Blog
Jesus, Our Warrior
Wednesday, December 17, 2025 by CF Sherrow
Categories: Faithfulness of God / Love of God / Trauma and recovery
Today’s blog is excerpted from my memoir, “My Personal Holocaust”, page 90. It recalls a time when I had an unusual and powerful encounter with the Lord:
About three years into the healing journey, John read Psalm 35 aloud. He called it “The Cry of the Little Ones,” and as he read it, I could just imagine Jesus fighting for me against those who would attempt to destroy me to build themselves up.
The following March, I attended a mountain retreat. Outside, the snowbanks were head-high to most of us attendees, and it was bitterly cold. Inside, however, the Spirit of God (and a huge fireplace) provided a warm atmosphere. We all hated to leave.
Most of us met weekly for a neighborhood Bible study; the next one was five or six hours after I returned home. After a well-deserved nap, I dragged my physically weary self to the meeting, anticipating another encounter with the living God.
I got more than I bargained for. Suddenly my peace evaporated. Anguish hit like a football lineman. I knelt, doubled over, face nearing the floor, weeping and grieving over what I knew was inside me. Harassing me relentlessly, the enemy lied to me. He shouted that I was damaged beyond repair. My heart despaired. How could I ever get beyond this?
Sobbing, I cried out to the Lord, “Jesus, You know I would get rid of this stuff if I could.” My fingers gripped the edge of the end table, “But I can’t!”
This confession was incredibly difficult. I was used to taking care of myself, solving my own problems. but this—this was way beyond my strength and my ability to fix. Did anyone have what it would take to heal me, inside and out? Did God really care?
Then I saw Him. Jesus came toward me. He was riding a white horse, and He was wearing the shiniest silver suit of armor I’d ever seen. It wasn’t like the pictures you see of Him coming back to earth, dressed in white robes. If it had been, I would have thought that well-known image was straight from my own mind.
He was my knight in shining armor? Never saw that one coming!
I continued to watch His approach, curiosity overcoming doubt. Then He stopped. He spoke.
“I am your warrior.”
That was all. It was enough. Those four words convinced me that I didn’t have to heal myself. I didn’t have to attack my problem alone. Jesus was fighting for me. My warrior knight would continue to fight for me until the battle was done. We would get through this . . .
Together.
CF Sherrow
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