the armor of god...

sorry, but i'm going into this post in the way i go into most of my posts, assuming that people who read them know the basics of some of the things i'm talking about beforehand, because it would take me too long to explain the context for everything. so if you are completely unfamiliar with the armor of god, i suggest reading ephesians 6, because it's extremely relevant.
in the meantime...
are the things that trouble us things we always need removed from us, or are they things we just simply need to boldly stand against? are they, in essence, hinderances that we should be praying to be freed from, or are they the things that make the rest of our faith valid?
there are flaming arrows, fiery darts of the enemy. and we're supposed to stand against them. it doesn't say that god will stop the arrows coming, it says that he will protect us from them. we're not necessarily supposed to be free from the arrows, we're supposed to stand in the armor and thus not be mortally wounded by them.
if the arrows are in my life, that doesn't negate the armor. in fact, the arrows justify the armor's existance, the arrows give good reason to put the armor on, and to keep it on, the arrows should make me love the armor. but i don't. i want to be pierced through to death. i don't want to have to walk through the battle zone, through the no-man's land, through the hurly-burly, because i'm not a warrior, i'm just a frightened kid. but i can't even do that, because i know that i'm supposed to wear the armor, just like i was supposed to do my homework when i was a kid, not because i wanted to, but because i felt obliged to do it. but not necessarily to do a good job doing it.
so instead, i put on just enough armor to save my own life, but my leg is on fire, and my right arm is bleeding, and i'm stuck in the middle, unwilling to put on the rest of the armor, but too afraid to just stand in the warzone unprotected. so i hurt and struggle on, dragging the "extra" armor along behind me, weighing me down instead of being part of me, baggage instead of clothing. but at this point, i can't put the rest of the armor on over my wounds, because they need to be cleaned and repaired first, so i walk, stagger wounded, dragging my now useless security, and cursing my pain and wondering, in my 5 year old way, why mommy or daddy won't just pick me up and love me and heal my wounds and dress me properly and then put me back, ready to face it all and secure in their love and my protection, and i know it's lazy and immature, but i'm not strong enough, not old enough, not whole enough to do it myself. it's not a cop-out, it's my frightened, lonley truth. but i'm tired, of hurting, of dragging, of being lost, of falling when i'm supposed to stand, of burning and being consumed rather than refined, tired of crying in the dirt and the flames and wondering where those who loved me went, where my army disappeared to, why someone who's better than me at this whole swordfighting and battling thing doesn't ever come along and help me.
so, i'm either selling armor, or trying to learn how to wear it and not clash (bad pun) with everything around me. wish me luck. and if you offer the right price, today, it might be yours. i wish i had the conviction to say otherwise.