Sometimes I forget that the Lord is my protector.
I mean, I know it. I believe it. I could recite the Psalms.
But functionally? My brain forgets.
Because there are days when I feel the need to manage it all—the church, the world, the people I love (and the ones I struggle to), the headlines, the undercurrents, the future.
It’s not that I want to be in charge. It’s just that… I don’t trust anyone else to be. So I live in this state of quiet (or sometimes loud) vigilance—like it’s my duty. Like hyper-awareness is a fruit of the Spirit.
My worry center rolls up its sleeves, my anger area climbs into the ring, and I think if I just stay on my toes, maybe I can block the next hit.
But life still lands its punches, and now I’m sore, winded, and tangled in the ropes of a ring I was never meant to enter.
I mean, they tell me that God doesn’t need my sword in the fight, or my commentary on every crisis. (Yes, I know, metaphor whiplash. I just swapped gloves for a sword. Welcome to my brain. And my arsenal.) But without my “passion for His job,” I feel guilty: like I’m being cold or checked out or something. If I don’t look bothered, don’t stay alert, don’t carry the ache, I fear that I’m failing at compassion.
If I stop being disturbed by everything that’s wrong, and just let Him handle the God stuff… does that make me heartless? Or finally faithful?
I mean, I know that He sees more than I see, and knows more than I know. And He obviously protects better than I ever could. But I just forget sometimes. I forget that He sees the same stuff I see (more even). And He’s not sitting by helplessly waiting for me to storm the gates of darkness with my plastic sword and my overactive conscience.
Now that I think about it, I’m starting to see myself as a toddler ripping my hand out of my Father’s grip and running toward a giant because I think someone has to do something. I’m out there, swinging my little toy weapon, angry, exhausted, and utterly ineffective. Meanwhile, He’s standing there calm, kind, still in charge, and fully in control of it all. He’s just quietly waiting for me to run back to Him, or maybe just kneel where I am and say, “I’m scared, and I forgot again. Will You give me the eyes to see You as the protector You’ve always been?”
Am I the only one who is tired of it all?
Not just physically, but soul-tired?
I mean, I can’t be the only one swinging a plastic sword at giants I was never meant to fight.
I’m overinvested in outcomes.
Overstimulated by outrage.
Overwhelmed by everything I was never meant to carry.
And underneath all that, is the fact that I’m under-trusting the only One who can actually hold it all.
So here’s the new script I’m learning instead: rather than constantly thinking, “I need to do something,” it’s gonna be:
• I’m not the Savior.
• I’m not the Strategist.
• I’m not the Source.
• And I’m definitely not the Shield.
That’s who He is, and always has been.
So if you hear me talking smack and worry-conversing about the state of the world, feel free to remind me—
“Hey, little warrior… put the plastic sword down and let God do what only He can do.”
Psalm 46:1- God is our strong refuge; he is truly our helper in times of trouble.
Psalm 91:1-3 - 1 - As for you, the one who lives in the shelter of the sovereign One, and resides in the protective shadow of the mighty king—say this about the Lord, my shelter and my stronghold, my God in whom I trust—he will certainly rescue you from the snare of the hunter and from the destructive plague.
If you’d like to read more on the topic of under-trusting, read my post, “I Think I’m the Last of Us.”
Hayley, this is so on point for me. Thank you for giving me clarity.
Like hyper-awareness is a fruit of the Spirit. Lol!!!