We all have the lie that threatens to take us down. For me, that lie is failure. It’s rarely an awareness of past failures that wants to keep me from moving forward – rather, it’s the prediction of future ones. It’s the “this will be the time when it all comes undone,” or “this will be the time when you are proven to be a fraud.” Rarely is there logic in my sense of foreboding. God has proven Himself time and time again, both in His intervention and guidance and in the way He has designed me to think and feel and move. And yet, the “you really oversold yourself this time – you certainly can’t live up to the expectations of you” accusations are potent.
Even in writing a book, it’s not that the words aren’t there. It’s not that the stories aren’t true. And it’s not that I’ve sold something that doesn’t exist. Rather, it’s the internal accusations that I’m not capable of actually delivering on the promise, that the talent doesn’t match the audition, that what’s on the inside of the book will fall short of what is being presented on its cover.
The accuser’s not creative in the lies that he doles out to us. He observes the tender place in us—the place where belief and unbelief dance. Moses and Gideon, Elizabeth and the woman who had been bleeding for 12 years—they all knew the steps to that dance. The lies were plentiful, and they were relentless. After all, the accuser has little else to do. The Lord spoke to them, and He speaks to me today too. His words are true, and they are truth. “Take courage. I’m right here, going before you, standing beside you, always with you. I’ve got you, and I’ve got this. Trust Me.” He redirects my attention, He lifts my head, He lightens my mood, He silences the accuser.
Today’s mood is courageous. Our voices will change the world.