rescue: n. An act of saving. A liberation, freeing.

“What are you going to name him?” I asked.

“Lucky,” was her response.

“That’s perfect. He certainly is lucky to have you.”

My friend had just brought a dog home, one commonly called a “rescue animal,” due to the often-horrible circumstances of their earlier lives. Those providing the adoption really had no way of knowing his age, but thought the adult Aussie Shepherd was in the range of an eight-year-old. He could not hear, so he had been overlooked and rejected by many over the years. Typically, dog owners want to interact with their pets. They want to train them and prefer one who can respond to them when called. Lucky lived most of his life in crates or in cages with other dogs. His life . . . a dismal one. Being rescued and adopted into a home where he would be loved and cared for meant a transformation for him.

My own life has spiraled downward for a while. It didn’t take place in one fell swoop, but happened bit by bit, similar to the Chinese water-drip torture method. I did not fully realize the gravity of my state until the rescue.

Let me begin by stating that I believe a spiritual war is taking place. [1]For our struggle is not against blood and flesh but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Now, you do not have to agree with me, but this topic is not one open for discussion or argument. Such facts as these are not contingent upon the belief or lack thereof of any person.

That war is unseen, with the mind of humankind the battlefield. If Satan has the mind, he can more readily exert control.

How did I end up in such a mental state of despair, a place of negativism, where I found myself questioning everything about my life. Why? What is my purpose?

“I have no faith,” I told a friend.

“Yes, you do,” she said. “It has just been covered up.”

Hindsight often brings with it clarity. Doubt. Doubt was the culprit, the planted seed that grew to monstrous proportions within my psyche and inner being.

I began writing ten years ago. I never really accepted that role or the right to speak of God. Who do I think I am? Who am I to speak to anyone of spiritual things, let alone about God? Over and over, I questioned myself—Am I just a farce? The enemy had no problem picking up on that self-assessment and skillfully embellishing it.

I recently self-published a second book. The escalation of doubt that consumed me and almost buried me took me by surprise.

Ironically, the words I wrote about unbelief in that book daunted and haunted me. Ultimately, they rescued me: [2]“Doubt is the leavening of unbelief. It may come in a torrential flood or silently move in like a stifling fog. The underlying goal, to challenge the validity of one’s faith, never varies. Care must be taken to keep doubt outside the door instead of allowing it to walk in and take residence.”

Talk about being forced to eat my own words! I had swung the door wide open to doubt. It walked in and made itself at home—in my rocking chair!

But for God. That statement is the story of my life.

But for God, I would still be engaged in addictive behaviors.

But for God, I would have ended up on the broad path that leads to death.

But for God, I would perish in my state of self and humanness.

But for God, I would be sunk in the pit of despair and hopelessness.

How does God save us from ourselves? No person can answer the “how,” only the fact that He does—as we reach out to Him.

I came to the end of myself the other night while lying in bed. I had no hope left; I felt emptied, overcome by self-judgement, and void. Help me, God. Please help me.

The next morning a scripture came to mind: [3]Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.  God’s answer to me. For me. In fact, tailor made for me.

I have a habit of trying to figure things out according to my “own understanding.” And yet, I should know better. I have no answers to the “why” of things and never will. Doubt comes in–and dwells—in that headspace. He simply asks that I live my life trusting He is in charge.

The tears flowed, washing away the despondency. I wanted to thank Him but didn’t have the right words until . . . Thank you for rescuing me.

I do not qualify as a rescue dog, but I am an animal of the human kind and can relate to the experience of being rescued.

Life with God is not a one-and-done thing. Life with God consists of an ongoing, daily process as He continues refining me, ridding me of the dregs within as He purifies me.

Lucky knows transformation because of the one who provides a loving home for him. She talks to him with loving kindness, even though she knows he can’t hear her.

My life has undergone transformation too, as my Heavenly Father lifted me from “sinking sand” and placed me on solid rock. I do not call that “being lucky.” I declare that a blessing.

To set the mind on the flesh is death.

But to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.

Romans 8:6 NRSVUE

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[1] Ephesians 6:12 NRSVUE

[2] Sermons From a Soapbox On Unbelief

[3] Proverbs 3: 5, 6 KJV