Letter to the Devil

Dear Satan,

You're a back-stabbing, low life bastard.  With that said, I know you've been lurking about.  I smell your presence like a skunk plastered on the roadside, dead for days and unseen except for the ripples of rotted flesh that sits like a torn scab.  That stench stays with you for at least a day afterward.  You think you smell it when you step into the shower.  Is that me?  And you smell it on the way checking mail, and you sniff your clothes and make that wrinkled-forehead face.  It's not the skunk, it's the smell of evil.

So, I've been feeling you lurking about ready to strike.  You know what bothers me, what gets me fired up, what I'm most prone to.  On Monday, you perverted my sense of competition and the desire to win.  You masked yourself not in the baseball pants of 8 year-old boys, but in the questions and tactics of oblivious coaches.  I conceded and you tested my patience when every one of my squad freaked out about taking the field.  Then you knew I would notice their best kid play infield every inning.  You even put the little kid right next to me so he could make diving plays when we needed 6 runs.  I'm hi-fiving the opposition while mumbling curses at the coaches.

While God blessed me with 2 new students to nurture and care for at the end of the year, you twisted my perfectionist nature and rattled any sense of control I thought I had.  I raised my voice, grew impatient, separated kids.  I dodged parents, flirted with insubordination and stared at fifth graders who mumble curse words at my general direction.  You mangled the patience I showed all year to my own students when I pointed out to the new girl that when someone gives them the middle finger it sure wont be the last time that ever happens so get used to it.  I began using the same lisp and stutter speech pattern of my autistic kid.  My old sarcasm resurfaced, the bully from junior high who walked like I was crippled down the hallway for a juvenile laugh.

At work you exposed the gossip I've kept hidden in the confines of my room.  You verified what I felt about people all along but in doing so it brought that festering, over-bearing do-gooder.  I buried that man with weeks of prayer and Bible reading but you knew where to find him.  You have the GPS towards our past failures.  God is continually making his presence known, and it's you who unlocked the tattered cellar door. Who gave you the key anyhow?

And today, on top of school, you grind away at another pressure point--softball.  On my daughter's last high school game ever, you laughed while the last out was recorded with my daughter meekly holding her bat on deck.  She never made a play, never took a swing.  I saw you handing over the tissues with that sarcastic sincerity while I fumed in the stands.  You knew I'd scoff at the errors made by other players, at her old positions no less, and patted me on the back.  You still have that email draft, right?  Send it tonight.  Show that coach how you really feel.  I drove my exhausted daughter home, consumed with my life, consumed with the attacks on me, while she sat in silence.  The passive man, leaving behind scars on her life.  When I needed my Dad the most, he sat there in silence.  


But, I got something for you this time, Satan.  While you tempted me with a beer and pizza at a local bar where I would surely consume as many slices of grease to replace the energy of the f-bombs leaving my mouth, I called a friend.  We raised each other up.  I went back inside and hugged my wife.  You think I'm leaving her alone so you can attack her more?  Bring it!  I looked into the eyes of my children who were oblivious to the tension and told them I loved them.  Loved them more than you lie about.  You've always told me that sin feels good, that it's what I needed.  Fleeting are your lies.

So, Satan, you know what I'm going to do tomorrow?  I'm going to do my reading, my devotions, and I'll pray again.  I'll give my life to God and ask him what he wants to do with my life.  I'll be humble in my meetings tomorrow because men know when to speak up and how to handle adversity.  I will smile at my students, show them firm discipline if need be, and even if I get a new kid tomorrow, the child will realize that Mr. Cordova was something completely different.  Reborn.  Cordova 2.0.  God-armored.  Alive.

Sincerely,
Reynaldo, Christ follower.

PS--I'm ready for your next attack.