Fighting Domains

Futility is on my heels. I feel it breathing down my neck, sickly breath turning the skin soft and thin, splintering and rotting the floorboards, choking the shrubs with weeds.

I read about being the mistress of my domain from a study by Barbara Mouser. In it she outlines the created, fallen, and redeemed states of this aspect, this being a mistress of a domain.

And I feel futility creeping.

Barbara writes,

Our subduing is embattled by a domain that not only is uncultivated, but which aggressively fights back

and I shake my head up and down and moan my agreement.

The hills have eyes, and fists, and a nasty snarl. So I constantly fight the urge to tear off a piece of white fabric and fly it high, a full surrender to futility. Does it matter, anyway?

Turns out, it matters a lot. It's everything. We're fighting domains, battling to rule what we can, and those battles mean something. Those battles affect history, change trajectories, advance God's Kingdom. It's actually a matter of life and death, and that scares me and gives me hope in one breath.

So I put up my dukes and scrap. I clean my house for the eighth time today and I employ whatever bits of wisdom I have to counsel friends or cultivate relationships. I cry when it feels pointless, but I keep going in the hope that it means something. Because if it does, then I have an active part in the Kingdom of God, and that's worth the splinters under my nails and the thorns in my feet. It's worth the tears and bruises. My domain may always be feral, but I'll fight to the death to cut back the vines. Just squeeze the water in my mouth and give me a sweat rag.

The bells are ringing. It's up from the corner of the ring again. It's up to kingdom work again.