Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: ADEPT (10/19/23)
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TITLE: The Skill of a Snake | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
10/26/23 -
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Pastoring a multi-cultural church had become a dance with death. His own among others. Even as he prayed for new life in those around him, he ruminated on the reality of the Christless eternity he’d assured for those who had fallen under his cross-hairs. His skill with his tongue hardly made up for the skill of his finger. Brothers who had crumpled on the battlefield in the ambush by Ba-athist Iraqis had mocked him for his ‘nerves of a cobra,’ the ‘strike of his serpent’s tongue,’ and the ‘stealth of a black-mamba.’
As another anniversary of the November offensive rose with the sun that morning, the bleary-eyed soldier slipped out of bed onto his knees and reached for the dog-eared Word of Life on his nightstand. “Reporting for duty, Commander,” he whispered. “You know the enemy’s plans for today. You know so many who are falling for his propaganda, his traps, his ambushes. Fit me with your combat gear, guard my every step away from his mines, keep me strong with my community of life.”
The thunderclap shook the house without warning and he burrowed under the bed, shaking, whimpering. Slippers shuffled into the room and a gentle hand touched his shoulder. “Hon. Hon. It’s okay. It’s thunder. The people will be waiting for the Word. I’ve got you covered.”
He burrowed his head into his arms. “I can’t. Not today.”
“Hon. The enemy may be adept at terrorizing your heart and mind but the Commander has made you adept at taking him out. You’ve got the instructions and we’re all waiting to hear. Take a breath. I’m with you.”
The backrub was gentle, persistent, soothing. “When you’re ready…. Claim the armor…. Grab the sword.”
Her feint smile begged him to find his strength. Her gentle nudge urged him back onto his knees. The images faded. “I saw them again,” he said. “Being dragged through the streets by Zarqawi and his beasts. I had them in my sights but I couldn’t pull the trigger. They were begging me for help and I could do nothing.” He hung his head. “It’s so hard to belong, to find home. I don’t know how to tell people they have a home where they belong. What can I do and say that matters?”
“You can do something here,” she said. “You can do something now. Others are perishing and they need the words you have to share. In your weakness he is strong.”
He nodded. “It’s not how adept I am but how adept he is. He knows the plan. He knows his own.”
“They may have called you snake in Afghanistan,” she whispered, “but we know who the real snake is here. Ease your mind. Take your breath. Reach for life.”
The warmth of the shower soothed him down deep. “It’s not who I am but who you are,” he announced firmly. “Your command still stands to make disciples of Christ from all nations. Today, you have divine appointments and significant conversations and I don’t want to miss your assignment.”
The three hundred sets of eager eyes drank in the word that morning and his spirit breathed free as the worship ended and the shuffle of feet exited. As he prayed on his knees a hand rested on his shoulder.
“Pastor, friend. I need to talk.”
The eyes before him were unmistakable. Afghani. “Yes, brother,” he said.
“I don’t know if you know anything about Afghanistan,” the man said, “but we have been through a terrible war. So many of us are refugees who have left everything and lost every one. I don’t know if you can understand this feeling but we have nowhere to belong. Can you help us find the home you speak of?”
The warmth flushing through him was unmissable. The smile emerged from deep within until it reached his face. “I know just the one who has what it takes to get you the home you’re looking for.”
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