On triumph

It is an exhilarating thing to stand on the front lines of the battle between good and evil. Many people, in their day-to-day lives, work in the camps of this battle, often without realizing it, and their contributions are not to be underrated. But I am talking about standing directly in the line of fire—placing all your strength and all your devotion in a desperate stand against the destruction of something precious. The scale does not matter, nor the field: it can be physical, emotional, intellectual, or moral. Those who have stood here know what I mean.

My battle was small, intimate, and nearly overwhelming. It was a fight for the sanity of one person. The battle was not mine to win—victory, in such cases, comes only from the soul of the person and the Holy Spirit, in a private mystery of healing. But it was mine to fight. For over a year, every resource I had and many I didn't were called into the service of this battle. And we won. The sun broke through, the lie was defeated, and life began to grow again in the soil of truth.

That kind of triumph doesn't allow for conceit. I know that in my own power any resistance I could make would have been feeble. I know that in my own power, my faults of selfishness and arrogance would have overwhelmed any good I was able to do. It was grace which provided the continued strength, grace which provided the checks to my own unholy impulses. Most of all, it was grace that provided the ability to act out of character when it was needed—to push farther than I had ever done, to supply resources I did not yet possess. The grace of God upholds his warriors, and it is his gift to us that he allows us to be his arms in the fight.

That kind of triumph doesn't come without cost. I have never been able to tell fully what it was to stand in that place. The anguish, the helplessness, the desolation I walked through is private and unique, as every sufferer's suffering is private and unique—known only to the heart of God, who holds all our tears in a bottle. Then, too, there was the external cost: missed opportunities, undeveloped relationships, because my life for that year was wrapped around the all-consuming battle.

That kind of triumph doesn't leave you. For ever and always, I will have the knowledge of this victory. And in a world where evil is overwhelming, this is no mean possession. Once at least to me, suffering, struggle, and sacrifice were not in vain. Once at least, I have stood in rank against the dragon, and it was the dragon that fell.

Hard as that place was to walk in—and it was the hardest thing I have ever done—I have felt, since then, a desire to go back. Not to the same situation, not even to the same kind of situation, but to a place where the battle is clear and the stakes are high, a place that demands everything you're capable of and then some, a place where all your faith and all your love are called into single-minded service. A place where, though you do not know how to fight or even how to survive the next day, you know that you are fighting for the good. I found that I loved this place.

This is why I write fantasy, and why over and over again I return to read it. Particularly children's fantasy, because it is in these books that the battle between good and evil is played out most clearly and unapologetically. It is fought in ways and on grounds that you and I will never encounter, but it is fought against strong forces, at great cost, and to great reward. During my own battle, the story that most resonated with me was The Lord of the Rings. The movie version of Return of the King came out in the middle of that time, and I wept and wept to see Frodo and Sam making their way through Mordor. That was my fight: to walk with my friend through hell, until the deadly burden could be released and destroyed. That story was more real for me at that time than any tale about college friends going through hard times. This is why I write fantasy.

And this is why I will seek out another battleground. In this perpetual (but not eternal) war, we all have our part. Many spend their lives on the home front, working steadily to build the resources of the good, and the value of this work is immeasurable. But for myself—I think I was made to be a soldier. I don't know what fields I will be called to fight on, or for how long, or how soon. And until the time comes, I will work in the places given me. But I will be looking, and waiting, for a time when I am once again called to active duty.