My son’s name is Gabriel.
Not Gabe.
Why is that so hard for people to understand???
The Lord is My Strength — that’s what it means. I want the whole thing rolling off your tongue. The whole thing. All three syllables. Thankyouverymuch. 🙂
Not In Vain!
Not in vain, the tedious toil, On an unresponsive soil,
Travail, tears in secret shed, Over hopes that lay as dead.
All in vain, thy faint heart cries. Not in vain, thy Lord replies:
Nothing is to good to be; Then believe, believe to see.
Did thy labor turn to dust? Suff’ring – did it eat like rust
Till the blade that once was keen, As a blunted tool is seen?
Dust and rust thy life’s reward? Slay the thought; believe thy Lord!
When thy soul is in distress, Think upon His faithfulness.
Though there be not fig nor vine, In thy stall there be no kine,
Flock be cut off from the fold, Not a single lamb be told,
And thy olive berry fall Yielding no sweet oil at all,
Pulse-seed wither in the pod – Still do thou rejoice in God.
But consider, was it vain, All the travail on the plain?
For the bud is on the bough; It is green where thou didst plow.
Listen, tramp of little feet, Call of little lambs that bleat;
Hearken to it. Verily, Nothing is too good to be.
~Amy Carmichael~
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Many mothers apply this beautiful poem to the toil of motherhood.
I personally apply it to my toil in search of motherhood. A large part of me desperately wants to give up. It is too hard to keep trying to have children, keep losing them to early death, and now to have doctor after doctor give me news that this may well just be the story of my life (especially without some drastic interventions). “It is in vain,” I often hear my brain telling myself, “Give up now while you still have a chance and before the ridicule gets any heavier.”
But, like it or not, God has called us to a particular path — and apparently it just includes more drastic interventions than I ever dreamed would be necessary. God continues to give wisdom when we seek it: to us as we use our weak selves to ram down the doors of Heaven and beseech our Father with frequent & fervent prayers, to my parents who are helping us seek godly wisdom & wise counselors, specifically to my father who is most actively pounding down physical doors to attain the golden gift of wisdom. And since God is leading us, it is not in vain. Most certainly not. Whatever His purposes are, they are most definitely not vain.
And so this poem, in all its striking beauty and truth, brings me to hiccups of tears every time I read it.
My life is not in vain.
My womb is not in vain.
My childrens’ lives (no matter how short on earth) are not in vain.
Our prayers are not in vain.
Our desires are not in vain.
The research, the consultations, the tests are not in vain.
The medical treatments are not in vain.
Not a single shot, pill, blood draw, or infusion is in vain.
These myriads of “little deaths” that I am called to die for my family are not in vain.
And this, my friends, is good news for this tired, broken mama. Good news, indeed.
Love Being A Mother
I love being a mother. Maybe y’all have caught on to that before, haha, but I just like to say it sometimes.
It is one thing I rarely take for granted (although we all fail; I’m a sinner too!), because I realize (more than many) how fragile life is, how precious children are, how quickly & frequently they can be snatched away, and what a gift it is to be the steward of an eternal soul. I love the daily aspects, the long term aspects, the eternal aspects. I love the physical interaction, the emotional relationship, the spiritual guiding. I love that my refrigerator is covered in toddler-art masterpieces. I love that there are toys in my home. I love that sippy cups line one of my cupboards. I love that there is a monitor in my bedroom like an ever-present spy on my little boy. I love that we’ve got a carseat in my car. I love that I get to kiss the boo-boos and wipe the tears. I love that I get to change, rinse, wash, and fold diapers over and over. I love that I have a shadow for everything I do. I love getting kisses, giving kisses, and asking for kisses. I love reading books twelve times in a row. I love asking, explaining, commanding, and repeating. I love forgiving. I love learning humility. I love using a single chocolate chip to reinforce a job well done. I love not being my own and not being alone. I love that I get to learn how to wisely train, discipline, and disciple this small immortal.
I love reading about motherhood. Not only practical, how-to type books; but just reading others’ experiences, their joys, their activities, their accomplishments.
I love talking about mothering. Diapers and discipline, toys and tasks, schedules and soul-nurture, playing and preaching, bathtime and busy hands… I love it all.
I love sharing with bereaved mothers. Sharing my heart, my prayers, my time, my tears, my books, my gifts, my words, my ears, my silence, my shoulder, my Savior. I love talking about my six children in heaven, reminding even myself that they are truly alive, truly blessed, truly mine.
This is who I am.
This is who God made me.
This is who God has given to me.
And as a coda, here is a beautiful tribute on a mother’s work. Now please excuse me while I go joyfully put my hands, body, mouth, words, heart (my everything, really) to task at this good, worthwhile, exercising work.
This work that is worship.
Welcome to my Garden
Most things in my garden are looking really well. Still waiting for the beans, squashes, cucumbers, sunflowers, and basil to come up. Everything else is sprouting and growing beautifully. I love my garden.
The little welcome sign my mom gave me this year (last year’s was broken), and Mercy’s little birdbath.
The garden gate, and the view of the garden from the garden gate.
Pretty, tidy little rows of onions and spinach!
Another side view of the garden, and a closeup at my little lettuce heads beginning to form! This is my favorite.
Valiant little rows of peas, almost ready to climb a fence; and a little cluster of carrots (that will need thinned soon).
Nicely spaced beets (however, they still need thinning – so I’ll pop the tiny greens in a salad); and my potato ditch! I’m growing Yukon Gold potatoes, which is very exciting for me. 
I have found the garden to be some good therapy for me. Nobody stares at me while I weep out there. And I’m not hurting anything but weeds as I use all my body strength to whack at the dirt with my hoe.
Check Out My Review
Check out the book review I wrote for Grieve Out Loud.
I’m still plugging through that book, and loving it, and needing it, and being fed by it.
And I continue to highly suggest it.
The end. 🙂
Mommy’s Little Helper
Gabriel is my constant shadow. From errands to laundry to cooking to cleaning, he watches what I do, copies what I do, and helps me with almost everything! It is precious. Here are a few recent examples.
He loves to vacuum the kitchen floor.
He loves to help me bake. This was a batch of whole wheat & oat bread. Isn’t he adorable in his “Baker In Training” apron?!
And tonight he learned how to wash dishes. You can see he got rather wet, but he loved helping!
(Im)material Blessings
Yesterday after having the joy of babysitting my niece and nephew, I wanted to stop off at a cute little local fabric shop. Perhaps I should call it something more like a “textile boutique” ~ because it was that lovely. Selling all kinds of Amy Butler and Heather Bailey bolts of beautiful goodness. I wanted to touch it all. However, I rather hurried, as I had a very tired two year old on my hip who was ready to head home to his comfy crib; he definitely would rather touch Big Bear, clasp blankie, and rest his head on his own crisp & cool bedsheet than be in this cutesy, inspiring place. That is, until he saw the Tiffany inspired lights and the lineup of sewing machines on a table. Then he started saying “la, la, la, la” (light) and making motor sounds intermittently. The owner of the store who was restocking shelves couldn’t get over his “cute sounds.”
At any rate… I was buying material with which I will be making a gift for one of my dearest friends. I chose three different bolts, and got 1 1/2 yards of each; then I will let her choose which one she wants me to whip up into a gift for her, and I will still have two lengths of material leftover for future projects.
While the saleslady was handwriting me a receipt and cutting the fabric into the appropriate lengths, we chatted. Whilst my son continued his chorus of “la, la, la, bbbbbrrrrr, la, la, la, bbbbbrrrr.” She was saying how much she enjoyed filling in there at the textile boutique (if I may call it that) for her friend who has mono, since she has a 5 month old little boy she’s been staying home with. She said, “I don’t know how those stay-home moms do it. I am too smart for that – for things like keeping house. I have my master’s degree, I used to be a business owner, and I miss challenging work and stimulating occupation.” Then she caught herself and looked up at me as though the lightbulb just turned on, and said, “You’re probably one of those stay-home moms, huh?”
Good work, Holmes. Was it the fact that it’s 2:30 in the afternoon, I am definitely not wearing a business suit, & I’ve got a sleepy toddler on my hip that tipped you off? Yes, Watson, exactly so.
Anyway… after that grating little phrase about her being too smart for things like keeping house… I so desperately wanted to say, “then you’re obviously not doing it right!” and smartly refer her to Proverbs 31.
But I didn’t. I held my tongue as she continued to tell me about her 10 and 12 year old daughters being fairly self-sufficient, and how her first son was also her “first surprise.” Then I stopped holding my tongue, and said, “I could use a surprise like that.” She sort of raised her eyebrows and stopped rolling the bolt of material. I continued, “My life could use a wonderful surprise like that for a change. What a blessing for you.”
There was a pause in the room. It felt like a long time, but I’m quite certain it couldn’t have been more than five seconds. And then she folded up the material for me, I exchanged some money for it, and I walked out. My son in one arm, my three bits of material in the other. Musing over my sweet boy whose head was resting on my shoulder, the home where I was heading to go take dominion over yet again, and the husband who was out working tirelessly to provide for our little family & our heaps of needs.
I was just thankful. Thankful for what I have been given. Thankful for my domain, my dominion, and my opportunity to change the world through what I clean, create, raise, train, grow, bring in, and send forth.
Thankful for these material and immaterial blessings.
New Beginnings
Thank you to my sweet husband Steven, who worked hard to move my blog for me, and get it all set up. (Please note that his blog has moved as well, so if you had it linked anywhere, you’ll need to update that, too, I think.)
Please bear with me as I get used to the changes, and try figuring things out a little at a time. I am trying to go back and re-tag old posts because none of the tags came across in the archives. I don’t know if it’s worth the effort or not… so we’ll see if I actually make it very far, or if I just get a very large “uncategorized” category as a result. 🙂
If you find anything particularly nice about this new layout, please let me know; but even more importantly, if you find anything that isn’t working, or that you think could be improved upon, please make sure to tell me! This is all very new to me. My husband is a blessing, since I am, uh, shall we say – not very techie. 🙂
So cheers to new beginnings! On the blog, if nothing else. 🙂
Sunday May 30, 2010
Excerpts from
I Will Carry You
By Angie Smith (& husband Todd)
Our biggest problem in life during the girls’ younger years were things like finding the sixth shoe. I miss those days. We made plans for forever, like you’re supposed to do when you’re a family. (p. 7)
I stared in the mirror as I got ready to go out that day, looking at my reflection and imagining what it was going to look like in the coming days. I never got the chance to see that. (p. 7)
I would stay awake at night and wonder if I would ever have children… I couldn’t help but wonder if motherhood wasn’t going to happen the way I had always dreamed it would. (p. 8)
Faith is to believe what we do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what we believe. –Saint Augustine (p. 17)
It really didn’t feel like this could be happening to us; after all, we were such a normal family. Things like this just don’t happen to people like us, right? (p. 17)
I feel into Todd’s lap and begged him to tell me it wasn’t happening. Not again. (p. 17)
It is the look a doctor has when he is about to tell a tearful mommy that her baby is going to die and nothing can be done about it. (p. 17)
My mind is a little fuzzy on the next few minutes because I was making a conscious effort not to pass out. It was too much to process, too much to try and incorporate into reality. (p. 18)
The room was silent in a way I have never experienced silence. (p. 18)
We spoke a thousand words that were never heard in this world as we both started to come to terms with what was happening. He put my head on his chest, and as much as I’m sure he wanted to tell me everything was going to be OK, there was really no point. (p. 18)
I looked out the window at the people below and thought it was so strange that life looked normal. (p. 18)
Even in that desperate place, I felt the Lord urging me not to succumb to my fears. (p. 19)
I burst into tears—sobbing, shaking, screaming, unintelligibly crying. (p. 19)
We collapsed into each other’s arms and wailed, thinking of all we didn’t know on the night we had said those precious words: For better or for worse… in sickness and in health… (p. 21)
I am pretty comfortable saying He is in complete control until the ground grows weak beneath me. At that point I tell Him what He should do to fix it. (p. 23)
People shuffled past us, lost in their normal lives. (p. 24)
He may give us today with her, or He may give us the rest of our lives. Either way, we are going to be purposeful, and we are going to live it to the fullest.” (p. 24)
She needed permission to hope. We all did actually. (p. 26)
I would wake up in the morning, and it would hit me over and over again that it was real. It seemed that every encounter with other people was so weighed down by the reality of my hurt that I could barely stand it. (p. 27)
I simply couldn’t talk about it anymore. (p. 27)
I decided to start writing a blog… It was good therapy… I didn’t have to see the look in people’s eyes or watch them uncomfortably search for the right words when we both knew there just weren’t any. (p. 27)
I sat, fully humbled, as many I love spoke wisdom over me, and I admitted to myself that I was going to need help to get through this season of life. (p. 27)
I just buried my head in her shoulder and let it out, grasping for sanity in the chaos. (p. 28)
As I drove, I began to pound the steering wheel and scream. I literally beat it with my fists and wailed as I begged the Lord… (p. 28)
What I needed to learn about myself was clear in that moment. I did believe in Him enough to call out. I trusted Him enough to share the brokenness, even though He already knew it all. (p. 29)
It is hard to accept that anyone, even the God of the universe, could love your child the way that you do. (p. 30)
There was no room to consider the cost of investing my heart; I was already head over heels in love with her. (p. 30)
At the end of every day, regardless of what it had held, we knew that she had been given to us for a purpose, and we were seeking wisdom as we embraced that. (p. 30)
Sharing my story opened so many doors to conversation that would never have taken place. (p. 32)
They were the tears of a mother who was just beginning to understand how much she had taken for granted in this life. (p. 36)
We saw each other for what we were—women who were often just going through the motions of normalcy, partly for our children and partly for ourselves. I began to realize that this was going to be a part of my new life because the world has a way of going on all around you even when you are in the depths of sorrow that belie its pace and fervor. (p. 40)
Here is a woman [Mary] who watched her beloved brother [Lazarus] die. Yet, as soon as she hears that Jesus is near, she cannot help but gather up her dress around her and run to Him. Do you? I am speaking from experience when I say it doesn’t always come naturally. But I also know that every time her feet hit the ground and people turned to see her scurrying past them, her Father was glorified. (p. 47)
I was not present to care for the girls because I hurt so much in so many ways. This is the hardest part to bear. (p. 51)
We can’t begin to imagine the road that lies ahead of us, but I know that I will remember today as being a day that I trusted Him despite the hurt. (p. 58)
All the months, all the dreams, all the hopes for a miracle. Gone. (p. 60)
Joy is not the absence of trouble but the presence of Christ. (p. 62)
I closed my eyes and prayed for the Lord to sustain me. For the strength to accept that the cup had not passed. For trust in Him despite that I felt horribly, maddeningly betrayed. (p. 63)
I knew she wasn’t there anymore, but the mother’s heart doesn’t know how to stop loving, even in the wake of death. (p. 65)
I caught myself moving gently as if I was rocking my own daughter, but my arms were empty. My body couldn’t accept it any more than my heart could. (p. 68)
“I thought that prattling boys and girls would fill this empty room. That my rich heart would gather flowers from childhood’s opening bloom. One child and two graves are mine, this is God’s gift to me; a bleeding, fainting, broken heart, this if my gift to Thee.” –Elizabeth Prentiss, 101 More Hymn Stories by Kenneth W. Osbeck, 185 (p. 71)
People constantly ask how it is that I am not angry with the Lord. My honest answer is that I have been angry, and I have been disappointed. What I have not been, and what I refuse to be, is disbelieving. (p. 72)
Do you believe that the Lord is who He says He is and that He has accomplished what He says He has accomplished? If you do, then know that you are walking a road that leads to Him and to your precious lost children. No, they will not return to us. But one day, not so far from now, we will go to them. (p. 75)
I know she isn’t really in there; it’s just that her knees are, and I would have loved to kiss them after she fell. I need to mourn the loss of the arms that cannot wrap around me here. Braided hair, a wedding dress, her first wiggly tooth. They are deep within the ground, never to be mine. I needed to feel that loss, and I did. I do. (p. 79)
We have done very bit of what we felt we could. We trusted Him. We called on Him. We awaited His appearance and even fought doubt as the days passed because above all else, He is good… right? (p. 80)
His power is never too small for everyone else, it seems; but when it’s me, it feels intangible and unlikely. (p. 81)
Instead of spending your days focusing on your sense of hurt or loss, allow the Lord to bless you with the grace to believe that what lies ahead will glorify Him. It is the closest thing to true worship that we have in this life, and so often we miss it. (p. 81)
As a Christian, I know that I am called to glorify the Lord no matter the circumstance, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to make sense. (p. 84)
I just felt like the wind had whipped through and knocked me down, deep down into a place I didn’t want to be. A place where the answers are fewer than the questions. A place where God seems hidden, just slightly, by the shadows of this broken life. It is an easy place to get comfortable because all of your hurts are justified and the tears give way to doubt while you meant to pick yourself right back up. (p. 90)
I don’t know where you are tonight, or what hurts you are holding up to God, but I will promise you this. If you can just trust Him enough to bring it to Him, He will rejoice in your masterpiece. And if you need to scream a little, know that you have a God who can take that too, as long as your face is tilted (even slightly) toward Him. (p. 92)
The process of healing has been winding and unpredictable to me. One day I’m starting to feel like myself again, and even that can make me feel guilty sometimes. I feel like I don’t have a right to be normal. (p. 92)
Life in pieces, never to be put back together. (p. 96)
This marked the beginning of a season of questioning for me… I couldn’t help but feel like we were being targeted. (p. 96)
Seeing someone you love suffer so desperately with no relief in sight is a dreadful feeling. We tried everything we could, always aware that the break would be momentary, and then we would dig into the hurt again. (p. 98)
I cannot seem to find my way these past few days. I have bruises on my legs from bumping into furniture that has not moved in years. I got lost driving home the other night from a familiar place and didn’t even realize I was lost until I had been driving in the wrong direction for almost fifteen minutes. All day long I forget the most simple words, the most familiar faces, the words to a song I know by heart. Sometimes I just stand in the shower with the water scalding my skin so that I can feel something that registers. My brain just doesn’t know its way around the sorrow. (p. 100)
I know the steps of grief. They look great on paper along with all the other multiple-choice questions, but in reality they aren’t that simple. They jump back and forth at a pace that is completely unpredictable. (p. 102)
It’s really a delicate balance between letting yourself grieve the way you need to and functioning in a world that keeps reminding you of what you have lost. (p. 102)
The truth is that to some degree, every day I have here is another day without her. I don’t know when I will be able to see life any differently. (p. 102)
None of us grieves the same way, and one of the best things we can do is to give ourselves permission to live that out. (p. 103)
You may need to reprioritize your relationships in order to grieve in an authentic way. This can be a challenge, but it is worth it. (p. 105)
Part of trying to cultivate a grateful heart is looking for opportunities to share the gospel through my loss and seeking ways to bring God glory through the loss. (p. 105)
One of the things that meant the world to me was that people acknowledged that we had lost her. (p. 111)
There is no normal. There is the loss, and there is the Lord. That balance dictates the season, not the changing leaves or the anniversaries of death. (p. 112)
People are uncomfortable swimming in another’s grief. The way they respond to it is, naturally, to try and fix the situation. Of course, they can’t…Yet sometimes the right thing is to say nothing at all. It’s just to be there, available, willing, authentic. (p. 114)
People’s natural instincts are to rush us through our grieving because they love us so much. A time will come when we are ready to take the next step, but that is between the Lord and ourselves. In the meantime, please be sensitive to those who are grieving, aware that they may not be able to do “normal” things for a while. (p. 114)
We had friends come over and play with the girls, do laundry, sweep the floors, mow the lawn, and drop off thoughtful gifts. I felt more gratitude than I knew how to express because grief made me not want to do anything other than survive. (p. 116)
Be on your knees for your friends and commit to seeing it through, however long that takes. Believe that the Lord can use you, because He can. (p. 117)
We aren’t going to feel whole in this life, and we will long for something we don’t have. Something that will fill the nagging void that intermittently stings and knocks us to our knees. And all the while, Satan taunts us, telling us our faith is small. To hurt so deeply is a sign that we live in a fallen world, not that we serve a small God. (p. 118)
Daily I must remind myself that He is not threatened by my doubt nearly as much as He is glorified by my faith. (p. 118)
I didn’t feel like I lost a baby; I felt like I said goodbye to someone I had always known, who had been my daughter for years and years. (p. 123)
I have learned that grief is a dance. I do it rather clumsily much of the time, but as it turns out, I am in good company. Others who have lost children have shared the inability to separate the sorrow from the joy in life. (p. 126)
Our Lord is bigger than any of the trials He asks us to walk through, yet I also recognize the hurt that threatens to steal our joy at any moment. It is a decision we must make, many times even in a day, to choose to believe that our Father is good. (p. 127)
We miss them, Lord. We trust You to love them well, every day strengthening us to press on without them. (p. 127)
Angie and I grieved differently. For Angie it was a constant process… for me it comes in cycles. Angie was constantly reminded of Audrey and was so connected with her because she was carrying her. She was always mourning for her… It hurt her because I didn’t grieve as intensely as she did. I think sometimes she felt alone… I was frustrated and angry with myself because I didn’t grieve like she did. I felt guilty and in turn angry… Whereas so many nights Angie was heartbroken, I would be OK and was able to move forward. I went into survival mode… Part of me didn’t want to deal with the whole thing. It is so overwhelming. (p. 132)
Your family is hurting, and you are bearing burdens you don’t know how you’re going to overcome. (p. 133)
Don’t try to be tough, or have all the answers, or act like it’s not affecting you. Please don’t harden your heart to safeguard yourself from the child you are losing. I continue to grieve in my own way. It may come several times a week, or it may be several times a month; but when it hits, it hits hard. (p. 133)
If He is good, then we need to praise Him no matter what comes our way, even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when we come away not having answers. As a man it is so important that as you lead, you have one foot on Earth and one in heaven… Lean on other men. Don’t run away from God… Pray for God’s help, for His wisdom, for Him to give you faith and hope, even when it feels pointless and hollow. (p. 135)
If you are running from God, run to Him. Stay close to Him as you lead your family. You can be angry with Him the whole time, but go to Him. I believe God would prefer we yell and scream at Him but be in constant communication with Him than be silent and turn our backs on Him. (p. 135)
It’s horrible. It’s devastating. We will never be the same. It will never be fixed in this life. We are completely powerless to do anything. There are no answers… Death is awful. It hurts you to your core. Don’t sugarcoat death. It is what it is. (p. 137)
The shift if our home’s atmosphere was palpable, and children even younger than Kate can sense that. Infants who are living in the wake of loss do not understand death, but they understand that Mommy is sad or that Daddy seems to be distant. They need to be held and comforted, reassured that you aren’t abandoning them to your grief. (p. 140)
The one thing I will say about grieving in the presence of your children is that you should. Don’t hide away and wear a perfect smile, pretending that everything is OK; because whether or not you say it, they know it isn’t. Your children know the way you make their beds, the way you cut their sandwiches, the way you kiss them goodnight. (p. 141)
Thursday April 22, 2010
Psalm 6
To the choirmaster: with stringed instruments; according to The Sheminith. A Psalm of David.
O LORD, rebuke me not in Your anger,
nor discipline me in Your wrath.
(My God and Father, be merciful to me. Disciple me according to Your grace, and deal gently with my heart. I feel so vulnerable and weak, but I desire to seek after You and Your kingdom.)
Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am languishing;
heal me, O LORD, for my bones are troubled.
My soul also is greatly troubled.
(Please, Lord, yes, be gracious. Languishing means feeling weak and feeble; Lord, my heart and my spirit feel that way. Even my hands and body begin to feel it. Like David, I too am troubled down to my marrow. I seek Your healing, both physically and spiritually.)
But You, O LORD— how long?
(My Lord and King, it feels like You tarry. Please make haste!)
Turn, O LORD, deliver my life;
save me for the sake of Your steadfast love.
(Save me from grief, save me from sorrow, save me from Satan’s wiles. Turn the direction of my heart, my longing, my life toward You and conform my will to Yours. For the sake of You and Your kingdom, please do these things, but also for my good, dear Lord, as Your daughter upon her knees.)
For in death there is no remembrance of You;
in Sheol who will give You praise?
(Give me remembrance of Your mercy, and give me strength to praise You wherever I go.)
I am weary with my moaning;
every night I flood my bed with tears;
I drench my couch with my weeping.
(It seems as though I should be properly dehydrated like a raisin by now. I am so tired of crying myself to sleep, and awaking in the morning to terrible dreams that simply bring tears afresh. Grief and sorrow are wearing. Physically and emotionally tiring. Please give me strength, for the tears keep coming.)
My eye wastes away because of grief;
it grows weak because of all my foes.
(My eye, my discernment, my seer of beauty – it fades. Grief makes it hard to discern, hard to see the beauty. I want to discern rightly according to Your will, and I want to see the beauties of Your hand all around me. But My foes feel too strong: Satan attacks when he knows my armor is weakened. He is wiley and cunning. He sends pangs into my heart when I do not desire the arrows or stings. These foes must be fought! Dear God, enable me.)
Depart from me, all you workers of evil,
(Yes, Lord, enable me to banish Satan and his army!)
for the LORD has heard the sound of my weeping.
(Oh Father, listen to my cry; do not turn me aside!)
The LORD has heard my plea;
the LORD accepts my prayer.
(Thank You, my King, for the assurance that my pleas and prayers do not fall upon deaf ears. Thank you for hearing me and accepting me.)
All my enemies shall be ashamed and greatly troubled;
they shall turn back and be put to shame in a moment.
(Oh Lord, this is victory indeed! My enemies of Satan, sin, and death shall fall into their own snares! You have overcome them all! When You but speak the word, they shall crumble and disintegrate, and oh how glorious! Put them to shame. Trample them under Your feet. You have conquered sin and death. Satan is thrown from his throne. Comfort my heart with this knowledge. And bring it to mind when I feel my enemies overtaking me. They have no power over me. I am Yours.)