The Story of a Sword

At first glance, there’s nothing really special about the sword.

It’s not engraved with intricate designs.
It’s not inlaid with gold or encrusted with jewels.
It’s just plain, strong, sturdy steel.

It wasn’t made to sit in a museum, only to have people walk by and marvel at its beauty.
No, not this sword.
It was made for one purpose, and one purpose only.
It was made to inflict as much pain and agony as possible.

It was fashioned and created with one man in mind.
A man who needed a sword to cause the maximum amount of damage and strike fear and intimidation in the hearts of his enemies.
And it worked.

Because of who this sword belonged to, it was automatically an enemy of God and the people of God.

It had no say in what it was used for.
It wasn’t able to say, “I don’t want to kill that person. I don’t want to go into battle today. Just leave me home today, please.”

The owner had no love for this sword.

To him, it was simply an instrument of warfare for him to use until it was too beaten and banged up to be of further benefit. At that time, it would simply be discarded and replaced.

He didn’t spend time working on and sharpening and polishing it.
He didn’t care if it was clean or smooth or particularly sharp.
He didn’t need it to be.

It bore all its scars from battle.
It carried around reminders of those whose lives had been taken by this mighty weapon.

One day, like so many others, this sword was strapped to the side of its owner and marched onto the battlefield.
Perhaps it would be used again today to take the life of another innocent man.

But this day was different.

This day, the adversary who met them on the field of battle would overcome and defeat the owner of this sword.

This day, a rock would leave a sling and find itself sunk into a forehead.

This day, this sword would end up cutting off the head of the giant who had carried it for so long.

This day, the sword would get a new owner.

This young man didn’t ask for permission or negotiate for this sword.
He walked onto the battlefield and took it.

When he took it, he made sure this sword would never change hands again.
It would never be returned to its previous owner.

This day, the sword was brought from the hand of a slave master, from bondage and from fear, to the hand of a king.

As soon as it changed hands, all past deeds were forgiven.
It was no longer seen as a murderous weapon that wrecked and ruined the lives of God’s people.
In their eyes, it no longer caused fear and panic. It now made them feel safe and secure.
It immediately went from being an enemy’s sword to being their king’s sword.

In contrast, this new owner took great care of this sword.

He spent many hours knocking off the rough edges.
He took a whetstone to grind out the scars left behind by years of use and neglect.
He made those rough, beaten edges smooth and sharp once again.
He took oil and cleaned and polished it until it shined as though new.

Once satisfied the sword was in the best shape possible, the king wrapped it up and placed it in a special, safe place until the day would come when he was ready to use it.

When that day arrived, here is what he said: “There is none like that; give it me.” (1 Samuel 21:9)

From that day forward, the sword had a different purpose.
What was once used to terrorize was now used to defend.

As sinners, we were fashioned for use in the hand of the enemy.
He spared no expense to make us as effective against the kingdom of God as possible…and we had no say in the matter.
As soon as he had gotten everything he could from us, we would be discarded and forgotten.

Until the day came when the enemy was defeated in our lives.

Just like with the sword, there was no negotiation.
Our King decidedly retrieved us from the enemy, never again to change hands.
Our Master was no longer a cruel, wicked slave driver, but a kind and compassionate King.
All past deeds were immediately forgiven…for we were now His.

He takes tender care to knock off those rough edges from our past.
Even though the whetstone of troubles and trials bring pain, it is necessary for us to become an instrument He can use.
Not every day is a painful one. The King takes time to rub the oil in our wounds and give us days of refreshing.
He takes such good care of those that belong to Him.

Once we are exactly how He wants us, the day will come when the King will say, “There is none like that; give it me.”
And He’ll take us home with Him.

The hand of the One who wields the sword makes all the difference.

Whose hands are you in?

*This thought came from a message my hubs preached today. He deserves some credit.* 🙂

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