Monsters are Real!

The old dragon sat dully, stuffed into his truck like a toad, eyes bulging. When I first saw him, he was puffing up like an adder, waiting to explode. He spied me walking across the lawn and I met the force of his vitriol as I made my way down the hill. I extended my hand but was met with hot breath and spittle, as he spat out his pent-up hate. My thought was that the only thing between me and certain death was his old beat-up vehicle. That, and not a few years of too many carbs on his frame. Of course I had left my gun in my car this one time that I might have needed it. Visions of Annie Oakley ran through my mind as I called upon the Lord to go ahead and send those 10,000 chariots right about now. 

I had never been cussed out, until that day. I am 57 years old and have lived a sheltered life, since I've never had the experience of getting brutally beat up, verbally or otherwise. I've had the rare blessing of being surrounded by good, noble men all my days. My husband, Daddy, sons, brother, brother-in-laws, father-in-law, nephews, pastors, elders, brothers in Christ.... so many great men. As I stood beneath the gale force of an evil man's barrage, spitless, my thoughts began floating around, pondering my sisters in the world who hate men and who wrestle with feminism in their souls. Maybe this is what they faced as children. Maybe dragons such as this rendered them powerless, so that when they escaped they armed themselves to the hilt that it might never happen again. God help.

I was calm, but quietly bipped the dragon in the nose with truth as I was able. I also rebuked his repulsive language, only to be met with more of it. Time was on my side, as he began to lose steam and strength. My gaze and prayers kept steady, until I saw his mind begin to right itself. Somewhere in there he regretted what he had done and began to realize the possible ramifications of his actions. Eventually he apologized for his language and asked if he had ruined our deal. I told him I didn't know. That opened another sluice gate of rancor, pouring out. I wondered what conspired to make this madman so angry, so full of hurt that he would delight in hurting other people. It could be a lot of things, either within or without. In the end, we are all responsible for what we do with that. I believe it is God's grace that enables anyone to rise above their depravity. We can cloak it with manners, money, strength, perfume and youth, but when it gets down to the end and we're out of all those resources, I'm banking on Him. The old fart dragon might oughta watch his back.