Holding on to the Promises that Prevail our Personal Prisons

Sometimes, it’s easy to feel that God is hard to experience. He feels far away. Like wherever He goes is a place we’ll never get to. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth because as soon as I feel exposed to the harshness of my raw situation, God uses that exact moment to demonstrate His power and presence. 

On my trip to California in 2022, I flew in and out of San Francisco. At first, I was intimidated by the city since I heard stories of what I might run into leading up to the trip. But on our last day, my friends and I decided to make the most of our time there and take a tour of some of the most well-known scenic spots– the Palace of Fine Arts, Fisherman’s Wharf, Lombard Street, the Painted Ladies, and of course the famous Golden Gate Bridge.

One of our last attractions to visit was Alcatraz Island. Located 1.25 miles offshore from San Fransisco, the island was home to a maximum security penitentiary from 1934 to 1963. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as we inched closer to the prison, trying to imagine what it would have been like when it was in operation. Walking through the cells that once held infamous criminals was fascinating and chilling at the same time. What used to be an island surrounded by the frigid, rough waters of the bay to prevent prisoners from escaping was now a national park that tourists like me paid to experience. Even though there were multitudes of people all around me disembarking the ferries and onto the historical landmark, it still felt isolating.

The more I thought about this level of remoteness from the rest of the world, the more I began to draw parallels to feelings I sometimes encounter when trying to make my way through uncharted territory with pending resolutions that seem so out of reach. My undetermined, unmapped, seemingly indefinite situation feels like the daring waters with deadly currents bordering Alcatraz. My only way out feels accompanied and guarded by darkness. All my exits lead to what looks like inevitable failure.

“How did I get here?” I ask myself. It’s not like I chose to withdraw from hope or separate myself from dreams that once beamed as a beacon of light, but here I am. Chains that pretend to comfort me and walls that break their promises of ever letting me go. The pitch blackness feels inviting even though I know better than to fall for its mask. Prison cells can feel like safe havens if we let them. They extinguish our peace and hold our optimism captive, all while we tell ourselves it’s okay. 

It’s okay to feel like there’s nothing out there for us.
It’s okay to feel like everything is too hard.

It’s okay to want to avoid reality.

It’s okay not to want to wake up and face it.
It’s okay to accept a premature end to this chapter.

“It’s okay”, I tell myself. It’s okay not to want to try today.

Simultaneously, as Satan whispers sweetly in one ear that it’s okay for me to give up, I hear the beautiful reminder of God telling me that it will be okay. 

And it’s His gentle nudges that I want on the highest volume. I want a never-ending symphony of His words entering my mind. Satan wants an invitation to our pity parties so that he can gain a chokehold on our confidence. The same confidence that God gives us to remind us that we will make it out. The Lord may not map out how or when, but no hole is too dark for Him to climb in with us. He stays in the trenches until we’re strong enough to climb out on our own. We’re never alone in these Alatraz-sized prison cells that Satan wants us to believe are there for our protection.

When we fall for Satan’s protection, we realize that we just signed up for an army that weaponizes God’s promises, a barricade that keeps out God’s truth, and a fortress that fights God’s love. Of course, God is stronger than any plan of attack that Satan devises on our behalf, but we must believe that the fight is worth fighting.

We are already on the side of victory.
We fight alongside the only overcomer of death.

We can take up “the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one” (Ephesians 6:16).

This war in our minds might look bleak and dismal right now, but our battles belong to the Lord.

In Psalm 91:1-4, we read:

“He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High

Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress;

My God, in Him I will trust.”

Surely, He shall deliver you from the snare of the fowler,

And from the perilous pestilence.

He shall cover you with His feathers,

And under His wings, you shall take refuge;

His truth shall be your shield and buckler.”

No matter how much I would like to throw in the white towel and accept defeat in life’s challenging chapters, I don’t want to surrender for the wrong reasons. The enemy may surround us, but we remain ceaselessly surrounded by the strength of the Lord. There may look like no way out, but there’s always a way in for the Lord’s tenderness to touch our anxious ways of thinking.

When uncertainties creep in, we can’t give them the power to drown us. The more we distrust the One who allowed our stormy situation, the less room we offer God to steady us on solid ground.

The story of Jesus commanding Peter to step out of the boat and walk on water demonstrates what can happen when we doubt the One who invites us to come to Him.

In Matthew 14:22-33:

Immediately, Jesus made His disciples get into the boat and go before Him to the other side while He sent the multitudes away. And when He had sent the multitudes away, He went up on the mountain by Himself to pray. Now, when evening came, He was alone there. But the boat was now in the middle of the sea, tossed by the waves, for the wind was contrary.

Now, in the fourth watch of the night, Jesus went to them, walking on the sea. And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out for fear.

But immediately, Jesus spoke to them, saying, “Be of good cheer! It is I; do not be afraid.”

And Peter answered Him and said, “Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water.”

So He said, “Come.” And when Peter had come down out of the boat, he walked on the water to go to Jesus. But when he saw that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid, and beginning to sink, he cried out, saying, “Lord, save me!”

And immediately Jesus stretched out His hand and caught him, and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” And when they got into the boat, the wind ceased.

Then those who were in the boat came and worshiped Him, saying, “Truly You are the Son of God.”

How many times does our faith waver in moments of fear? How many times do we say we trust God, but when it comes down to testing our faith, there isn’t much there? How often do we let our environment dictate our reactions and choices?

Peter was put into a perilous situation. Even though the recounting of this story mentions that the disciples noticed Jesus walking on the sea (though, at first, they had mistaken Him for a ghost), the treacherous winds and potentially dangerous outcomes were all Peter could see. Like Peter, we often become hyper-aware of the dicey conditions right before us and lose sight of the outstretched hand of the Lord.

Though Jesus wouldn’t have let Peter drown that night, He wanted Peter to step out in belief in Him. That’s how I imagine God to be in these situations that present themselves as threatening storms. Our faith is best examined when sinking seems like the only certainty. Will we choose to believe the lies that our setbacks and burdens are bigger than the Lord? Or will we seize the moment to cement and fortify our faith in our Father?

He’s always nearby to catch us, but it’s the outward expression of our faith that God encourages us to have. Only He sees what’s in our future and can equip us with the level of trust we’ll need in upcoming chapters. So whether you’re like me and feel trapped in your version of Alcatraz island or like Peter stepping out into the Sea of Galilee, God has already given us what we need to make it across. We just have to refocus our line of sight on the only One with the power to restore it.