“In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.” Psalm 4:8 (NIV)

I sat up in the dark room shaking. I frantically glanced around the room, trying to pinpoint the source of danger. I grabbed my phone and texted a friend, my breath refusing to calm. A nightmare had ended in my waking up and hallucinating for the first time ever in my life. Safety. I desperately craved the feeling of safety. But because of my PTSD, even in my own bed in my own home, I felt like I was in imminent danger.

“Tell yourself you are safe,” podcasts and friends advised me. So I did. Because in reality, I was safe. But somehow I can never seem to convince myself that I am truly safe. This world is a scary place. Politics. Pandemics. Strained relationships. Isolation. Natural disasters. Shortages. Near-death experiences caused by chronic illness.

There are countless things that daily threaten our physical, mental, and emotional safety. 

However, we are safe. 

I’m not saying this life will be easy. I’m not saying we will never encounter scary and dangerous things. In fact, if you live on planet earth, that’s a given.

The reason we are safe is because of God. He makes us dwell in safety. No matter where we go, we can be under the shelter of His wings. No matter what we face, He is right there beside us, guarding our backs, and going before us.

So this morning when I opened my eyes and wanted nothing more than to curl in a ball and hide from the day, I whispered a prayer for help. As I got out of bed and went to take a shower, trying not to panic at the immense stress levels descending on me, God reminded me that I am not alone. He is walking with me and protecting me.

My friend pulled up to drop me off at my house and I sat there crying like I do every single time, terrified of being left to face the phantoms of my past alone. My friend prayed for me, and I gathered my bag to get out. I opened the door and stepped into the freezing cold, but turned back and grabbed my friend’s hand. I clung to it, feeling weak and anything but courageous.

My friend met my eyes. “He’s going in there with you. You’re not facing it alone.”

I nodded and closed my eyes, reaching out for my Savior. It was as if He was reaching out to me. I knew in my heart that my friend’s words were right. God was walking into it with me. As finally I let go of my friend’s hand, I imagined slipping my hand into God’s. I literally kept my hand up to remind myself of that fact.