Slashed

There I was face to face with my enemy. White, plastic sword in my hand. Directly opposite me stood my brother Ruben. Unlike other times when I faced off with my little brother, Nelson, three years younger, whom I defeated several times over, slicing and dicing him to smithereens, Ruben was taller and eleven years my senior.
“On Guard!” we yelled. Crisscross, up, down, straight, zig-zag, diagonally we tried to slice the other off. I was El Zorro; he was a vigilante. Our living room was our stadium, our battleground. Minutes went by. We moved in my direction, then in his. I tried cornering him but his height and arm-reach were greater than mine. I climbed on the sofa, then jumped down again. “Give up” we said. “I’ll slice you to pieces,” said the other. “Down, you dog!” we said. Round and round we danced daring the other to give up. As more minutes went by it was evident this would not be an easy fight, not for an 11-year-old. This was a quality sword not some cheap $.25 blade. It had won many battles and this was an epic match.
Sparring was in our blood and soon someone’s blood would be spilt. “Aha! take this” said Ruben and suddenly, my sword was slashed in two! He thrust the ball-point at the end of his sword into my heart and blood in the form of laughter poured out as I fell on the sofa! We had a good laugh and Ruben was the new champ. Now it was time to admit defeat and trash my sword. My fifty-cent sword had come a long way; It had experienced many fights.
We are commanded in Scripture to “Take…the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God” (Ephesians 6:17) to fight against, and conquer the opposing forces of evil.
On Guard!
God Bless,
Sam