A Prescription for Peace

Someone was choking me. It felt as though a sandbag was placed on my chest. I sensed an evil presence and this lasted many months after my son Jacob died. I’d wake up screaming from my sleep and was afraid to return to my sleep.

I was not at peace.

I was unsure what was happening. Was it physical? Was it psychological? Was it spiritual? I needed help so I went to a pastoral counselor for advice. I had no answers.

After explaining my story of grief and described the night terrors I was experiencing Tim was convinced it was a spiritual issue.

His advice was simple but something I had not been doing when I had an attack.

He said to fight back. What? How? He advised me to overcome the evil and fear with the weapon of prayer.

That simple counsel was implemented and nearly immediately the peace of God returned to my life and the night terrors ended.

I was reminded that God has not given us a spirit of fear. This spirit was from my enemy and I needed to fight back. God is truly our strength and shield.

When fear and anxiety overcome us our simple prescription is prayer and thankfulness. Is your script empty? Have you lost your peace? Get a refill and follow the doctors orders.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7

I wrote this poem soon after these events. God gave me his peace.

Waiting for the rain

You our rosebud in a garden of thorns; you grew up in sunshine waiting for rain. Waiting for rain your bud would push out; blessings from heaven would surely bloom out.

Beauty in the blossom was our hope in the drought, waiting for rain it’s sure to come out. The thorns ever present and your bud bulging to bloom; waiting for rain it is sure to come soon.

The sun is now covered and the clouds have come in; waiting for the rain and for the blossom within. The rain came quickly; a storm in the night. It cut down our rose bud before the dawns light.

Cut down by the storm, there our bud lays; awaiting the rain has cut short his days. Our rosebud is broken; we placed him in a vase. Pricked by the thorn we lean on God’s grace.

Our bud has now blossomed though not like we planned; his bloom has now opened in a heavenly land. I know you have bloomed in a place that is bright; for you are with Jesus where never it’s night.

Waiting for rain, I see your sweet face, our boy, our son, our child in the vase. Here we sorrow awaiting the rain to cut us soon down and free us from pain.

We love you son, we’re doing OK; were waiting for rain to unite us some day. Someday we will bloom, be joyful, and say, “It’s good to see you, what a beautiful bouquet.”