I would literally sit at the feet of this frail woman housed in a body scored by pain. With my legs tucked beneath me, I listened to her soft voice as she taught me from a worn Bible open on her quilt-covered lap. As a busy mother of three young children, these times of spiritual learning and prayer were vital to me. Being a new believer in Jesus Christ, I was hungry to know more about Him and Margaret became my mentor.
Cared for by her husband, Margaret watched the world from a little cedar cottage perched on a steep hillside overlooking the ocean. During a routine surgery she suffered irreparable nerve damage to her back and as a result lived with chronic, disabling pain. She became a housebound invalid, yet I never heard her complain.
Margaret was a warrior. A most unlikely one from the world’s view, but a warrior in an unseen yet ever present battle. Like a commander at her headquarters, she kept in touch with the battle through letters, phone calls and visits from those she upheld in prayer. She armed herself with the sword of God’s word and developed spiritual muscles in the crucible of pain and isolation. When she prayed aloud, I felt heaven hold its breath to listen.
Cradling my newborn son for the first time, her faded blue eyes swam with tears which dripped onto his blanket like a benediction. She had prayed fervently for the health and safe delivery of this little boy, and now here he was in her arms. Without hesitation she closed her eyes and lifted her trembling voice in praise for this gift from God. Margaret’s prayers were more meaningful to me than any christening ceremony.
When she talked about Jesus, it was obvious He was her closest companion. With warm reverence Margaret wove His name and words into all her conversations. From the confines of her home she looked for ways to tell others about Him, and to offer prayer for their needs. By the chair where she spent so many hours she kept a prayer list, underlined, marked and often tear-stained. The one name most prayed for was her son, Bill, whose wayward lifestyle had landed him in prison. The enemy faced a fierce opponent in Bill’s warrior mother.
This week in North America many soldiers will be remembered and commemorated for their brave, selfless deeds, as they should be. But there is another army whose arms may be weak but whose prayers are mighty; whose legs cannot stand but who wield the mighty sword of God’s word.
They do not wage war as the world does but declare like the apostle Paul, “The weapons of the war we’re fighting are not of this world but are powered by God and effective at tearing down the strongholds erected against His truth. We are demolishing arguments and ideas, every high-and-mighty philosophy that pits itself against the knowledge of the one true God. We are taking prisoners of every thought, every emotion, and subduing them into obedience to the Anointed One.” – (2 Corinthians 10:4-5 The Voice)
I am grateful for the soldiers who fought for our country’s freedom, but my true hero is a frail little lady whose prayers transcended her physical disabilities; a warrior who discovered Christ’s grace sufficient for her, for His power is made perfect in weakness. (2 Corinthians 12:9)