JEHOVAH GIBBOR: We’ve Been Naughty by Being Nice

We’ve Been Naughty by Being Nice

Today, I met Jehovah Gibbor.

Or maybe I didn't meet Him today.

Maybe I finally realized who had been standing beside me while I kept trying to fight for myself.

Jehovah Gibbor.

The Mighty Warrior.

And today?

My spirit of war has been activated.

Not because I suddenly want to fight everybody.

Not because I'm angry and looking for somewhere to put it.

I'm activated because I'm tired of watching weapons form and then questioning God because they look like they're prospering.

Because Scripture says:

“No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper.”— Isaiah 54:17

But God never said the weapon wouldn't form.

And baby, there have been some weapons.

Some of them had names.

Some had titles.

Some called themselves family.

Some called themselves friends.

Some came disguised as opportunities.

Some looked like disappointment.

Some looked like grief.

Some looked like silence.

Some looked like me presenting evidence—actual facts to support what I was feeling—and still feeling like nobody was listening.

And some weapons looked like a door.

A closed fucking door.

Today, I didn't know what else to do.

I needed somewhere to go.

Somebody I have stood in the gap for.Somebody I have mentored.Somebody I have loved.Somebody I have supported.

So I went there.

I had my two-year-old baby on my hip.

I rang the doorbell.

I saw them look through the blinds.

I heard people talking inside.

And nobody opened the door.

I stood outside in the heat with my baby on my hip, waiting for somebody I have poured into to simply—

open the door.

Nobody came.

So I turned around.

I limped back to my car.

I put my baby into his car seat.

And I said:

“It's okay. There's no help here for us.”

And something in me broke.

I started to bawl.

Because Mama Lion has already been weeping.

Mama Lion has already been grieving.

Mama Lion is trying to hold space for the five-year-old she lost, the sixteen-year-old she should have, while holding the two-year-old she still has on her hip.

And now you turned away my cub too?

Oh.

Something woke up.

Not revenge.

Warrior.

There is a difference.

Because my Bible says:

“The LORD is a man of war: the LORD is his name.”— Exodus 15:3

And Isaiah says:

“The LORD shall go forth like a mighty man, he shall stir up jealousy like a man of war…”— Isaiah 42:13

Jehovah Gibbor.

Mighty Warrior.

And here's what I'm learning:

I have spent a lot of my life trying to be nice.

Nice.

What the hell is nice?

Where is nice in the fruit of the Spirit?

Because Galatians 5:22–23 says:

“The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance…”

Other translations say kindness.

Kindness.

Not niceness.

And somewhere along the way, some of us—especially women, and Lord knows especially Black women—were taught to confuse the two.

Be nice.

Don't make anybody uncomfortable.

Help.

Fix it.

Show up.

Give.

Serve.

Stand in the gap.

Use your connections.

Use your wisdom.

Use your gifts.

Make the call.

Solve the problem.

Be understanding.

Give them grace.

Give them another chance.

And another.

And another.

Smile.

Don't be difficult.

Don't be angry.

Don't be too loud.

Don't be too much.

Be nice.

But what if we've been naughty by being nice?

What if some of what we've been calling kindness is actually disobedience because God never told us to give everybody access to what He put inside of us?

Jesus was kind.

Jesus was loving.

Jesus was compassionate.

But Jesus was not available to everybody all the time.

John 2:24 says:

“But Jesus did not commit himself unto them, because he knew all men.”

READ THAT AGAIN.

Jesus loved people He did not entrust Himself to.

Well, shit.

There goes my theology of unlimited access.

Everybody I love does not automatically deserve access to me.

Everybody who needs something does not automatically have an assignment attached to my name.

Every problem I know how to solve is not necessarily mine to solve.

Every gap is not mine to stand in.

Every phone call isn't mine to make.

Every connection isn't mine to give away.

Every gift God placed inside of me is not community property.

My gifts belong to God.

Therefore, God decides where they go.

Maybe I've been giving away sacred things because I thought Christians were supposed to be nice.

No.

We're supposed to be obedient.

And sometimes obedience has a boundary.

Sometimes obedience withdraws.

Sometimes obedience says no.

Sometimes obedience stops explaining.

Sometimes obedience sees the blinds move, realizes nobody is opening the door—

and walks back to the car.

Because I'm learning something else about warfare.

Not every battlefield deserves me.

Ephesians 6:12 says:

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood…”

So the people aren't my war.

That's important.

Because when you're hurt enough, everybody starts looking like an enemy.

They aren't.

And I refuse to turn people into enemies God never called enemies.

But I also refuse to keep pretending behavior didn't happen because acknowledging it might make somebody uncomfortable.

Facts are facts.

The door didn't open.

I was standing there.

My baby was on my hip.

I heard voices.

I saw movement.

Nobody came.

I don't need to assassinate anybody's character to tell the truth about what happened.

And I don't need to abandon myself to make the truth easier for somebody else to swallow.

That's the difference between warfare and revenge.

Jehovah Gibbor doesn't need me running around swinging at everybody.

Ephesians 6 tells me what to put on:

Truth.

Righteousness.

Peace.

Faith.

Salvation.

The Word of God.

Prayer.

And then after all that armor?

The instruction isn't:

ATTACK.

It says:

“…and having done all, to stand.”— Ephesians 6:13

STAND.

Oh, I'm learning how to stand.

Because I am tired of falling on swords for people who wouldn't open a door.

And while all of this was happening, I was doing something completely ordinary.

I was comparing car insurance.

Because I don't give a damn how much money you have or don't have—cover your pennies.

Stewardship is a sanctuary.

Amen?

Amen.

So I'm looking at this insurance bill.

$664 a month.

Excuse me?

Something doesn't feel right.

So Corporate Diva kicks in.

CPA brain kicks in.

Mama starts looking at the paperwork.

Because numbers need to number.

And I start reviewing the policy.

Drivers.

And there it was.

Darren R. Taylor.

Listed as a driver.

...

Darren.

My son.

My child who never got to drive.

My son who never made it to sixteen.

My son who has been gone for four and a half years.

Darren R. Taylor.Driver.

He would have turned sixteen on January 27.

Sixteen.

Do you understand what an insurance company casually put in front of a grieving mother?

A milestone my son never lived long enough to reach.

I had already been wounded today.

I had already been up at 4:00 in the morning talking to God.

I had already been asking:

God, why are You quiet again?

When will You stop being quiet?

Why can't I feel You right now?

Why do I feel weak?

Why do I feel unprotected?

Why do these weapons look like they're prospering?

And then I go looking for a way to save some damn money—

and find my dead child listed as a driver.

I don't have a sermon for that.

I don't have a cute revelation.

I don't know if God put his name there.

I don't know if it was an administrative error.

I don't need to make it mystical tonight.

I just know what I saw.

Darren R. Taylor.

And Darren never drove.

So I sat there.

Because some things don't need immediate interpretation.

Some things just fucking hurt.

And maybe that's part of becoming a warrior too.

Not turning every wound into wisdom before you've even let it bleed.

Not rushing grief into a testimony.

Not making God explain Himself on my timetable.

Just sitting there saying:

This hurts.

And God—

I need You.

Because maybe the strongest revelation of today is that I have been trying to become something God already told me He is.

Jehovah Gibbor.

The Mighty Warrior.

Not Shantrael Gibbor.

Jehovah.

I don't have to be the Mighty Warrior.

I belong to Him.

Exodus 14:14 says:

“The LORD shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.”

Maybe that's the war strategy.

Maybe activation doesn't mean fight harder.

Maybe activation means finally knowing which battles aren't mine.

Maybe the warrior in me isn't being activated so I can destroy everything in front of me.

Maybe she's being activated so I can finally stop abandoning herself.

Stop giving everybody the gift.

Stop fixing every problem.

Stop explaining every feeling seventeen different ways hoping somebody finally agrees that I have a right to feel it.

Stop begging people to see evidence sitting directly in front of them.

Stop standing outside doors God is showing me are closed.

Stop confusing being needed with being assigned.

Stop confusing nice with kind.

Stop confusing self-abandonment with sacrifice.

Stop confusing exhaustion with service.

And stop confusing having armor with being required to fight.

Because a fully armored woman can still hear God say:

Stand. I'll handle this one.

And maybe that's where Black women especially need permission to reconsider what strength has cost us.

We give.

We fix.

We organize.

We mother.

We mentor.

We protect.

We carry.

We figure it the fuck out.

And sometimes everybody gets so accustomed to our strength that nobody notices we're standing outside carrying a baby, hoping somebody will just—

open the door.

I cannot make anybody open it.

But I can stop standing there.

My gifts are sacred.

My wisdom is sacred.

My motherhood is sacred.

My money is sacred.

My time is sacred.

My body is sacred.

My voice is sacred.

My access is sacred.

Stewardship is a sanctuary.

And apparently, God isn't only teaching me how to steward my pennies.

He's teaching me how to steward me.

So, yes.

Something has been activated.

Mama Lion has been weeping.

Mama Lion has been grieving.

Mama Lion is still grieving.

But tonight she stood up.

Not because the grief disappeared.

Not because Darren's name didn't knock the wind out of her.

Not because that closed door didn't hurt.

Not because every weapon suddenly vanished.

She stood because she finally remembered:

The existence of a weapon is not evidence of its victory.

And I don't have to destroy the weapon to prove God protected me.

Sometimes protection looks like discernment.

Sometimes protection looks like withdrawal.

Sometimes protection looks like a closed door finally showing me where not to knock again.

Sometimes protection looks like holding my baby tighter.

Sometimes protection looks like checking the paperwork.

Sometimes protection looks like evidence.

Sometimes protection looks like silence.

And sometimes protection looks like standing completely still while Jehovah Gibbor goes ahead of me.

So I'm not declaring war on people.

I'm declaring war on every version of me that believed Christianity required my self-abandonment.

I'm declaring war on counterfeit kindness.

I'm declaring war on unlimited access.

I'm declaring war on the belief that I have to bleed to prove that I love.

I'm declaring war on the belief that everybody deserves what God put inside of me.

And I'm declaring war on the lie that because I can see the weapon, God must have stopped protecting me.

No.

I see it.

I feel it.

I can name it.

I can present the evidence.

And I'm still standing.

No weapon formed against me shall prosper.

Not because I'm the baddest warrior on the battlefield.

But because I finally remembered Who is.

Jehovah Gibbor.

The Mighty Warrior.

So tonight, I'm going to be a thug and a thinker.

I'm going to pray and examine the evidence.

I'm going to have faith and check the paperwork.

I'm going to love people and establish boundaries.

I'm going to be kind without performing nice.

I'm going to give when God says give.

I'm going to withdraw when God says withdraw.

I'm going to speak when He says speak.

And when He says be still?

I'm going to shut my mouth and let the Mighty Warrior fight.

Because I've spent enough years trying to be everybody's rescue.

Tonight I remember:

I have a Rescuer too.

And His name is—

JEHOVAH GIBBOR.

The LORD will fight for me.

And after I've done everything I know to do—

I will stand.

OHHHH.... YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE NOPE......REMIX...

JEHOVAH GIBBOR

The Lioness Has Been Activated

But let me tell the whole truth about Mama Lion.

Mama Lion has been trying to lay down.

That's the part people don't know.

She hasn't been prowling around looking for a fight.

She has been trying to rest.

Trying to withdraw.

Trying to heal.

Trying to stop carrying everybody.

Trying to convince her nervous system that she doesn't have to be on watch twenty-four hours a day.

Mama Lion has been grieving.

Mama Lion has been weeping.

Mama Lion has been exhausted.

Mama Lion has been trying to lay her damn head down.

And perhaps that's why today matters so much.

Because you need to understand something about a lioness.

The lioness does much of the hunting.

She protects the cubs.

She works with the other lionesses.

She feeds.

She watches.

She stalks quietly.

She doesn't need a mane to establish what she is.

And she doesn't have to spend all day roaring to prove she's dangerous.

Sometimes you just need to see the fangs.

Now, that's nature.

But the principle underneath it?

Oh, baby, that's in my Bible.

Because whoever told women that biblical womanhood meant weakness apparently skipped some pages.

WOMEN HAVE ALWAYS BEEN IN THIS WAR.

Judges 4 introduces us to Deborah:

“And Deborah, a prophetess… she judged Israel at that time.”— Judges 4:4

A woman.

Prophet.

Judge.

Leader.

And when Barak was afraid to go into battle without her, Deborah told him:

“I will surely go with thee…”— Judges 4:9

Don't tell me women aren't warriors.

Keep reading.

Because God then allows another woman, Jael, to become instrumental in Israel's victory.

Judges 5:24 calls her:

“Blessed above women…”

Women weren't standing outside God's strategy waiting for the men to finish fighting.

They were part of the strategy.

Then give me Esther.

A woman who realized that remaining silent could cost her people everything.

Mordecai tells her:

“And who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”— Esther 4:14

And Esther responds:

“…if I perish, I perish.”— Esther 4:16

That's not pussycat theology.

That's courage.

Give me Abigail in 1 Samuel 25.

A woman who walked directly into a volatile situation and used wisdom, discernment, courage and words to prevent bloodshed.

That's important.

Because warfare isn't always swinging a sword.

Sometimes the warrior is the person intelligent enough to keep everybody else from using theirs.

Thug and thinker.

There it is again.

Give me Proverbs 31:25:

“Strength and honour are her clothing…”

Strength.

Not fragility.

Not performative niceness.

Strength.

And Proverbs 31:26 immediately balances it:

“She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.”

THERE IT IS.

That's me.

Strength and kindness.

Fangs and compassion.

Boundaries and an open heart.

Wisdom and warfare.

The Bible never required me to choose between being powerful and being kind.

It teaches me how to be both.

And today Mama Lion needed somebody.

She wasn't hunting.

She wasn't rescuing.

She wasn't fixing.

She wasn't mentoring.

She wasn't connecting anybody.

She wasn't standing in anybody else's gap.

She needed help.

So Mama Lion went to somebody's house.

With her baby on her hip.

She rang the doorbell.

She saw somebody look through the curtain.

She heard people inside.

And the door never opened.

And Mama Lion stood there in the heat.

Waiting.

Then she turned around.

Limped back toward her car.

Looked at the baby she was carrying and said:

“There's no help here for us.”

And something happened inside of me.

Because I have spent so much of my life being the woman who opens the fucking door.

Blood or no blood.

Family or no family.

If I loved you, I showed up.

If your child needed something, Mama Lion showed up.

If you needed a connection, I searched mine.

If you needed somebody standing in the gap, I stood there.

If there was a problem and I had the gift to solve it, I started solving.

And I thought that was what being a good Christian woman required.

Give.

Give.

Give.

Give.

Until God started showing me:

Your gift belongs to Me before it belongs to anybody else.

And I think that's why the revelation about my parents is hitting differently too.

Because I'm forty years old realizing that sometimes I accepted evidence without examining it.

Sometimes I accepted somebody else's version because I never asked the other person the question.

And now the thug and thinker in me is asking questions.

Looking at evidence.

Separating facts from interpretations.

Separating what I was told from what I actually know.

And that's biblical too.

Proverbs 18:17 says:

“The first one to plead his cause seems right, until his neighbor comes and examines him.”

WHEW.

There it is.

Examine the evidence.

Because love doesn't require intellectual dishonesty.

Honor doesn't require blindness.

And compassion doesn't require me to pretend facts aren't facts.

So I can reconsider what I believed about my father without turning my mother into my enemy.

That's important.

Because Jehovah Gibbor is not calling me into character assassination.

He's calling me into truth.

And truth doesn't need exaggeration.

Truth can stand by itself.

So yes, I can say:

I thought I knew the whole story.

Maybe I didn't.

I can say:

I accepted testimony without cross-examination.

I can say:

I never really asked Daddy.

And I can say:

I'm asking now.

Because gloves coming off doesn't mean my character comes off with them.

Read that again.

THE GLOVES CAN COME OFF WITHOUT MY CHARACTER COMING OFF.

I will still be kind.

I will still lead with compassion.

I will still have an open heart.

I will still love.

I will still forgive.

I will still give.

But I will no longer confuse kindness with unlimited access.

Because Jesus didn't.

John 2:24 says:

“But Jesus did not commit himself unto them, because he knew all men.”

Jesus loved people He did not entrust Himself to.

That's my permission slip.

I don't have to hate you to stop giving you access.

I don't have to curse you to establish a boundary.

I don't have to expose you to stop protecting you from the consequences of your own behavior.

I don't have to become cruel because I've stopped being nice.

I can be kind and still show my fangs.

Because Mama Lion isn't looking for somebody to devour.

She's saying:

Back up.

There is a difference.

And here's where I have to correct something else.

I keep saying:

“Jehovah Gibbor, I'm ready for war.”

But Jeremiah 20:11 says:

“But the LORD is with me as a mighty terrible one…”

Other translations render that idea:

“The LORD is with me like a mighty warrior.”

There it is.

Jehovah Gibbor.

The Mighty Warrior.

So maybe God wasn't activating me because He needed another exhausted woman on the battlefield.

Maybe He was reminding me:

Baby, I am already here.

You have been asking:

God, where are You?

Why are You quiet?

Why can't I feel You?

Why do I feel unprotected?

And maybe Heaven answered:

Who told you silence meant absence?

Because Jesus has been down here with me the whole damn time.

And in my sanctified imagination, I can almost hear Him saying:

Girl, what are you doing?

I told you who I roll with.

Thugs and thinkers.

Rahab had enough street sense to hide spies.

Deborah could judge and go toward battle.

Jael knew exactly what moment required action.

Esther knew when silence had become dangerous.

Abigail knew how to walk into chaos carrying wisdom.

Mary Magdalene stayed near Jesus when others disappeared and became one of the first witnesses entrusted with announcing the resurrection.

Jesus has never been afraid of courageous women.

So why am I?

Why have I been shrinking the lioness God created because somebody else is more comfortable with a pussycat?

No.

Mama Lion has been activated.

Not activated to destroy.

Activated to discern.

Activated to protect.

Activated to think.

Activated to question.

Activated to examine evidence.

Activated to steward.

Activated to establish boundaries.

Activated to stop volunteering for swords.

Because that's another revelation:

I WILL NOT KEEP FALLING ON SWORDS GOD NEVER ASKED ME TO FALL ON.

There was already One who laid down His life.

His name was Jesus.

I am not anybody's savior.

I can love without crucifying myself.

I can serve without sacrificing my sanity.

I can give without emptying the entire storehouse.

I can stand in a gap without living there.

And I can protect my cub without apologizing for my fangs.

Because I have lost too much to turn backward now.

I know what graves cost.

I know what empty rooms sound like.

I know what it means to hold the child who is here while carrying the children who aren't.

So the people I still have?

The life God still gave me?

The gifts still inside me?

The assignment still attached to my name?

I'm stewarding that shit differently.

Stewardship is a sanctuary.

And that includes me.

I am the daughter of a King.

Romans 8:15 says:

“…ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father.”

I have an Abba.

And I have a Daddy.

I have learned that family isn't exclusively biology because I have been family to people who didn't share one drop of my blood.

I have mothered without DNA.

Protected without obligation.

Loved without a title.

Shown up without needing recognition.

So I know firsthand:

Blood can establish relationship, but love demonstrates it.

Jesus Himself complicated our little biological boxes.

When told His mother and brothers were waiting for Him, He asked:

“Who is my mother? and who are my brethren?”— Matthew 12:48

Then He pointed toward those doing the will of His Father.

That's not Jesus dishonoring His mother.

That's Jesus expanding our understanding of family.

So I know now:

I have people who don't play about me.

And some of them don't share my blood.

And some people who share my blood may not know how to protect me in the way I need.

Both things can be true.

I'm not going to lie about either one anymore just to be nice.

Because we've been naughty by being nice.

I'm done with that.

I choose kindness.

Kindness has wisdom.

Kindness has boundaries.

Kindness can tell the truth.

Kindness can say no.

Kindness can walk away.

Kindness can forgive without reopening the door.

Kindness can love you and still decide:

You cannot have this version of me anymore.

And if you mistake my kindness for weakness?

You might finally see the fangs.

Not because I want to bite you.

But because you apparently forgot:

I'm a lioness.

And Mama Lion has been trying to rest.

Remember that.

She wasn't looking for war.

She was trying to lay down.

But something has been activated now.

Not chaos.

Not vengeance.

Not hatred.

Discernment.

Courage.

Truth.

Stewardship.

Protection.

Wisdom.

Obedience.

And above all—

faith.

Because this battle isn't actually mine.

Exodus 14:14 says:

“The LORD shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.”

And 2 Chronicles 20:15 says:

“…the battle is not yours, but God's.”

So I need to correct my declaration one final time.

Jehovah Gibbor.

I'm not asking You to make me the Mighty Warrior.

You already are.

I'm asking You to teach this lioness when to stalk, when to speak, when to show her fangs, when to withdraw, when to protect, when to question, when to move—and when to lie her ass back down because her Father has already entered the fight.

I have spent enough of my life trying to rescue everybody.

Enough.

Mama Lion can rest because Jehovah Gibbor doesn't sleep.

Psalm 121:4 says:

“Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.”

So while I sleep?

He's awake.

While I grieve?

He's awake.

While I mother?

He's awake.

While I examine the evidence?

He's awake.

While somebody refuses to open the door?

He's awake.

While weapons are forming?

He's awake.

And the weapon forming does not mean the weapon is prospering.

So—

Jehovah Gibbor.

I'm ready.

Not ready to fight everybody.

Ready to stop fighting battles You never assigned me.

Ready to stop being naughty by being nice.

Ready to be kind without abandoning myself.

Ready to protect without apologizing.

Ready to think.

Ready to discern.

Ready to stand.

And finally—

ready to rest.

Because Mama Lion remembered something tonight:

I am not the only Lion in this story.

Revelation 5:5 calls Jesus:

“the Lion of the tribe of Juda.”

Well.

There it fucking is.

Mama Lion can finally lay down.

The Lion of Judah is awake.

And Jehovah Gibbor—

the Mighty Warrior—is already on the battlefield.

P.S. Mama Lion isn't looking for a fight.

She's finally learned she doesn't have to fall on the sword to prove she has a heart.

Jehovah Gibbor.

I'm ready for war.

And this time, I know what the war actually is.

~MAMA LION