Merriam-Webster defines buff as to polish or shine.
I have some dents in my armor. Oxymoronically, my physical dents are blubbery in nature. Pregnancy and Oreos can do that. Some (all!) of us have other dents…the kind that others can’t see as easily as obesity. These are the dents in our hearts. Some self-inflicted, most not. But a dent is just that: a dent. You were not impaled. You are still here, movin’ and groovin’!
This year I decided that yes, I must spend a time on the dents, buffing the armor.
But I’m celebrating that I have my armor. I have it, it’s on, and it fits. It has protected me. It’s thick and impenetrable, protecting me always, yet allowing me to experience the process.
Each dent is like a trophy that represents an overcoming, a victory, a birthing, and in some cases, a death.
My earthly armor must be buffed so that I can continue living and celebrating the victories. There is more out there for me. But I will not see it as hard labor, a task to be despised. No, this is a privilege, to sweat through the recollection of the last 14 years and celebrate how brilliantly God equipped me with this armor.
Ephesians 6. Read it. Good stuff. Good enough that after I read it, I put that armor on for eternity. Thank you, Lord, for proving yourself in that miraculously personal way when I said, “God, if you are real…” Thank you for Pastor Pederson’s sermon that Sunday. For the tug on my heart. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for the encouraging look you gave me to go up to the altar when I looked back as I walked forward. Thank you, to all my grandparents, aunts, uncles, teachers and Franciscan sisters, for the prayers that paved the way. Thank you, Jesus, for meeting me that day in 1979.
Yup, I’ve got to buff this armor so I can help others get some, too.
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