Is God Your Refuge?

“The word of the Lord came to me: ‘Son of man, speak to your people and say to them: When I bring the sword against a land, and the people of the land choose one of their men and make him their watchman, and he sees the sword coming against the land and blows the trumpetto warn the people, then if anyone hears the trumpet but does not heed the warning and the sword comes and takes their life, their blood will be on their own head.'” (Ezekiel 33:1-4 NIV)

My Rock, my Fortress, my Stronghold, my Shield. Refuge is one facet of a God too mind-boggling for one definitive name. Is my Strong Tower my first resort in times of trouble? The following illustration helped me check myself:

Though I’ve heard the Son say again and again that I must not fear, I have to admit that when I heard the Watchman on the wall sounding the warning, my knees turned to jelly for a moment. Then I remembered where I was and whose I am.

It was pruning time, and I had gone out to the vineyard before dawn. My shears were honed, and the cart ready for piling cut vines. That morning, the silver moon had risen before the sun, as I had. It was peaceful and still. My eyes and mind were on my work in the faint light of dawn.

At the blare of the trumpet, I looked up. I was surrounded! Enemy silhouettes on every side, though still far enough away that I had time to run to the stronghold. Maybe. I cried out to my only help, “Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy.”

The Lord’s servants were running to the castle from all directions. Suddenly, fiery darts filled the air. Evil had been closer than it appeared. This is why we never go outside the gates without armor. It’s no good running from the darts of the evil one. I didn’t want to look the foe in the face. The Spirit reminded me that I had no armor for my back. I must turn and use my shield.

I knew that face. The contorted features of Fear; the empty, staring eyes; the dark chasm mouth. I flinched at the sight of his bow drawn for another flaming shot. My weapon is for close quarters. There was nothing I could do against arrows but deflect with my shield.

At my split second of hesitation, Fear’s open mouth narrowed in what might have been a grin. He let fly, seeming certain of victory. He coolly nocked another arrow as the first bounced off my shield. Oh, how I wish you could have seen his face transform when I drew my sword. He had turned away almost before I understood that Fear was fleeing.

Now, I was running in triumph rather than fear. “Be to me a rock of refuge, to which I may continually come; you have given the command to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress,” I cried as I went.

As I came over a hill, I saw a woman lying on the ground, Temptation standing over her. The woman had dropped her shield, so I hurried to her side and tried to put it into her hand. She turned toward me with glazed eyes, thanked me sleepily, but refused my help. She had given in. There was nothing I could do.

I turned again toward the gate, indignant. Something hit me in the cheek, and I felt blood trickling down to my chin. From behind a tree stepped a familiar enemy, slingshot in hand. Distorted, red-faced Anger. I had left myself open to her missiles! I tightened the strap of my helmet and prayed. Anger pocketed her sling and slunk behind the tree.

Onward! The guards would keep the gates open for us as long as they could.

I was pushed hard so that I was almost falling, but the Lord helped me. The final sprint to the gate. Once inside, I could breathe for a moment as the guards herded us to the door of the keep. I had just enough breath to whisper, “He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress: I shall not be greatly shaken.” But the sound of the battering ram behind us, pushing us further up, attested to how narrow our escape had been

Thanks to the alertness of the Watchman, everyone who heeded the warning horn was inside before the gates were shut. Some had ignored the alarm. If the enemy decided to take prisoners, perhaps there was still hope. We never know. The attacks seem to have no purpose aside from the enemy’s intent to steal, kill, and destroy.

We climbed until we came to a landing where I couldn’t hear the pounding anymore. Had they given up? I waited. No sound from outside. Dare I look? Just one peep through a loophole. A missile from a catapult slammed into the sill. Stone shards cut my forehead. Higher still!

If the Lord had not been my help and my refuge, my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence. When I thought, “My foot slips,” your steadfast love, O Lord, held me up.

From the top of the tower, the sun glinted off the enemies’ helmets, but I could no longer see their faces. Though the attack went on furiously, I knew they couldn’t reach me. The sun was balanced on the fingertip of a western mountain. It felt like the longest day of my life.

As dusk came on, there was time to think about food and water. If the enemy should commit to a siege, we need not fear. We are provisioned with the bread of life and living water.

In the darkest hours, a few people decided to leave the tower, but most of us waited out the night. Victory!

Do you have what you need to fend off an attack from the enemy? The Lord equips those who ask him.

Light dawns in the darkness for the upright; he is gracious, merciful, and righteous. It is well with the man who deals generously and lends; who conducts his affairs with justice. For the righteous will never be moved; he will be remembered forever. He is not afraid of bad news; his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord. His heart is steady; he will not be afraid, until he looks in triumph on his adversaries.” (Psalm 112:4-8 ESV)

“For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from him. He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken. On God rests my salvation and my glory; my mighty rock, my refuge is God. Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us.” (Psalm 62:5-8 ESV)

Through the gift of a faithful mother and grandmother, Diane Pendergraft grew up knowing Jesus as a friend. Married for nearly two-thirds of her life, there has been time for several seasons, from homeschooling to owning a coffee shop. She has three grown children and eight grandchildren. An element of this season is writing about literature and life at Plumfield and Paideia.