When I think about battle, I think about how the military trains its people—specialists like snipers, bomb technicians, engineers. There are people trained for every situation: in the military, police, firefighters, all kinds of emergency forces. Training is everything.
But let's be real: the devil does his own training too. He rules this world. He knows what every person wants and needs, and he knows exactly how to offer it just the right way. He "trains" people, too—especially hurt people, using them to spread more pain.
Sometimes I picture somebody praying for help, and God calls out to people like you and me. We get the message, out of nowhere, and show up for that person—sometimes without even knowing why.
When I mention military training, I'm not saying God trains us through drills and discipline. What I mean is, God can turn the worst parts of humanity into something useful. He uses the scars and pain the world gives us to reach others who are hurting, even when we don't feel worthy or strong themselves. The devil is always working overtime to convince us we're not worthy, that our pain makes us useless. But the truth is, God can use every bit of our pain for something good.
He wasn't there to stop what happened to me, but I truly believe He sent someone to be by my side through it all—even if I didn't see it at the time.
With all the pain and hatred people put on us, I still think God can use it for His glory. There's a mighty battle being fought right now—between good and evil, between hope and despair—and God knows it, and so does Satan. They both know your path and mine. God will help us find that path, but honestly, the obstacles never really go away. You just learn how to keep going, one battle at a time.
The Battlefield of the Mind
The most intense battles we fight don't happen on physical ground. They happen in our minds, in those quiet moments when we're alone with our thoughts. These are the battles that define us—the ones where we decide whether to keep going or give up, whether to believe in something greater or surrender to despair.
I've spent countless nights wondering why certain things happened to me. Why did I have to endure what I did? What was the point of all that pain? The questions would circle around in my head like vultures, waiting for me to collapse under their weight.
That's when I realized—the battlefield of the mind is where everything begins. The enemy knows this. That's why the first things he attacks are your thoughts, your confidence, your sense of purpose. He knows if he can win there, the rest will follow.
But here's what I've learned: even in those darkest moments, when the voices in your head are at their loudest, you're never truly alone in that fight. Even when it feels like God is a million miles away, He's fighting for you—sometimes through other people, sometimes through a random moment of clarity or strength that seems to come from nowhere.
Training Through Trials
Life has a way of training us that no formal education can match. Think about it—the lessons that shaped you the most probably weren't taught in a classroom. They were forged in moments of heartbreak, failure, loss, and unexpected joy.
When a musician first picks up an instrument, those initial sounds are rarely beautiful. The fingers bleed, the notes crack, the timing stumbles. But something happens in that struggle—a transformation that can't happen any other way. The resistance of the strings against fingers creates calluses. The frustration of failed attempts builds determination. The humbling process of starting from zero builds character.
That's how God trains us too. Not by making life easy, but by using the natural resistance of life to strengthen us. Every rejection that doesn't destroy you makes you more resilient. Every heartbreak that doesn't harden you makes you more compassionate. Every failure that doesn't stop you makes you more determined.
I've come to believe that God doesn't waste pain. He doesn't always prevent it—and that's something I've had to wrestle with—but He never wastes it. The very things that the enemy intended to destroy you can become the tools God uses to build something new in you.
The Battle for Others
There comes a point in every warrior's journey when they realize something profound: the battle isn't just about them anymore. It's about who they can help because of what they've endured.
I remember the first time I realized my pain had purpose. I was talking with someone who was going through something similar to what I had experienced. As they spoke, I could see the same desperation in their eyes that I once had in mine. But something strange happened—I found myself saying things I didn't even know I believed. Words of hope and perspective started flowing from a place I didn't know existed within me.
That's when it clicked. Sometimes we go through battles not just for our own growth, but so we can guide others through similar terrain. The map of scars we carry becomes a survival guide for someone else.
Think about the mentors who have impacted your life the most. Weren't they the ones who had walked through fire and could still tell you about it with a steady voice? They weren't perfect—they were battle-tested. Their credibility came not from a life free of struggles, but from how they faced those struggles.
The Melody in the Madness
As someone who's spent years in music, I've noticed something interesting about great compositions. The most moving pieces aren't the ones that stay in the major key the whole time. They're the ones that venture into minor keys, into dissonance, into unexpected places—before finding their way back to resolution.
Life works the same way. Those dissonant chapters—the ones that make you want to cover your ears and scream "make it stop"—they're creating tension that makes the resolution that much more powerful when it finally comes.
I don't pretend to understand why some people seem to get more than their fair share of those dissonant passages. I don't know why some battles last longer than others. But I do know that even in those chaotic measures, there's a Composer who sees the full score, who knows how these painful notes contribute to a greater melody.
The Daily Skirmishes
The big battles get all the attention, but it's the daily skirmishes that often determine the outcome of the war. Those small choices—to get out of bed when depression says stay, to forgive when bitterness says hold on, to create when doubt says it's not worth it—they accumulate over time.
The enemy knows this too. That's why he doesn't always come at you with obvious attacks. Sometimes it's just the slow drip of discouragement, the gradual erosion of hope, the subtle suggestion that nothing will ever change.
Fighting these daily battles requires a different kind of strength. Not the adrenaline-fueled courage of crisis moments, but the quiet persistence that says, "I may not feel like showing up today, but I will anyway."
The Ongoing Fight
I wish I could tell you that there comes a day when the battles stop. When you've fought enough, endured enough, grown enough that you get a permanent pass from future struggles. But that's not how this works.
What I can tell you is that you get stronger. You get wiser. You learn to recognize the enemy's tactics before they blindside you. You build a community of fellow warriors who have your back. And most importantly, you develop an unshakable confidence that no matter how dark the night gets, dawn always follows.
The obstacles never really go away. You just learn how to keep going, one battle at a time. And somehow, in the process of fighting, you discover that you're becoming someone you never thought you could be—someone who can not only survive the battles but help others survive them too.
And maybe, just maybe, that's the point of it all.
