Praise Against the Enemy

I carried my oldest baby for seven months in Ireland before returning to the States for the final two months of my pregnancy. Having never been pregnant before, I wasn't completely familiar with all the ins and outs of prenatal care; also, medical care in Ireland is different from medical care in the States. All I knew was that I should take prenatal vitamins, and I knew that I needed to contact a doctor.

It got complicated quickly, because I wasn't a citizen, was on a temporary visa, and roadblocks seemed to crop up with regard to what to do with me. A woman in our Belfast church who worked as a midwife at the city hospital stepped in. She took me under her wing, met with me at the hospital, conducted ultrasound scans every month of my pregnancy (which is apparently the practice there -- I didn't know this isn't normally the case in the States), and kept me healthy.

When we returned to the States at the beginning of August, I'd had a healthy run of it.

We hit a heat wave when we came back to Virginia. The northern shores of Donegal where we lived most of the time are chilly -- sweatshirt weather -- even in the summer. Virginia was broiling and sweaty. I was seven months pregnant and miserable. As we waited for an apartment to open up, I spent most of my time kneeling with my face over my in-laws' air-conditioning vent trying to just exist without dying.

Simultaneously, my ankles began to swell hugely, and my imagination exploded over worst-case scenarios involving preeclampsia. I made an appointment with my doctor for my first prenatal visit in the States. It took place approximately a week and a half after our return. As I submitted myself to one more ultrasound (the office hadn't gotten any documentation or paperwork from our Belfast hospital, so they were working from scratch), the ultrasound technician looked grave. 

"This is a breech baby," she said. "And your amniotic fluid levels are dangerously low."

My heart stopped. I had spent seven months waging a war with myself to drink water. I was very sick with that pregnancy, and water was one of the things that made me the sickest. I'd found that if I added some lemon juice to my water bottle, I could choke it down and it wouldn't come back up -- usually -- but I knew my water amounts were less than what they needed to be.

Breech. "Can she still turn?" I asked. 

The technician explained that at seven months, babies are often already turned head downward, but not always, and that there was still time. "However," she said, "with the low amount of fluid you're showing, it's highly unlikely." She sent me back to my doctor, who gave me some suggestions: rest, water, always lie down on my left side, water, lying inverted with feet up and head down, water, moxibustion sticks for my feet, water, having my husband sit at my feet and talk to the baby, water. Some of the suggestions made me laugh, but we were all -- doctor, husband, me -- feeling just a bit desperate.

I did all of it. I may have misused the moxibustion sticks: I had no clue what to do with them, so I think I stuck them between my toes rather than lining them up with my pinkie toes. I pulled out my ironing board, settled one end of it on our couch, and lay head-down on the ramp. I made my husband read children's stories to the baby from the foot of the bed. We bought seven gallons of spring water, enough to last us until I saw the doctor the following week, and I drank a gallon of water every day.

Going from struggling to gulp down three or four cups of water to almost literally pouring a gallon of water down my throat was a massive curve. But I did it.

Most of all, I prayed. I knew that a Caesarian birth was an option and I was thankful that medical technology had made such things possible, but I really wanted to avoid that route if I could. I prayed and praised, praised and prayed. 

That week, as I waited for my next appointment, the baby moved a lot, more than usual. I couldn't tell exactly what she was doing -- I couldn't tell if I was feeling a head or a rump, a foot or a fist, but she was unusually energetic. I praised and prayed some more.

I was nervous as I entered the ultrasound technician's office the next week. I had no idea if my efforts were going to work. The tech squeezed on the gel and pushed her sensor onto my stomach. She gave a sigh of relief. "She's head down," she said. "And look at all that amniotic fluid! It's beautiful!" 

Perhaps those words are only words an ultrasound technician would deliver, but I could see the beauty of it, too. My girl had room. Healthy, living room.

I'm going depart from the Exodus plagues for a day. The Lord has given me a burden for the children, not only my own. He's shown me a battle that is increasing in intensity and strength, waged by the powers of darkness against children, "all the little children of the world," and it makes me angry. 

I'm angry that Satan, the father of lies, has gone after the most innocent and trusting among us, and is reaching for minds and hearts, collecting them like a combine during harvest season. I'm angry that he has set himself up as a god to be worshipped under the name of "Nature, Humanism, Politics, Nationalism, Socialism, Education," or many other playing fields where he's marking his territory.

I look at all that is happening nationally and internationally, and I think: How can I even fight this? I didn't have to navigate the battle with this intensity when I was a kid. There were battles, sure; there was evil, of course. But the front lines of the enemy have moved in closer, have increased in number, have expanded their efforts, and sometimes, I feel overwhelmed.

I flipped open my Bible this morning to turn to Exodus, and 2 Chronicles 20 caught my attention instead. I started reading, got all excited, pulled out my highlighter, and now my Bible has most of this chapter underlined in yellow. It's a story of battle: in this case, the people of Judah under King Jehoshaphat, against an overwhelming tri-army enemy made up of Ammonites, Moabites, and men from Mt. Seir (called Meunites), but the strategy here is fully applicable to our battle in the spiritual realm.

Here's a summary: 

Jehoshaphat, king of Judah, gets word that an enormous force of three armies is coming against him and his people. He sizes up the situation, realizes he is outgunned and outmanned, and needs to decide what the best battle strategy is. 

He does three essential things:

1.) He seeks the Lord. He seeks the Lord first.

"Alarmed, Jehoshaphat resolved to inquire of the Lord, and he proclaimed a fast for all of Judah. The people of Judah came together to seek help from the Lord; indeed, they came from every town in Judah to seek Him" (2 Chronicles 20:3-4).

The king takes charge and leads his people to look to the powerful God for help. He doesn't rally his army first. He doesn't consult his generals first. He doesn't panic. And he doesn't act alone. He proclaims a fast for all of Judah. He stands up in the assembly of Judah and Jerusalem at the temple, and he prays aloud. He prays in the presence of his people: "All the men of Judah, with their wives and children and little ones, stood there before the Lord" (2 Chronicles 20:13).

Jehoshaphat declares the power of the Lord. He names past events where God has delivered the people from the hand of their enemies.  He reminds the people: "If calamity comes upon us... we will stand in Your Presence before this temple that bears Your Name and will cry out to You in our distress, and You will hear us and save us." 

He says: "Oh, our God, will You not judge [the enemy]? For we have no power to face this vast army that is attacking us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon You!"

I've never been a part of the military, have never participated in earthly, physical warfare. I've read stories of Civil War battles, though, where men were lost if they lost sight of their commander, and I resonate with this. The people of Judah are lost without their God. We are lost without our Lord. "But my eyes are fixed on You, Sovereign Lord; in You I take refuge" (Psalm 141:8).

Jehoshaphat humbles himself before the Lord, publicly, holding nothing back, and the Lord responds. "Then the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jahaziel son of Zechariah... as he stood in the assembly. He said: 'Listen! This is what the Lord says to you: do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God's... you will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions, stand firm, and see the deliverance the Lord will give you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you'" (2 Chronicles 20: portions of 14-17)

2.) For the salvation of his people, Jehoshaphat leads his people in praise to God.

I don't think we appreciate the true power of praise to God. We're familiar with the five love languages, originally summarized in Gary Chapman's book of the same name, and we know that words of affirmation are a powerful tool. But the Word says that God "inhabits the praises of His people" (Psalm 22:3), and Jehoshaphat grasps this promise with both hands. He reminds his people to have faith in the Lord and in the words of His prophets, and then, he gets a bunch of praise and worship singers and puts them on the front lines of his armies!

Unusual... and effective... battle strategy, as we'll see.

"'Listen to me, Judah and people of Jerusalem!' he says. 'Have faith in the Lord your God and you will be upheld; have faith in his prophets and you will be successful.' Jehoshaphat appointed men to sing to the Lord and to praise Him for the splendor of His holiness as they went out at the head of the army, saying: 'Give thanks to the Lord, for His love endures forever.'"

3.) God fights the battle for Jehoshaphat and the nation of Judah.

Per the promise of Jahaziel, prophet of God, the Lord does the work for Judah's army. "As they began to sing and praise, the Lord set ambushes against the men of Ammon and Moab and Mt. Seir who were invading Judah, and they were defeated. The men of Ammon and Moab rose up against the men from Mt. Seir to destroy and annihilate them. After they finished slaughtering the men from Seir, they helped to destroy one another" (2 Chronicles 20:23).

So what does Jehoshaphat find when he arrives at the battlefield, praising God? "When the men of Judah came to the place that overlooks the desert and looked toward the vast army, they saw only dead bodies lying on the ground; no one had escaped" (2 Chronicles 20:24).

Battle isn't pretty. Bloodshed is gory and horrific. And sometimes we close our eyes to it and the images it creates. But here's the deal: we are in a battle, right now, today, this moment. And it's a battle for our souls. It's gory. It's intense. There are enemies of war and ambushes and trickery, deceit, and slaughter of the weak. There's bloodshed, too, but the bloodshed in this battle has already been shed by the Commander.

And because of that bloodshed... we win. In fact, we don't even have to fight, except as we praise. As we praise, "the Lord sets ambushes." "For the battle is not yours, but God's. You will not have to fight this battle."

We praise the God of angel armies, who goes before us. He is our vanguard, leading the way. Our job is to praise Him. 

I don't like reading the news, or hearing about bills and acts brought through Congress that wage war on our children. Most often, I wish I could pull my children under my wing and hide in the four walls of my house until the world is a better place.

Not a great option. What I can do, however, is teach my children to seek the Lord: "We don't know what we ought to do, but our eyes are on You." I can teach my children to praise: "As they began to sing and praise, the Lord set ambushes."

I can teach my children to recognize the Lord as He fights their battles for them. I often feel defenseless against this enormous sociocultural political machine... but I can teach my children to trust in the God of angel armies Who fights for them.

"Elisha prayed, 'Open [my servant's] eyes, Lord, so that he may see.' Then the Lord opened the servant's eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha" (2 Kings 6:17)

That day, when I left the doctor's office, I came back outside to my car, cranked up the air-conditioning, and cried. I had set up all sorts of mental obstacles that stood in the way of my daughter's health. I'd worried obsessively for those seven days that something horrible would happen to her because of this unseen "condition" that my body had forced upon her unbeknownst to me. My mind had played out scenario after scenario, and none of them ended well. 

Prayer, praise, the sacrifice of praise -- praising when I was at my weakest -- was all I had left. 

I see now that I should have taken the perspective that prayer was what had I had. It was my first line of defense, not my last. It was the first place I should have gone to, not the final place. Jehoshaphat prayed first. God responded with the words: "The battle is not yours, but God's."

Whatever battles you're facing, even if you don't feel like fighting, even if you're overwhelmed by the size of the odds, even if the enemy has come against you like a flood...

Praise Him! The battle is not yours... but God's.