The only battle that matters

I was reaching for the toothpaste when a muscle in my back spasmed. I let out a shriek and my husband came running to find me contorted, only to end up laughing, because, seriously, who strains their back while reaching for the toothpaste?

I was traveling to Texas to give a three-day women’s retreat in a few days, and it was extremely painful to sit or lie down. The pain kept me up at night, so I was becoming exhausted. My prayer team said, “The devil doesn’t want you in Texas!” While alternating heat and cold compresses, I gobbled ibuprofen and prayed. By the day of my flight, it would be painful to travel but hardly unbearable — if I was careful.

So, I did something I never do: I packed everything I could in my checked luggage. My meds, my talks, chargers, toothbrush, change of clothes, makeup, everything I could so that I would not strain my back while stowing something in the overhead bin. I limped onto my seat feeling rather superior and lithe at having no carry-on, until . . .

Standing in Houston at baggage claim, after one of the worst flights I’ve ever taken due to terrible weather, I watched as everyone on the plane gathered their bags, except me and one other weary traveler. Our bags, the apologetic agent told us, “didn’t make the plane.”

“But don’t worry,” she said, “They’ll be on the next flight, and we’ll bring them to you. What’s the name of your hotel?”

But I wasn’t staying at a hotel in town; the retreat center was almost three hours away out in the country. My first talk was at 6:30 p.m. My bags wouldn’t land until 7 p.m., which put them at the retreat center, at the earliest, at 10 p.m.

The delightful woman who picked me up at the airport declared in true Texas fashion, “Old Red Legs, he’s up to his tricks!”

I managed to get my first talk printed at the retreat office. And though I would look rather rumpled and the batteries in the microphone kept dying and had to be replaced several times, the retreat launched well.

My bags did indeed land at 7 and a courier was going to drive them the three-hour pilgrimage to the retreat center. He would call me when he arrived so we could arrange where to meet. The retreat center grounds were very large with numerous buildings.

But the call never came. Instead of calling my cell phone, the driver called my work number, which is odd because I didn’t give them my work number, and he left a very unhelpful message there. In the meantime, he deposited my luggage at the first building he saw. By 11 p.m., I still had no idea where my toothbrush was.

On top of which, there was extreme heat and humidity, which is killer for someone with multiple sclerosis. In my case, it makes my walking clumsy. So, after an exhausting day of painful travel in dangerous weather and no bag, with nothing but the angels and armadillos to keep me company, with 40 precious souls in my charge for three days, I stumbled around the darkened grounds like a drunken soldier looking for my luggage.

Some days you feel like you have a target on your back the size of Texas. And as hard as that might be, believe me, this is the kind of target you want. “Old Red Legs” might win the battle for your baggage or kill the batteries in your microphone while you’re proclaiming God’s word, but he will lose the only battle that counts, for your soul.

Friends, let’s stay in the fight.

Your name is above all names, oh Lord! At the name of Jesus, every knee will bow and every tongue confess, that Jesus Christ is Lord (Phil 2: 9-11). Amen.