Victorious Secret. Laura Mary Phelps
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if we could remember this truth.
Perhaps if we prayed for each other instead of rolling our eyes, or slamming on our horn, or quickly reacting and hitting send, or making an unkind comment under our breath because the woman at the cash register takes forty minutes to scan one freaking bag of instant rice, and you have fifty-six more items to scan and need to be somewhere in ten minutes. Perhaps we would be that people of peace we claim we want to be if we remembered everyone else was in a battle. We would certainly be a more compassionate and patient people if we were to see our brothers and sisters this way: as warriors on the same team, in the same fight, just trying to stay alive. Sure, scanning a bag of instant rice should not take longer than it does to cook it. But even the rice-scanning-challenged are facing a battle, and not just alone, but with us. With me. With you. With that annoying person on Twitter. Don’t you see? We are called to stand side by side. Shoulder to shoulder. Shield to shield. We are more powerful when we do this. We stand a better chance of … well … standing if we stand together. The arrows do not discriminate; they fly at all of us. Do you really believe you are strong enough to withstand them?
I believe that you are. I believe that all women have wonder woman strength and beauty and courage and wisdom within. We may not carry a physical shield and sword (and thank God for that, because my shoulder already hurts from the giant Jessica Simpson purse I carry around). But we can put on the armor of God. Every single day, when we wake up, before we reach for our phone, or take out the dog, or pour that first cup of coffee, or sit at our computer, even go to the bathroom, we should put on the armor of God.
Therefore, take the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having fastened the belt of truth around your waist, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the equipment of the gospel of peace; besides all these, taking the shield of faith, with which you can quench all the flaming darts of the Evil One. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. (Eph 6: 13–17)
The enemy would love for us to quit fighting and to stay stuck in our circumstances. That is where he had me that beautiful summer day. Stuck. Locked in my anxiety. Focused on my fear. Believing the lie that I was in this alone and too weak to prevail. And maybe that is you, too. Or was you. Or will be you. Maybe your desire to persevere is so buried beneath the lies you somehow, sometime started to believe, that the very thought of standing up and dressing for battle feels like a battle in its own right. But I am here to say that you can stand. No matter how weary, no matter how burdened, no matter how afraid, no matter how big and impossible that mountain before you appears. You can do this.
How do I know? Well, because I, sweet friend, have failed at so much. I have reached for the wrong weapons this world has handed me, and I have allowed the flaming arrows to pierce me more times than I care to admit. And because I was too distracted by the whisper of this world and its empty promises, I failed to hear the voice of truth, and I followed the lie alone into battle way too many times.
And it did not go well.
But that’s okay. Because my journey, your journey … it is far from over. And God’s grace and mercy? They are fresh and new each and every morning. We can do this. We really can. Trust me. Actually, that is an awful idea. Don’t trust me. But let’s work on trusting him. Because he is our weapon. His word. His truth. He is our peace. He is our Savior and our Defender, and the One in control. So winning really isn’t so much about our defeating the enemy as it is about surrendering to God who has already defeated and won. It’s about standing with Mary at the foot of the cross, freeing our hands by dropping our mess at his feet, and choosing to pick up the armor of Christ instead, trusting that he will set it all right, believing that he will lead us safely through the battle, drawing our strength from him alone.
What do you say you get up and get dressed, and meet me on the front line?
Ladies, we have a battle to win.
Battle Plan
Maybe the battle you are in is crystal-clear. Or maybe this is the first time you ever considered there is a battle. Maybe you are confused because you thought this book was about coffee and lingerie. Whatever the case, stick with me, and before suiting up, how about we simply spend a little quiet time with the Lord asking him, “What attack am I unaware of? What battle am I losing? How can I fight stronger?”
Weapon of Choice
Throughout this book, I will suggest weapons appropriate for the fight. As we have just begun to march forward together, let’s take today to get out our Bible (or buy a Bible, or wipe the dust off the Bible, or finally throw out that dried carnation wrist corsage from your 1988 prom that has been pressed between wax paper in your Bible) and open to the book of Ephesians, chapter 6, verses 10–17. Pray with God’s Word, making note of your new wardrobe, which we will be drawing from in each chapter of this book. (Don’t worry, it comes with shoes.)
Chapter 2
The Self-Image Battle
“Let not yours be the outward adorning with braiding of hair, decoration of gold, and wearing of robes, but let it be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable jewel of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God’s sight is very precious.”
— 1 Peter 3:3–4
I was feeling pretty good about life and my place in it, until I scrolled through my Instagram feed and saw it.
The pie.
This perfectly baked cherry pie.
And not only was it a beautiful and delicious-looking pie, but taken out of it was the perfect little bite. This glorious, gourmet cherry pie was plated on a perfectly worn piece of vintage china, with a single silver fork, gracefully placed on the edge of the plate. And as if that were not enough, this entire plate and pie was photographed on a rustic, distressed, and absolutely fabulous farm table.
Now, some people might scroll right past that pie. Because I mean, honestly, who cares? Big deal. You made yourself a pie and took a picture of it. Congratulations. Whatever. But not me. You want to know the bag of crazy that popped into my mind when I saw that beautiful pie?
How on earth did she have the time to bake that? Why did she bake it? Obviously, she must be having a party or a group of friends over. Or one of her fabulous arts and crafts gatherings. I’ll bet she is sitting in her perfect house right now laughing with friends and being all hospitable, and her hair probably looks good, too. Good grief, she has people over in the middle of the day? How is her house clean enough for that? And that china plate … she probably got it at a thrift shop. And where does all of her money come from anyway? She has nineteen kids, and she doesn’t even work! I guess she sits around baking and entertaining and thrifting … while I sit in my mess of a rented home, microwaving some sort of loser dinner for my family on paper plates because all of our real plates are chipped and sitting in the sink. And what about all those kids? They probably helped bake the darn thing! In fact, I’ll bet they picked the cherries that went into that pie as a family because this was some sort of homeschooling lesson, where they measured and counted and turned pie baking into an educational experience. They probably held hands and prayed over the ingredients. And why don’t I have a farm table? I think I need a farm table. Seriously. I think I would be so much happier if I just found the right farm table. I hate myself. I really do. I mean look at me. I’m wearing my 13-year-old’s leggings and my 11-year-old’s dirty sweatshirt. I look like a homeless woman. I really do. If I sat outside on the corner you would totally give me money. That’s how homeless I look right now. And what really gets me is, what woman can sit down and eat a pie