Satan Hates My Guts

I struggle. 

All the time and over such stupid stuff!  

Now, I know the secret of why the simplest of simple leads to a meltdown. “What just happened?” and “Why does it keep happening?” to “When will it ever stop?".  

Today, I figured it out.

Satan. Hates. My. Guts.

Before fixing my sights on the Nobel Peace Prize, with this revolutionary idea, I want to be certain, so I casually mention to a friend, “Satan hates my guts.”  Without missing a beat, she uncharacteristically did not have a question.  “Pretty much.”  Flat out.  ‘O-kay…  Am I actually on to something and if I am, what do I do with it?’  I laugh, she chuckles and I’m sure the devil, ‘Bwah-hahahaed’ himself to death. 

(If only.)  

I guess I sound resolved to nothing ever changing.  I am, but not for that reason.  I resolve to the fact that everything is going to be all right.  If Satan spends that much time wreaking havoc on my emotions, I’m getting at least one thing right.

Satan cannot be everywhere at the same time. He’s not omnipresent nor is he a mind reader, but he has eyes and ears.  He also has one-third of fallen angels lurking about doing a great deal of hearing and seeing for him.  Not only that, but they also enlist others, enticing people, using them as snares.  I see the traps, I hear “danger Will Rogers, danger”, yet somehow, I manage to fall despite the warnings.  Time and time again.  It is inevitable.

‘Why am I snapping at this young girl? She’s just doing her job.  Yes, yes she is… rudely.’

‘Seriously?  Why does this keep changing? Ugh. It was fine just a second ago!  Everything is selected exactly the same, but now this one part is a different size?’

‘ENOUGH already!  Turn it down!  I can’t be inside; I can’t be outside.  I’m sick wearing a headset as an accessory; even then it doesn’t work, it’s too loud and does nothing about the vibration shaking the house. I have the right to live like I what, too!’

'I do my best to not respond in kind, but better.  Why am I treated this way? Condoning endless bullying is bad enough, but she hit me! It isn’t about my way or having a certain way, but my students.  My protocols are best practices! Communication? This isn’t a communication problem, this is insubordination!’

Irritation. Tears of frustration. Anguishing meltdowns.  There is one detail I neglect to consider.  One-third is a portion of one whole.  Where in the world are the other two-thirds?  “Ding-ding-ding”. The other two thirds are angels who remain faithful to the One True God , and they are outnumbering all those demons, fighting against wickedness.  It’s those little inconspicuous annoyances that start me down the path where I slip and fall.  Where I sin...

Here's the key:  Satan can hear, right?  Well, I need to stop giving him ammunition.

His following, whether worldly or otherworldly, use what comes out of my mouth to lay snares!  Upset, angry or whatever, I'm learning to keep it in my thought bubble between me and the Lord.  Satan can’t hear that!  I make sure Satan hears what he dreads the most… praise.  Pure, unadulterated praise of who God is. 

He can also see. I love probability.  I think he does, too; but he doesn’t get it.  He's one hundred percent certain, with a two-sided coin, I’ll act impulsively or worse, irrationally.  Ah, that's 50 percent, but he's going to do what he does best.  Cheat.  He orchestrates.  He’s the Master of Deception and can distract like nobody’s business and despite best intentions, I may hand him a double barrel gun for all that ammo.  

Hearing and seeing go hand in hand.

‘She’ll slip with the tongue, she’s always calling people what they are, idiots… If she’d just kick that ridiculous habit of asking Him to forgive.  Another day, I need to focus, make sure all my minions are in a row.  All my “minions” in a row, heh-heh-heh, I crack myself up. Where’s that coin?  She’s going to screw up.  I know this one, been messing with her most her pathetic life.  As a matter of fact, she's so messed up she can't tell the difference between reality and imaginary!  She cannot keep living this way, I’ve heard her say it myself.  You guys just stick to the plan, she’s bound to flip out.’ 

I forget Satan isn't in control, there is nothing he can do without God’s permission. Nothing.  People say, "The Lord doesn't give us anything we can't handle".  If that is true, then okay, I'll get through this.   He may know my weaknesses, but he doesn't know my heart.  I need to remember, I know all about him, too. 

1 Peter 5:8 both warns and encourages me to ... "be watchful" because my "adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion seeking someone to devour" and to "resist him".

I run to God, in tearful uncontrollable venting, to the point of being inconsolable. I don't see past the moment, but He's been beyond it. He gets I believe I fail serving Him well because I'm in a meltdown.  Jesus is omnipresent, hearing and seeing it all. He hears me crying out to Him; he sees me running towards Him. Satan is a liar. Jesus knows my heart. That fact thrusts everything that tears me away from biblical truths, back onto Satan, right where it belongs. 

When we fail to fall, demons coil and Satan blows a casket. 

And there we h...

Ow!  For all that's good and holy, did he just pinch me?

See.

I told you.

Satan hates my guts.