Evening settled over our house on the hill, bringing with it the cries of the night. I opened the back door to let our cat inside just as a plaintive howl rose from the forest. My skin crawled and my pulse quickened as the cat darted back outside, my daughter close behind. The howling was relentless and growing closer. “Get inside! Get inside now!” I screamed at my daughter. Oblivious to the danger—and my desperate pleas—she kept chasing the wily cat. Darkness pressed in as I rushed out, snagged her by the sleeve, and pulled her inside. But no sooner were we in the safety of the house than my aunt pushed past us as if drawn toward the siren-like howling that continued to bear down on us. Outside, a child’s screams erupted. Terror seized me as I stood at the door crying helplessly.
I awoke with my heart racing and that sickening dump of adrenaline in my gut. The previous night I’d had a similar nightmare: wolves approaching, me screaming in fear and desperation, my family members unconcerned with the danger about to overtake them.
What in the world is this about, Lord? I prayed. Do I need to pray for someone in danger? Am I subconsciously revisiting the past trauma of a coworker being killed by wolves when we lived in Alaska?
No burden for prayer or unprocessed memories stood out; instead, God highlighted a contrast: my frantic attempt to control others with the carefree confidence of those around me in my dreams. And I’ll admit, this surprised me. I consider myself a planner, a discerner, a responsible caretaker. Not a person who is overly controlling or fearful.
But do I see myself rightly?
Safe in the Sukkah
Needing a distraction before attempting to sleep again, I turned on the light and picked up an article my mom had given me on the Feast of Tabernacles. For this yearly celebration, Jewish families build a sukkah, a simple shelter of wood and branches where they eat and sleep for the week. It’s intended to allow sunshine and rain through the canopy, and to offer no protection from intruders; the sukkah functions as a tangible reminder to trust in God, their only true source of protection and provision.
It’s a stark contrast to my fearful nightmare: vulnerable trust and joyful celebration.
Just two weeks ago I sat at a lakeside beneath a beautiful flowering tree. Purple blossoms crowned two of the branches, but the third was wrapped in a vine and bore only a few small leaves. The tree itself was alive with promising new growth and beauty, but this one branch was nearly strangled.
As He so often does in nature, my Father spoke to me through the metaphor of this tree. When I cling too tightly to any sort of ministry or output, when I let my identity become entwined with its productivity, I choke the life right out of it. The ministry ceases to be a joyful offering to my Savior and instead becomes a weighty obligation.
Practices for Freedom
So what response is God calling me to in light of these recent revelations of my soul? First, a shift in heart posture and perspective is obviously needed, beginning with repentance of areas where I am operating out of fear, seeking self-validation, or striving for control.
And second, I can return to the concrete practices (similar to living in a tent) that help me open my hands and walk freely with God:
- Resting on the Sabbath declares that I don’t have to produce anything or keep the world spinning. He is my provider and I am free to rest.
- Walking in nature without my phone reminds me how God holds everything in perfect balance and invites me to live simply in the way He has created me. Leaving my phone behind is a way to remember that I don’t need to be reachable at all times—God can handle whatever arises.
- Saying no to requests I don’t have capacity for or laying down a responsibility I’m no longer called to carry demonstrates my trust in God’s ability to provide for others, as well.
The end result, the place I believe God is drawing me to, is freedom. I am free to take risks, free to give Him my ill-fitting burdens, free to step away from constant responsibility, free to enjoy life-giving activities with Him, free to be still.
I am free from the wolves that hunt and oppress me. The terror of the night has no power over me. I am free to live boldly as a child of God.
“For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God.The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.”
Romans 8:14-16
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