Do we really want to know the whole truth?

Really?

Are we really willing to tell the unfeigned facts? To be honest, really?

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if we did. Not the I’m gonna tell you how it is kind of truth, but rather the I’m gonna tell you who I really am kind of truth.

Who I really am. Do you really want to know how God carries me every moment? How I’m not so strong without Him. How God is indeed my crutch, my stretcher, my very bones, my tiniest particles. He holds me up and he holds me together.

That’s the truth.

We don’t tell the whole truth because truth cost. It cost to be who you are. It cost Jesus.

It’s been hard over the past few years. Lots of family struggles, and I feel Satan has taken advantage of every second of this long fight. He is pure evil, and he doesn’t fight fair. He sees an opportunity to slow us down from the Gospel and he pounces. We fight the good fight, win a battle, and get another phone call a few weeks later.

The truth is that I’m beyond angry at the devil. I’ve had quite enough of his pestering. I’m sick of him aggravating the hardships we are fighting.

I remember years ago that my transmission died in my car. $2000 to fix, and I was broke.

So I walked to the church where I was volunteering and witnessed along the way. I did this to spit in the devil’s eye. To strike back rather than just keep taking blows.

In less than two weeks someone bought me a new transmission without me asking. I’m still not sure if it was a blessing from God or a payoff of the devil to stop my constant witnessing.

The truth is I like to fight back. I hate taking blows without swinging. For every person I love that Satan harasses, I want to take ten more with me to heaven.

That’s who I am when I’m outraged. That’s the truth. That’s who God has made me, but I feel I may have become too domesticated in this new American cushioned, air-conditioned, style of Christianity.

Where’s all the blood, sweat, tears, and dirty fingernails? I miss the back of trucks, the sweaty church clothes, the dirty Gospel.

The real one that saved a dirty kid like me. The one worth dying for.

The truth is that it’s time to get back to that Y’all. It’s time to get back in the field and stop asking someone else to gather the harvest so you can stay cool and clean.

Satan’s is running rampant. It’s time he met some wildlings, covered in dirt, crawling out of the wilderness weak from fasting but full of God’s spirit and ready for a fight.

It’s time we counterpunch, counter-attack, and we keep on swinging, rescuing soul after soul back from hell until Satan is sorry he ever even touched those we love.

Honestly,

Dustan

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