Imagine you spent the last year surrounded by people who are in a large social experiment with you. At first, the 40 of you seem to just be blindly thrown together. But you bond and realize they are in your life for a divine purpose. Like Bubba to Forrest.
Over time, you’ve gone to many battles together. You know their tactics, strengths, and weaknesses.
You enjoy being with them for the most part, because they have light. They radiate light. They are constantly choosing this light, because they don’t want the easy way. They’ll seek food and nourishment. They want growth no matter how it hurts.
They know they are only temporary pains in comparison to eternity with our Creator. They fight for that intimacy with God.
For the sake of this story, the light is like a powerful weapon that can save your life. On a day you’re down, they will fight the enemy by your side until you can open your eyes, grab your bearings, and stand up in time to find your sword- your light- before the next attack.
If they see you’ve been knocked down, they rush to your side to check if you’re okay. They are your support. You are theirs.
Then one day, you switch squadrons. You get off your squad and return home to your community.
The problem is, a lot of the people at home don’t have a sword. They don’t have a sword and worse yet, they don’t even see the battle and bloodshed around them, because they’re distracted. It’s almost like you’re in a war zone and they’re the kids running in the street to grab the soccer ball. You just want to yell, “Get out of the way!!!!”
They don’t see what you see. That they are a soldier, not a child. That heaven on earth is during and between battles, not in the soccer ball.
That’s what going home feels like in this moment with one month left on the field.
