Back and forth we throw the ball, and with it, our words.
The harder the throws, the harder the words. And the words were our defense against each other, against the fall we thought would come if we gave in.
I left mad, and he followed loving. He took the time to heal the wounds and ask me questions and touch my soul so I could smile again. And I cried! How could I fear to trust him and let my brother see the cracks and broken parts of me?
Pride.
And this pride that threw words between best friends and profaned that evening is the enemy. NOT the brother.
We fight, side-by-side, against everything that would make us fall.
"With shield of faith, and belt of truth,
We'll stand against the Devil's lies.
An army bold, whose battle cry is love,
Reaching out to those in darkness."
~ O Church Arise, by Keith Getty and Stuart Townsend
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