The Lord Will Fight For You

There’s a fine line between acting in faith and trying to gain freedom in my own strength. I tend to think that if I talk about a struggle enough, if I analyze it from every angle and dress it in different words, I’ll be able to finally discover some insight that will set me free once and for all from thought patterns that keep coming back to haunt me. Now don’t get me wrong, there is responsibility on my part to be proactive in setting my mind on what is good and true, the way that I’ve been approaching it until now hasn’t been effective.

I’m reading a fascinating and insightful book by J.P. Moreland, Finding Quiet: My Story of Overcoming Anxiety and the Practices that Brought Peace. Moreland, a theologian and professor, recounts his experience with mental illness (he had two anxiety-induced nervous breakdowns 10 years apart) and practical steps we can take to replace toxic thoughts patterns with what is true. One of the most enlightening things I’ve gotten from the book so far is that fighting our toxic thoughts by camping out with them and analyzing why they aren’t true actually reinforces the thoughts and keeps the neural pathway that these thoughts reside in well-oiled. Moreland writes:

“The key is not to ruminate about the message, arguing with yourself why it isn’t true or drawing out horrible implications of it. Such rumination, even telling yourself why the message isn’t true, actually depends the brain grooves that trigger the message and makes it harder to get rid of. The goal is to dismiss the message…” (71).

My strategy, so far, has been just this, to ruminate, gritting my teeth, determined to kill the negative thoughts. But I see the irony, trying to fight the battle against distorted thinking with the logic of the mind in which the distorted thinking resides is foolish. Instead, I need to “dismiss the message,” as Moreland says, by acknowledging that the thought is a lie and refocusing my attention on something solid and true.

A good friend recently said the same thing to me, that redirecting my thoughts rather than dwelling on them will play a huge part in experiencing freedom. She used the analogy of a dog being trained, a mental image which stuck with me. When the dog acts out, a smart owner redirects the dog’s attention rather than reinforcing the action through long, drawn-out punishment. So instead of punishing myself every time I have a thought that I think I should have grown past, maybe the wisest thing to do is to submit it to God, refuse to self-flagelate, and redirect my attention to something that I enjoy, whether that’s writing a blog post, listening to Susie Larson’s podcast, taking a trip to the Russian grocery store, or watching Jim put Dwight’s stapler in Jello.

When the Israelites found themselves surrounded on all sides-the Egyptians ready to strike and the Red Sea blocking their way, no human battle strategy could save them.

No human battle strategy could save them, but God could, and he did. Moses told the people, “The Lord will fight for you, you need only to be still.” (Ex. 14:14)

And God fought for them in a way only He was able: he parted the sea and His people walked to freedom. They had to step forward, yes, but it was the Lord who led the way.

In the same way, when freedom seems impossible to me, perhaps it’s because I’m trusting in my mind rather than trusting God to lead me to mental victory. No amount of analysis on my part will lead to freedom; instead, my victory will only come when I rest my weary mind, submit my thoughts to him and say, “Lord, only you can fight this battle.” So may I trust His healing process, may I rest my mind, and may I take joy in the fact that He is fighting my battles, and that He always wins.

Ending the Run-On Sentence

The past five years have been to and from and flights and car rides and new semesters and new places and new people and new jobs and since I was 18 life has been a perpetual run on sentence and I’ve never stopped.

How does one stop?

After I wrote these words at the beginning of last month, not knowing the answer to the question, I did the only thing I knew how to. 

I went.

I went in hardheaded intensity of trying to figure things out and drank a pot of coffee one morning and powered through crafting my CV and looking up to see that it was 4:00 p.m. and I had applied to 6 jobs and 2 hours later I had two interviews in Boston that would allow me to continue this run-on sentence that seemed to be going nowhere fast, and fast was the only thing that seemed to jive with my embedded sense of work and morality and it’s been something I’ve worked on since I spoke in church that Sunday morning when I was 18 about rest, and then proceeded to intensify the smallest thought or concern with anxiety of purpose and existential quandaries throughout the inside of the pinball machine of five young, heavy years (takes breath).

Yes, I went. Down to Boston. Down to the city that I had idealized as the only energizing, soul-lifting plot of land that I could possibly escape the depression of isolation that I had faced, but still respected enough to fear. Weeks before, I had lived a fairy-tale day in Boston with a friend. Sprawled out in a grassy park with just enough shade to make me chilly, she told stories of the community, accountability and friendship that was all wrapped up in Christ, a kind that I longed for.

So two weeks later I sat in a Starbucks in glasses and Mom’s grey pencil skirt, over an hour early to the interview and feeling kind of dowdy. I tried to enjoy my scone, despite the stomach pains, my faithful companions to any event more stressful than doing the dishes.

The first interview went well, I really liked the school, and Boston, was, well, Boston.

I got to feel the subtle rush of using the subway, which signified independence and memory, though of course it didn’t compare to Moscow. I observed an almost fight over some money or drugs that was filled with lots of expletives and made me wish I wasn’t alone. I had a guy my age drill me with a memorized speech to try to get me to donate money to Planned Parenthood. I ate Dunkin Donuts.

I had another interview the next day, a group interview in which I had to give a demo lesson. This one was less fun, of course, but I was able to at least give myself a solid B when I walked out.

And all throughout, I prayed for wisdom. 

And wisdom, He gave.

Though I couldn’t escape the intensity that is such a part of who I am, I felt peace. I think in the deepest place, I knew the answer before I boarded the bus, but this answer was confirmed in the voice of a beloved professor I got to visit and in the conversations with the girls I stayed with.

And the answer, for now, is Maine. I was offered the first job, and called in for a follow-up interview for the second. Financially, neither of them were the best choice, but that’s not why I’ve decided to stay put. I’ve decided to stay in Maine, because I’m finally surrendering to the truth that what I need most right now is a time to rest. 

I discovered that I’d been telling myself lies, preaching guilt-induced dogma that had no basis in the truth. I was telling myself that I had to abide by black and white rules I’d extracted from what the culture expects of me plus some twisted applications of Scripture, blind rules that didn’t take account of my unique situation. And there was also the doubt that God had the desire to meet my needs for rest and restoration of spirit.

I still have to fight the lies daily, even hourly, but I am becoming more at peace at where I will be in this next season of life. 23 doesn’t look like what I thought it would, but that’s okay. I have room to rest right now while still moving forward. In a few weeks, I’ll be starting online classes toward my MA in TESOL, I’ll be tutoring international students at UMaine, and even get to do some work at a local school that is close to my heart.

But above all, my number one goal in this season is to rest, to heal, to unlearn the patterns of anxious control, to learn how to be led.