bearable while Duke was winning, but once we started losing I almost lost it myself. I mean, who does that? Really??

But as I sat there, my arms being grabbed, my ears being screamed in, and my pony tail getting flicked, I was strengthened by one steadying thought:

“Just wait until basketball season.”

You see, Duke football and Duke basketball are two very different things. Duke football has a history of losing, but when it comes to basketball, we are strong and we are intimidating. Even our biggest rivals fear us, and with good cause. We have an awesome team.

That one little thought, that one hope that things will most certainly change–that was enough to hold me back from saying some very un-Jesus like things to the man sitting behind me. I didn’t have to stand up for my school, because over time, my school would stand up for itself.

So why am I telling you this sweet little tale from the ACC? Because something struck me as I quietly endured football persecution, all the while savoring the knowledge, “Basketball season is coming.”

That is exactly the kind of comfort we are meant to draw from Christ.

It’s crazy to me that my present outlook is shaped more by Duke’s future basketball victories than the knowledge of Christ’s eternal victory. But in the same way that I drew peace and strength from my certain redemption in the basketball season, our eternal security and sure victory in Christ should have real implications for how we live today.

Life is hard. Plain and simple. But it won’t always be this way. As Tony Campolo says, “Friday is here, but Sunday is coming!” And the fact that Sunday is coming should make a difference on how we live today.

So while life may be hard, and standing for the Gospel might result in persecution, you don’t need to worry about standing up for yourself. One day the Redeemer will return and he will stand up for you.

So as you go out into the world and endure your own proverbial pony tail flicks, take heart! Continue fighting for the Gospel and persevering for Christ no matter what happens to you today. Why? Because redemption IS coming. The question is, do you live like it?