Some days I wake up and I already feel surrounded. Not by people, exactly, but by everything else—thoughts, pressure, expectations, things I haven’t said, messages I haven’t answered, stuff I haven’t finished. And it doesn’t take long before I start going, “I can’t do this.” Not always out loud, but it runs on a loop in my head. I know how to keep it together on the outside, but inside, I’m panicking. I’m bracing. I’m trying to figure out how to escape what’s coming, even if it’s just an overwhelming Wednesday.
That’s the thing...Life doesn’t have to be in full-blown crisis mode for us to feel threatened. Sometimes it’s enough to just feel misunderstood. Or unappreciated. Or stuck. Or stretched too thin. It doesn’t have to be dramatic to feel heavy. And when it does, I don’t always know what to do. Sometimes I go into “fix it” mode. Other times, I shut down. I overthink, I isolate, or I quietly hope no one notices how not-okay I feel.
But the other day, this random story came back to me. Not the whole thing, just this image of someone waking up to find themselves completely surrounded. It’s from 2 Kings 6 about Elisha and his servant. His servant wakes up, sees an army outside, and freaks out. Totally fair, right? Because how do you stay calm when the thing you were afraid would happen is actually happening? But Elisha doesn’t panic. He says, “Don’t be afraid. There are more with us than with them.” And then he prays, “Lord, open his eyes.”
That part gets me every time. He didn’t say, “Lord, send help.” He didn’t say, “Strike the enemy.” He said, “Open his eyes.”
That’s when the servant suddenly sees what was always there...hills full of horses and chariots of fire. Not human ones. Heavenly ones. It didn’t remove the threat. It didn’t magically make life easy. But it changed what he could see. And that changes everything.
I think about how many times I’ve spiraled because I forgot that maybe I’m not seeing the whole picture. That maybe there’s help I don’t even know about. That maybe I’m not as alone as I feel. That maybe God’s already moved, and I just need the eyes to recognize it.
It’s easy to say, “Walk by faith, not by sight” when life’s going okay. But when tasks are accumulating, or someone disappoints you, or you feel rejected, or the future’s just blurry...sight feels like all you’ve got. And it’s not always kind.
But the story didn’t stop there. Elisha ends up leading the enemy army who came to capture him, by the way—right into Israel’s city. The king sees them and basically goes, “Can I kill them?” And Elisha goes, “What? No. Feed them. Give them something to drink. Then send them home.”
That part hit me hard. Because when I feel surrounded, I want to fight. I want to defend myself, prove my point, or disappear altogether. But Elisha? He leads with mercy. He could’ve finished them, but instead, he fed them.
Like Whoa! That’s restraint! That’s clarity. That’s strength that doesn’t have to scream. And the Bible says after that, the enemy stopped raiding. It was mercy—not revenge—that ended the conflict.
I think we forget that part. We think people need to be “taught a lesson.” But sometimes, what shuts things down is just... not reacting the way the world expects. Not matching energy. Not needing to be right or sharp or intimidating. Just letting mercy speak louder than fear or pride.
I don’t always get that right. Most days, I want to snap or shut down. But every time I remember this story, I’m reminded that maybe what I need isn’t escape, but perspective. Maybe the prayer isn’t “make it stop,” but “help me see.” And when I do see differently, I move differently too. Less panic. Less pride. More peace. More mercy. Not because I’ve figured it all out, but because I know I’m not the one holding everything together. And that, right there, changes everything.
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