It was entirely new for me, this feeling. It crept into my heart and penetrated my mind. It consumed my thoughts. It spread through my body, causing numbness, sweaty palms, and jumbled words. It seemed to wreak havoc on my soul.

It was strong. It was destructive. Its name was FEAR.  

Days passed, and as the war continued, the feeling didn’t go away. The sound of air raid sirens blaring from loud-speakers and the sight of destroyed houses seemed to add to it.

Until that day. 

That day, I did what I should have done long ago. I shut the door of the room behind me, dropped to my knees and, finally, opened up my soul. The words flowed out, as if eager to come to the light. Tears rolled down my cheeks and the sound of my cry filled the cold walls of the apartment. I came to the Lord, broken and weary and weak. I brought Him the mix of feelings that I carried; my anger, my worries, my fears. I admitted my utter inadequacies and my pathetic attempts of trying to control something that was far beyond me. 

And with each word I uttered, He reached down to raise me up. He gently lifted the weight off my bent shoulders. He wiped the tears from my eyes and gave me the ability to see past the danger that surrounded me.  

He took and “led me to the Rock that was higher than I...”, replacing my doubt with trust and my fear with confidence.  

No, not confidence in the fact that everything would be OK. But confidence in the fact that He holds my yesterdays, todays, and my tomorrows. Confidence in His sovereignty and His overwhelming power. Confidence in His promises and in His mighty, everlasting love.