Bran thought about it. “Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?” “That is the only time a man can be brave,” his father told him.
—GEORGE R.R. MARTIN, A GAME OF THRONES
I remember exactly where I was sitting when Luci called. I was at a table in the mall outside my favorite coffee shop working on a new book.
“Sheila, it’s Luci. Do you have a minute?” she asked.
“Sure, Luc, what do you need?”
“Are you free next Wednesday? If you are, I wondered if you’d have any interest in coming with me to have coffee with Bono?” she asked.
“Excuse me. Can you hold just a moment?”
I put the phone down on the table, ran into the nearest store, and let out a primal yell. I hustled back to my table, collected myself, picked up the phone, and said, “That would be lovely.”
I have been a fan of U2 from their earliest years. We even shared a stage once. In 1981, I was headlining with my band at Greenbelt, a music and arts festival in England. That evening, before I took the stage, the promoters introduced a new band from Ireland, and the rest is history.
The following Wednesday, I picked up Luci and our friend Mary Graham, and we drove downtown to the funky boutique hotel where Bono was staying. Luci told me that the invitation had come because she was a supporter of the ONE Campaign, a global initiative cofounded by Bono that worked to eradicate poverty.
“I seemed to remember you like U2?” Luci said as we walked into the lobby.
“Like them! Luci, that’s like saying God’s quite a nice person. The sentiment doesn’t really come close!”
I’d hoped we’d meet him in the restaurant so that I could dash in and sit down before I fell over, but he was waiting for us in the lobby.
“Hello, I’m Bono,” he said, stretching out his hand.
Dear Jesus, help me now.
“Hi, I’m Sheila, and this as you probably know is Luci Swindoll and Mary Graham,” I said, about two octaves too high.
“We have a room upstairs, but the elevator’s a bit small,” he said. “We’ll have to go two at a time. Luci, do you want to ride up with me?” he asked.
“Why don’t you go up with Sheila?” she said.
That is the day Luci worked herself into my will.
In the room, Bono talked about his passion for justice, and he quoted from the book of Isaiah. He asked us about our work with World Vision and our recent trips to Africa and India. It’s a memory I will always treasure.
A couple of weeks later, he sent us a gift. It was a video message to the fifteen thousand women gathered with us at a Women of Faith event in an arena that night. He talked about the power of women to change the world, and then he addressed Luci, Mary, and me by name. He called us “lionesses for Jesus.”
The following day I went to a toy store and bought a little toy lioness. I brought her home and studied her face, the strength in her paws, muscles ready to pounce if anyone threatened her young, then I carefully placed her in my desk drawer. I couldn’t identify with such a fierce beauty. My understanding of strength needed work.
Time passed, and a year before Mum’s death I was back in that same arena. Before the evening’s event began, Judy, our tour intercessor, asked if she could speak privately with me for a few moments. She said that when she was praying for me, God told her to tell me that it was time for battle. She told me not to be afraid because I had everything I needed. She anointed me with oil, laid hands on me, and prayed for me.
“This is how God sees you,” she said.
She gave me a picture. It was of a roaring lion heading into battle carrying a young girl on his back. The girl’s sword is drawn, ready to attack, but she is blindfolded, the tail of that blindfold flapping in the wind. The bronze shield on her left arm displayed the scales of justice, perfectly balanced.
“I don’t understand, Judy,” I said. “Why is she blindfolded?”
“Because she’s not going in her own strength. Her strength and power are in the Lion of Judah.”
As I studied that picture, something began to stir in me. I thought back to my favorite childhood books, The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis. I imagine you might have seen the movies that were made in the early 2000s, but I’m rather fond of the televised series produced in 1988 by the BBC in England. The series wasn’t as glossy as the movies, but its depiction of British childhood was familiar to me—such as the sensible shoes the children wore and the games they played.
The character I’ve always identified with is Lucy. Her sister, Susan, was the traditional beauty of the family with long flowing hair, but Lucy and I shared a bowl haircut. My love for Lucy was deeper than a shared hairdo, though. Lucy had a gentle way and was kind to all the animals in Narnia. They trusted her. In many ways she was the least likely warrior, and yet because of her simple faith she could see Aslan—the wild and fearsome lion ruler—when the others couldn’t.
Our true identity is found in the love of God, not in the labels that we’ve worn.
As a child, I wanted to be Lucy. I wanted to know Aslan.
I thanked Judy for the picture, not knowing what had prompted her to give it to me. Even still, I was thankful for the reminder.
A few months after Mum’s death I was looking through my desk drawer for my passport. I’d put it there after I returned from Scotland, but I couldn’t find it. I pulled the drawer out and turned it upside down, and there she was—my little lioness. I set her beside the picture Judy had given me and smiled. It was as if God was asking me, “Do you understand?”
I sat quietly in God’s presence, considering His voice, the lioness, the picture. The pieces began to fall into place. I thought back to who I was as a young child, how I climbed trees and rescued stray dogs. Mum told me I was fearless. I was Lucy, brave and kind, the kid who could see God. That’s how God made me, even if I forgot for a while. But as I sat in the quiet, God’s presence reminded me. And as He reminded me, I felt brave, strong, and dearly loved by my Father God.
Becoming fully who we were made to be means remembering who we really are and believing the truth instead of the lies life has led us to believe. Our true identity is found in the love of God, not in the labels that we’ve worn.
I’m not “Sheila Walsh, whose father committed suicide.”
I’m not “Sheila Walsh, the psych patient.”
I’m not “Sheila Walsh, the shameful.”
I’m Sheila Walsh, a well-loved daughter of the King of kings.
Have I always felt that? No. Did that mean it wasn’t always true? No.
I wonder how you identify yourself. Do you define yourself by your circumstances? Do you define yourself as divorced, or fat, or financially troubled? Do you define yourself by your singleness, your loneliness? Do you see yourself as forgotten or passed over? Do you define yourself by the mess you’re in the middle of, right now? It’s easy to believe the labels we’ve been handed or the lies about our identities, but God doesn’t define us by our assumed collection of labels. He doesn’t define us by our weakness. When God looks at us, He sees well-loved daughters.
Meditate on that truth, even now.
The apostle Paul knew that God didn’t define him by his weakness. In his second letter to the Corinthians, he wrote of a “thorn in the flesh,” which he begged God to take away. What was his thorn? Some say he was losing his eyesight, or that he had malaria. Some claim he was tormented by severe migraines. Others think it was ongoing persecution from the Jewish religious community or the shame he carried from his early persecution of the church. Whatever it was—and no one knows for certain—it caused Paul acute pain. Paul wrote, “Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness’” (2 Cor. 12:8–9 ESV).
Why wouldn’t God take these things away? I don’t know. Perhaps the thorn was a mercy in disguise, which reminded Paul of just how much he needed Christ. Perhaps the thorn humanized him, made it easier for him to relate to others who were struggling. Isn’t it hard to be comforted by someone who has never suffered? Whatever the case may be, Paul knew his identity—he was a powerful son of God, despite his weakness.
What do you see as your thorn, the secret shame that’s stopping you from living into your God-given identity as a dearly loved little girl? What if, like Paul, we asked God to show Himself powerful in these weaknesses? The truth is, where our surrendered brokenness meets God’s mercy, power flows like a mighty river.
The truth is, where our surrendered brokenness meets God’s mercy, power flows like a mighty river.
But this begs the question: Apart from the community of safe sisters, how do we remember our true identity when we feel so weak? How do we guard ourselves from the thorny lies the enemy of our souls might use to disrupt our lives, to make us forget our true identity?
The answer is simple: We take up our weapons. The tricky part, though, is that our weapons don’t look like weapons, just as our strength doesn’t look like strength.
Consider Christ’s ultimate weapon—His death on the cross. To the onlookers at Golgotha that day, the cross looked like a defeat. They had no way of knowing that it was the mightiest weapon ever wielded, and it was in the hand of God. In his fantastic commentary on the gospel of John, J. C. Ryle wrote, “The form of the cross is that of a sword with the point downward; above is the hilt toward heaven, as if in the hand of God; below is the point toward earth, as if thrust through the head of the old serpent the devil.”1
In the same way, our weapons don’t look threatening to human eyes, but in the spiritual realm, they are recognized as mighty. We use confession, prayer, meditation, and community alongside silence, obedience, and gratitude. Scripture teaches us that we also use forgiveness, grace, love, and mercy. And perhaps that brings us to this point—the greatest of all, the Word of God itself.
Paul gives a description of God’s armor:
Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. (Eph. 6:14–17 NIV)
Many excellent books have been written on the whole armor of God, so I won’t attempt to unpack it piece by piece. That said, there is something so powerful about “the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God” that I’d never understood before. The more I unpacked it, the richer my understanding.
In the Ephesians passage, the word Paul uses for sword is the Greek word machairan. It’s a feminine word, used for a short sword or dagger. It’s not the kind of sword you would wield going into a general battle. Instead, the word implies a much more personal weapon, one used in hand-to-hand combat.
The word used for word of God is the Greek word rhema. That’s not the word used when Scripture is referring to Christ—the Word—or the Bible as a whole. This is a word used for a short phrase, a statement, an expression, or a saying. In other words, Paul is letting us know that the way we do battle is to have our daggers ready. We combat the enemy of God with specific promises or verses from the Word of God. Christ modeled what that looks like.
The only place in Scripture where we’re given a picture of God in three persons present at the same time is at Christ’s baptism: “When Jesus was baptized, immediately he went up from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened to him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming to rest on him; and behold, a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased’” (Matt. 3:16–17 ESV).
God declared Christ’s identity as a dearly loved Son over Him, and then the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil for forty days. This wilderness—it was a lonely barren place on the rocky slopes of the Judean mountains toward the Dead Sea. It was a place where robbers and revolutionaries met. Most people avoided the wilderness. But Jesus followed the Spirit in faith.
For forty days, Christ wandered the desert without food or friends. And Scripture teaches us that at the end of those forty days, when Jesus was tired and hungry, the devil came to Jesus to tempt Him. First, the enemy questioned Christ’s identity and tempted His physical need: “If you are the Son of God,” Satan said, “tell this stone to become a loaf of bread” (Luke 4:3).
Christ knew who He was—God’s dearly loved Son—and He picked up a dagger from Deuteronomy 8, saying, “People do not live by bread alone” (Luke 4:4).
Satan next turned to what was, perhaps, the cruelest temptation of all—the temptation to gain the kingdom without the suffering. Scripture puts it this way: “And the devil took him up and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time, and said to him, ‘To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been delivered to me, and I give it to whom I will. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours’” (Luke 4:5–7 ESV).
Satan offered Jesus an easy way out. But Christ, even in a weakened state, refused. He responded with a verse from Deuteronomy 6: “You shall worship the Lord your God, and him only shall you serve” (Luke 4:8 ESV).
Finally, the enemy took Jesus to Jerusalem and brought Him to the pinnacle of the temple, which overlooked the city and surrounding countryside. He said, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to guard you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone’” (Luke 4:9–11 ESV).
Here the enemy quoted Psalm 91, but he quoted verses that suited his purposes. He missed verse 9, which says, “Because you have made the LORD your dwelling place” (ESV).
The enemy of God can tempt us with parts of the Word of God. That’s why it’s so important that we know the Word so that we can pick up our weapons. Christ knew the Word well, and He wielded his third weapon, quoting Deuteronomy 6:16: “You shall not put the Lord your God to the test” (Luke 4:12 ESV).
The Son of God used the Word of God to combat the enemy of God. This is how we fight. We might look as if we are standing alone, but the Lion of Judah, the great Aslan, is with us. He gives us the weapons we need to combat the lies our enemy might speak over us or our safe sisters. This, I suppose, brings us to this question: What are the weapons you need for your fight? What are the weapons your sisters need for their own battles, their own personal messes? How does the enemy test us?
Consider these promises, these carefully chosen daggers from the Word of God to fight against the lies that come against you and your safe-place sisters.
If you struggle with depression: “Yet I am confident I will see the LORD’s goodness while I am here in the land of the living” (Ps. 27:13).
If you struggle with fear: “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand” (Isa. 41:10 ESV).
If God seems distant: “For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom. 8:38–39 ESV).
If you’re afraid about what’s happening in the world: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble” (Ps. 46:1 ESV).
There are more than three thousand promises in God’s Word. I encourage you to take the time to hone your weapons. Don’t wait until the next storm hits to prepare: Get ready now. Copy them out on cards or commit them to memory. Then when you or one of your safe-place sisters is under attack, you’ll have the daggers by your side.
There is power in the Word of God. I need that power and strength, especially when I don’t have my friends with me to encourage me. Some nights when I step up onto a platform to speak I don’t feel at my best, but I rest in the truth that the Word of God never has a bad day. I’ve literally been walking onto a stage or pulpit and heard the enemy whisper, “You’re too tired, you can’t do this, and you’ve got nothing to offer.” I stop. I pause right there with people watching, wondering what’s wrong with me, and I pull out my weapon: “I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength” (Phil. 4:13).
Then I walk on, not strong in myself but not alone because I’m with Christ.
What does it look like to wield your personalized dagger? There’s a powerful visual of what that looks like in the film adaptation of the fourth book in The Chronicles of Narnia, Prince Caspian. It’s not 100 percent true to the book, but it’s quite lovely anyway. In the film, Lucy says to Aslan, “I wish I was braver.”
Aslan replies, “If you were any braver, you would be a lioness.”
So Lucy walks alone onto the bridge and faces the vast Telmarine army. The army stops for a moment, stunned to see a young girl blocking their way. It’s a David and Goliath moment. With a small smile, Lucy draws out her dagger and waves it at them. That’s when Aslan begins to pace with deliberate steps just behind her, and we know why she’s not afraid. She’s not alone. Neither are we.
I believe what Bono told the crowd that day: “A woman who understands her worth in Christ can change the world.” To put it another way, as Mr. Beaver remarked in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, “Aslan is on the move.”
Let it be true in, through, and around us.
Reflection
Our lives sometimes take sudden left turns, and we find ourselves in a new town, a new job, or a new church, and we don’t know anyone. Some of us become isolated by illness or divorce, and the structure that was once in place has been ripped away from under us. There will be times, too, when our safe sisters are not there for us. What do we do then? What do we do when we not only feel alone but are alone and life is a mess?
On days like that, it’s difficult to even pray. So I go to this scripture: “The Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don’t know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words. And the Father who knows all hearts knows what the Spirit is saying, for the Spirit pleads for us believers in harmony with God’s own will” (Rom. 8:26–27).
I love that. He pleads for us. He’s got our back. We’ll make it through this messy, beautiful, broken life.
I’ve also built up my arsenal with a few truths that I want to share with you, too, so that you may use them in your battles. I’ve written them on cards that I keep on the inside of my wallet.
I’m not home yet.
Tears are okay.
Tomorrow the sun will rise again.
God is with me whether I feel His presence or not.
Silence can be offered as worship.
I am loved.
I read these over and over—as often as needed—then tuck them back inside my wallet. Do these words ring true for you? Which statement speaks to you the most? What others can you add to your arsenal?