But the fight isn't mine. It never was in the first place. I thought I had to fight on my own, that no one would do it for me.
But I'm learning. Slower than molasses in January, but I'm learning. I'm learning that I am not my defender. That I'm not my husband's defender, my friends' defender, or even my God's defender. I was never intended to take up that mantle.
I'm learning I have a God who wants to take that from me, who wants to fight for me. I'm learning I have a Daddy who will protect me and comfort me. That I'm not alone in this fight. That the fight isn't even mine.
Oy this is a hard lesson to learn. It's even harder to live. For someone who has lived with her fists clenched and ready for the proverbial punch most of her live, the idea of releasing those fingers and opening my palms towards heaven is foreign, uncomfortable. It feels naked, vulnerable. But it is beautiful.
