The Full Armor of God: A Short Story by Chelsea Temple

Her helmet is cracked. Her breastplate dirty and thin in places where it should be strong. Her chainmail lay around her as if it were made of gossamer instead of metal. Her shield is split in two. Maybe now is a good time to give up the good fight. 

Her father always told her that the full armor of God would help her defend against the perils of this world, but she is just so tired. 

Her life had been small. She had accomplished no grand feat, climbed no mountain, conquered no evils. She stood now at the last stage of her life, and wondered if she had enough time to make any change at all? Was she really going to leave the world without making any mark at all? Eighty and tired, a life with nothing to show? 

She blinked the dust from her eyes. Each pull of her lids downward became a siren song. “Sleep. Sleep. Rest.” 

Then she heard a voice, “Mrs. Ramirez.” 

She opened her eyes and before her stood a woman around fifty years old. 

“Who are you?” she asked. Her mind had been wandering of late, and sometimes she couldn’t remember the people she had known all her life. She’d wake up and couldn’t remember where she was. 

The woman, a tall, blonde haired lady wearing a bright green dress smiled at her, and said, “Don’t you remember me?” 

And like a flash, the fog of her mind cleared, and the blonde-haired woman transformed quickly into a little girl who wore a bright smile behind a pair of sad eyes. 

“Callie?” Mrs. Ramirez asked. “Callie Thorn from my second-grade class?” The woman nodded. 

“One and the same, Mrs. Ramirez. It’s so nice to see you again.” 

Mrs. Ramirez smiled at the girl that she never thought she would see again. Callie and her family had moved away when Callie was at the end her second grade year.

“How’s your mother, dear?” Mrs. Ramirez asked. 

The woman smiled sadly. “She passed on just a couple of years ago, but she lived a very happy life. She’s actually why I’m here, or more, you are.” 

Mrs. Ramirez nodded, though she didn’t understand. 

“When I was in second grade, you noticed something about me that no other adult in my life had. You saw the bruises that hid beneath my long sleeve shirts, and you noticed that some days I came to school without a backpack or a lunch box. The treats you gave me were often the only thing I would have to eat all day.” 

Mrs. Ramirez remembered then. Callie, after coming to school one too many times without anything to eat, fell one day on the playground, and as she was helping her up, she noticed a line of bruises on her arm. Mrs. Ramirez was aghast, but she knew what she needed to do. She reported the incident to her principal, and soon Callie was taken into the protection of social services. Her father was later charged with several cases of child abuse. She had always wondered what happened to her. 

“I just..” Callie started. “I came here to thank you for what you did for me. Because of you, I was able to live a good life. My mother found me and my siblings, and we lived together very happily with my grandparents for several years. You saved me, Ms. Ramirez. And so, I want to give you this.” 

She reached around her waist and unclasped the belt that was there. It was an intricate belt, and on its front read the word, “Truth”. 

“I couldn’t possibly,” Mrs. Ramirez started, but Callie simply shook her head and pressed the belt into her hands. “It has served me well. It’s time that I give it back to you.” 

She didn’t have the strength to argue anymore, so she nodded and whispered “thank you” as her eyes drifted downward once again. 

A ding. A beep. Time for more medicine. She opened her eyes to a see a male nurse standing over her. She wanted to tell him to move away, that she didn’t think any amount of medicine could fix her now, but she let him do what he needed to. 

“There,” he said with a flourish as he motioned to her head. 

She felt it then. Her broken helmet, not good for much anymore. 

“It has been restored,” he said. 

“Nurses double as welders, now?” she asked, as she reached up to touch the comfortable crack in the center of her helm, but found it wasn’t there. 

“What did you do?” she asked. “That thing has been cracked for years.”

“I just shored it up a little bit, like you did for me.” 

“Do I know you?” Mrs. Ramirez asked. 

The man nodded. “More or less, I may look a little different then the last time you saw me.” The man’s brown eyes crinkled in amusement, and suddenly she remembered. 

“Frank Stoles?” she asked. 

“Yes, ma’am. How are you, Mrs. Ramirez?” 

Why did it matter what she felt when Frank Stoles was standing right in front of her looking clean, strong, and happy? 

She knew Frank when he was a lot less strong both physically and mentally. She had worked for years at a homeless shelter down on Elm and she saw more of Frank than almost any other person in that area, until she didn’t. For weeks, each time she saw him, he would come to the center looking more and more haggard, and more and more weak. She knew that it must have been drugs, but she never knew what to say. Instead, she offered him extra helpings of meatloaf, and told him that no matter what state he found himself in that the Lord was always right there ready to… 

“Help me straighten my crown,” Frank said, somehow reading her thoughts. “I may not have a crown for you yet, but that helmet is pretty snazzy.” 

“It’s broken,” she replied. 

Frank shook his head. “It’s not broken. I don’t think it ever was.” 

She reached up once again to feel the solidness of her helmet. 

“For all the times that you helped me fix mine, I figured that it was time to return the favor, but I’ve got to go now, Mrs. Ramirez, it’s my son’s wedding today, and I’m the best man.” 

He turned and with a smile left the room. 

On his heels, another person entered the room. 

He carried something in his hands, and she wondered how she was going to eat dinner. She certainly wasn’t feeling hungry. 

It was only when he got closer, that she straightened in her bed.

“Papa,” she asked, but she knew it couldn’t be. Her father had died years ago. She was older now than he had been when he passed. 

“It’s me, Evie.” 

He rushed to her side and took her in his arms. 

“It’s all right, my girl, the fight is almost over. Victory is nigh.” 

Evie cried into her father’s arms like she had when she was a child and hurt her knee on her bike. “I can’t fight anymore, papa. I’m too weak. My armor is worn and I’m so, so tired.” 

Father and daughter looked at each other, and he touched the helmet on her head, and gazed at the belt of truth around her waist. 

“My girl, when you wear the armor of God you can stand firm in his grace. It is better to go to the Lord with worn armor then with armor that shines as bright as the sun. It shows that you fought. It shows that you tried. It shows that you worked for the kingdom. And can’t you see it? Your armor has been restored by all the people you fought for.” 

She looked down at her body, and saw that he was right. Her once tattered mail was back in place, her breastplate was strong, and her armor shone with a stronger light than when she first began. 

“You have fought the good fight, my girl. You have finished the race, but you need one more thing.” And from his side, he handed her the shield of faith that once was his, and now belonged to her. And on its surface were so many names that she could barely discern them all. 

“A goodbye,” he said. “From all of the people that you helped, all of the people that you touched. When you get there, lay this at his feet.” 

She touched the shield reverently, and when she did she was filled with the spirit of the Lord. And with one strong movement, she rose from the bed.