Jessica Levy Books

I’ve never held an actual sword. The closest thing I’ve wielded would be a machete. I used it for nothing cool, just to clear some brush for my garden. I may have daydreamed of my own heroism as I single-handedly faced the gnarled skeletons of the previous summer’s giant weeds and micro-trees. It wasn’t until I was recovering from my gallant quest (later in the shower) that I noticed hundreds of tiny cuts on my arms and legs. My notions of grandeur had clearly distracted me from the many briars present among the “beast.” Under the hot water, they packed individual pangs that assaulted my comfort like a swarm of bees.

Have you ever had a day (…week…year) when you feel like all you’ve done is cut through the everlasting brush? When being able to get through the day seemed like all you could accomplish, as much as you had to fight to do so? I recently had a year or two (or four) that felt that way. It seemed like every time I turned around, there was another piece of my life falling apart and it was all I could do to catch my breath before the next piece came tumbling down.

My first emotional reflex was to panic, my second: to fight. I wasn’t going to be quietly overtaken. My God didn’t make no quitter! So I picked up my metaphorical sword and I fought. I cried, I argued, I took control: I switched jobs, bit my lip through the pain, and pressed on. When I ran out of push, I pleaded with God to resolve my circumstances. God, please fix my husband and my marriage, please fix my body, please fix my job, my house, my life! God’s response was very different from the one I was seeking. He fixed none of the things and instead focused his energy on repairing my heart. This is what he showed me:

There was a woman kneeling in a forest. Everything around her was on fire. Smoke filled the air. As the fire raged, she turned to survey the landscape. She was clad completely in metal armor. In her right hand, she held a sword. Shifting her weight against her sword, she began to rise. Her face, flickering in the glow of the blaze, communicated a fierce peace becoming of a warrior.

In the vision God gave me, the warrior wasn’t cutting anyone or anything with her sword. She used it only to rise from the ground. The sword was neither an attack nor a defense. It was the truth through which she was able to dust herself off, stand among the smoking flames of her circumstances, and not be overcome. It became her confidence.

A friend of mine once observed, “Sometimes God pulls you out of the pit and sometimes he goes down in the pit with you.” Sometimes God puts out the fires that rage in your life. Sometimes he doesn’t. Instead, he puts a sword in your hand and shows you how to navigate the flame. After all, God has some growing to do in all of us that isn’t going to take root amongst the skeletons of last year’s brush. It is not always easy and the times we stop and take stock of our progress, we may find ourselves stung in thousands of tiny places. But, when you take the sword in your right hand, steady it on the ground, and rise from the pit, you will find that you can look upon the blazing forest of your life with the peaceful assurance of a warrior.

And you won’t even smell like smoke.