“The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to His heavenly kingdom. To Him be glory for ever and ever. Amen (2 Tim. 4:8).”
I remember when it hit me. Sitting there in a women’s Bible study, I was listening to the speaker. A seasoned lecturer, she was a woman of God that everyone else seemed to venerate. Why, I wondered, did I feel no connection? Why was it hard to listen, to receive the message she had to give?
And then the light bulb flashed. “She seldom shares her struggles. She’s teaching from an ivory tower, and I cannot relate.”
That’s the realization that came, and it’s a lesson I never forgot.
In all my years as a writer and as one who takes her ministry of encouragement seriously, it’s something I’ve thought about. A lot.
Finding the balance between authenticity and vulnerability with the legitimate need for privacy and personal space is hard. While I want to be honest about my own life and struggles, it’s not just “my life.” It’s my family’s lives, too, and not all stories are mine to tell. Not all stories are yours to know.
So it’s after much thought–and because I believe it may help someone else–that I tell you that it’s been a week of (I’m going to say it) hell. If I pretended I never struggle; if I let on that it’s always victory, I’d be a liar and you should not trust me. I mean this.
For a week, the battle raged. An intense, unrelenting spiritual attack was unleashed with all the emotional and mental anguish such warfare brings.
That it accompanied a new, exciting writing avenue should have come as no surprise. Too, The Mister and I are preparing for ministry in a foreign land with another mind-blowing *possible* on the horizon that makes me plumb vibrate, just thinking…
Then on Tuesday night, just before the tide turned, our oldest son received a call. In a season of pressing in, of seeking God’s face and will, he’d been fasting from Facebook. And it was during that fast that a college friend died. He was mourned, celebrated and laid to rest. And then our son found out.
My heart broke. Then came morning, waves of hell receding, and a deep-felt need for prayer. Prayer to cover.
It’s not often that I feel a sudden urgency to pray. Not like that. And it’s not often that I ask for help. Not like that.
I wish I could peek behind the veil to see what was shaking unseen, for something was. Later that day, I found out that our second son and World Racer had been bungee jumping from the second highest spot in the world. That very day.
He made his jump just fine.
Our oldest son’s heart settled in peace even after the devastating news.
And I’m beginning to see the way. The path to the next break-through.
Dear friend, what I’m seeing now, this side of the battle, is that sometimes the enemy overplays his hand. He gets overconfident (he is, after all, the prince of pride), and he shoots himself in the foot. For when the child of God gets too hard-pressed and His other kids, they pray, something happens.
The besieged and beset finally shout, “That’s enough!” and the light and truth break through.Evil’s vanquished.
And the Prince of Peace, He comes.
For your prayers, faithful ones, I say ‘thanks.’ When you pray for another, help to carry the load, you’re an answer to Christ’s own prayer, “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” And a bit of heaven comes down. Down to earth.