🛡️Be the Watchman or Watchwoman 🔥

My artillery brothers and mortars working together on one of our night missions.

⚠️ Warning: This post contains references to war. If that’s difficult to read, I completely understand. You can skip to the first paragraph with the word “Isaiah” just a few sections down.

In Afghanistan, I wasn’t just commissioned to physically protect my soldiers and Afghan families from the barrage of bullets and rockets that hit our valley weekly—I was called to be a spiritual warrior too.

Every day, I studied and practiced my craft as a soldier. But even more than that, I studied and meditated on God’s Word. Part of my daily rhythm included walking circles around our mortar pit (a firing range with four tubes capable of launching enough bombs in seconds to light up a whole mountainside), praying, and worshiping God—my trusty Bose noise-canceling headphones doubled as pretty decent ear protection during surprise attacks.

As a thirty-year-old Mortar Platoon Leader, I carried the weight of a great mission—and led an incredible platoon of warriors. A year before our deployment, God had made my purpose clear: first, to start a church. Second, to be His just arm against ISIS. At the time, I thought that meant defending families and partnering with God’s justice to fight evil.

But I quickly learned something profound about being His “just arm.” It didn’t mean I fired first.
It meant I prayed first.

And not the prayer to be the just arm to prayer that my enemy’s hearts would change before a single mortar was launched.
Because Christ died for them, too.

And still, I prayed that if we had to act, our hands would be accurate and righteous in what we did. That kind of prayer didn’t come from me—it came straight from the throne room. My flesh could never reconcile a truth like that. Only God could.

That kind of prayer didn’t come from me—it came straight from the throne room. My flesh could never reconcile such a profound truth like that. Only God could.

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It’s an intense picture. But what I was doing over there isn’t so different from what we’re all called to do right here.

Isaiah 62:6–7 gives us a clear commission and encouragment:

“I have posted watchmen on your walls, Jerusalem; they will never be silent day or night. You who call on the Lord, give yourselves no rest, and give Him no rest till He establishes Jerusalem and makes her the praise of the earth.”

This was spoken to a people longing for restoration. Before Jerusalem could be made whole, someone had to stand on the walls and pray without ceasing.

This isn’t just a poetic image—it’s a real-time call to action for God’s people.

It’s a commission to you and me.

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I love how Charles Spurgeon illustrates persistence in prayer (paraphrased):

“Imagine telling a homeless man to ask you for a penny every time he sees you. If you say no, he should follow you down the street and ask again. If you say no again, he should grab your leg and not let go until you give him that penny.”

That’s what God invites us into.
To pray like that.
To chase Him down.
To hold on and not let go.
To be bold.
To be persistent.

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We are called to be watchmen and watchwomen—zealous for our marriages, our children, our communities, and our callings.

Intercession—persistent prayer for others—isn’t a checkbox in your morning routine.
It’s a posture we carry all day.
It’s the whispered prayers over your home, over your kids while they sleep, over the city as you drive.

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So here’s my challenge:

🛡️ Never Finished Challenge:
Be a watchman. Be a watchwoman.
Stand on the walls of your home.
Chase God down.
Hold on to His leg in prayer.
Be persistent and vigilant.
Make no room for bitterness or anger.

If someone keeps coming to mind—maybe someone you haven’t forgiven or talked to—don’t ignore it. Ask God for clarity. Ask someone you trust for counsel. But whatever you do, stay awake.

God is inviting us to carry the burden of prayer, not just on Sundays or at meals—but every single day.

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What does today’s Word tell me about God?

The more I read the Old and New Testament, the more I see it clearly:
God wants relationship.
Not ritual. Not performance.
Closeness. Like a good Father.

He doesn’t leave us in the wilderness without food or covering.
He uses the wilderness—for His glory, and so others can see Him through us.

Whatever pride I carry in my heart doesn’t stand a chance against the King of Kings.
He knocks down walls—not to shame me, but to reach me.
To heal me.
To help me love Him more deeply, and to love others better.

Thank You, Jesus.

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