Armor for the Soul: Choosing Holiness Over Happiness in Raising the Next Generation 943
In a photograph, two children smile—Colton and McKenna—while Chris, clad in protective armor, stands watchfully in the background. It’s an image that captures more than just a family moment. It holds within it a metaphor: the armor we instinctively try to wrap around our children, not of Kevlar or steel, but of instructions, prayers, boundaries, and the company we allow into their lives.
Even before those children were born, danger was already part of their story. Chris’s vocation meant he lived daily under threat, a reality that cast long shadows across the family’s future. Long before Colton and McKenna entered the world, the effort to reconcile fear with the desire for joy had begun. How does one live freely when the specter of risk is ever-present?
When the children arrived, the urgency of that question grew sharper. Their mother faced the challenge shared by countless parents in difficult circumstances: how to raise children in a joyful environment while acknowledging the inescapable truth that their father’s life was constantly on the line. Every laugh, every milestone, every ordinary day was set against the backdrop of extraordinary danger.
That reality was shaped by three unshakable facts: first, Chris’s life was always at risk; second, he believed dying for others was not only noble but glorious; and third, a violent enemy hunted him actively. For many, those truths would have been unbearable. For this family, they became a crucible for faith.
Prayer became less a ritual and more a lifeline. Fear still existed—it could not be erased—but faith steadied the spirit against its crushing weight. Faith moved from being a concept, something abstract and inherited, into something living and vital. It no longer belonged to sermons or books. It was born in tears, in whispered prayers at night, in surrender when control was impossible.
Chris and his wife both knew that the battlefield offered no logic. Survival was often random, beyond the control of skill or courage. Accepting this truth became part of their survival. It was not resignation but a kind of freedom—the ability to stop clinging to illusions of control and instead lean on something greater.
In that space of uncertainty, relationship with God deepened. Faith was no longer an idea but communion, born of desperation and dependence. When happiness felt elusive, holiness became the pursuit. And holiness, in turn, gave birth to a surprising companion: joy.
It was not joy rooted in circumstances, because circumstances were often harsh. It was joy rooted in trust, in surrender, in the knowledge that even when the ground trembled, God remained. This paradox became the family’s anchor: that in seeking holiness, they found joy. Not the fleeting happiness of momentary comfort, but the enduring joy of spiritual steadiness.
This shift raised an important question, one that extends far beyond the story of a single family: when we speak of raising the next generation, what should our highest hope be? For many parents, the answer is instinctive—“I just want them to be happy.” But what if the greater pursuit is not happiness, but holiness?
Happiness is fragile. It can vanish in an instant with loss, disappointment, or danger. Holiness, on the other hand, steadies the heart regardless of circumstance. It roots identity not in fleeting emotions, but in eternal truths. And in that pursuit of holiness, joy arises—not as the goal, but as the fruit.
For Colton and McKenna, growing up under the shadow of risk and sacrifice, this truth became tangible. Their lives were shaped not by the guarantee of happiness, but by the pursuit of something deeper. For their mother, the journey became a testimony: happiness was no longer the goal for herself or her children. Holiness was. And joy, quietly, inevitably, followed.
The lesson is profound and universal. It challenges us to examine our own hopes for the ones we love. If happiness is the highest pursuit, life’s inevitable storms will shake us. But if holiness is the anchor, storms may come, yet joy remains possible even in the midst of grief.
Faith reframed the meaning of armor. It was not just Chris’s protective gear in battle. It was the spiritual armor wrapped around his children through prayer, through intentional teaching, through the daily choice to pursue holiness over happiness. That armor did not shield them from loss or sorrow, but it gave them strength to endure it.
This reframing also offers a challenge for us all. What if, in our own lives, we stopped chasing happiness as the measure of success? What if we instead pursued holiness—a life aligned with God, lived in surrender, grounded in love? Would we discover, as this family did, that joy arrives not as the prize of circumstance but as the fruit of faith?
The story of Colton, McKenna, and Chris is more than personal reflection. It is a reminder that even in the harshest realities—when risk is constant, when enemies lurk, when fear is ever-present—there is a way to live in joy. That way is not through denying danger, but through embracing holiness as the higher pursuit.
So the question lingers, one worth carrying into every decision, every hope, every prayer: when we speak of the future, for ourselves and for our children, do we simply want happiness? Or do we dare to want holiness, trusting that joy will follow in its wake?
Because in the end, happiness may fade, but holiness endures. And in that endurance, joy—real, lasting, unshakable joy—is found.
A Man, a Possum, and a Lesson in Selfless Love 538
She almost drove past him. On the bustling city street, amid the blur of traffic and pedestrians, he seemed like so many others — ragged, tired, holding an old, battered cup. A man whose circumstances might have made him invisible to most passing eyes.
But something made her stop. Something deeper than curiosity. She rolled down her window and handed him a few dollars. Then, gently, she asked the question that would change the way she saw the world: “What will you spend it on?”
The man’s eyes lifted, and a smile spread across his weathered face. Nestled against his chest was a tiny, shivering possum. “For my little friend,” he said softly. His voice carried the weight of nights spent in cold and hunger, the quiet resilience of someone who had learned scarcity, but not selfishness.
As he spoke, it became clear that the possum was not just an animal he cared for — it was his companion, his family, his reason to endure. “I haven’t eaten much myself,” he admitted, “but I make sure my little friend has something.” Each scrap of food he had was carefully rationed, saved for the tiny life that depended on him.
The woman felt tears prick her eyes. Here was a man with almost nothing, yet he possessed more than most in ways that cannot be measured by money or possessions. In a world obsessed with accumulation and status, he demonstrated the profound truth that love is defined not by what you have, but by what you give.
Observers might have seen only a ragged man on the street, clutching a cup, a small animal trembling against him. But to those who looked closer, this encounter revealed a story of empathy, devotion, and the quiet heroism that often goes unnoticed. While society measures success in wealth or comfort, the man had mastered a different kind of richness — the richness of giving, of prioritizing another life over his own immediate needs, of practicing unconditional care.
It was a reminder that compassion is sometimes found in the unlikeliest of places. That the smallest gestures — sharing a few dollars, feeding a tiny creature — can illuminate the depths of human character. And that life’s true value often lies not in what we receive, but in what we choose to give, even when our own circumstances are dire.
As she drove away, the woman glanced in her rearview mirror, seeing the man continue to cradle the possum against his chest. She realized that she had witnessed something rare and precious: an unspoken bond between human and animal, a lesson in selflessness, and a quiet affirmation of the enduring power of love.
In the heart of a busy city, amidst concrete and noise, the encounter lingered in her mind. It was a story that defied expectations, a gentle reminder that acts of kindness are not limited by wealth or circumstance, and that sometimes the greatest heroes are the ones who give the most when they have the least.
That small, shivering possum, wrapped safely in the arms of a man with nothing to spare, embodied a truth too often forgotten: love is not about possession. It is about sacrifice. It is about empathy. And it is about the courage to care, even when the world offers little in return.
In a single glance, a few dollars, and a shared understanding, a life lesson unfolded on a street corner: that love, true love, is measured not by abundance, but by generosity of spirit. And in that moment, the woman knew she had seen something unforgettable — a quiet testament to the power of giving, the bond between human and animal, and the enduring hope that kindness still exists in the world.
