I’m sure we all had very different experiences this September. Maybe yours was beautiful. Maybe the Lord opened doors, answered prayers and surprised you in ways you never expected.

And maybe He didn’t. Not yet. October is ahead of us.

As for me, I’m not going to give the enemy a foothold by sitting here rehearsing everything that happened over the last few weeks. I won’t give the battle more airtime than it deserves.

It was hard. My family went through it. I was down physically, on drips in hospital and at home, while around me we were fighting storms of depression, anxiety and fear.

But somewhere in the middle of all of that, something shifted. At first, there were just quiet prayers. Tired prayers. Those ones where you don’t have much strength left to say anything impressive.

And then we started seeing the battle for what it was. And slowly, we started getting dressed again.

“A garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.” (Isa 61:3)

Praise did not mean everything suddenly felt wonderful. It meant heaviness was no longer going to dictate the atmosphere of our home.

And although it took me much longer to get up this time, today I want to scream at the top of my lungs: I AM UP! We are up. We are wide awake.

Something the Lord has been teaching me again is that rest and recovery are not separate from the battle. Sometimes they are part of how He prepares us for it.

James 4:7 says: “Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.”

Look at the order. Submit. Then resist. We talk so much about resisting the devil. Fighting. Standing. Rebuking. Pushing back.

But sometimes we are trying to resist him with whatever strength we have left in ourselves, while completely missing the first instruction:

Submit to God. I have been amazed once again at how perfectly the Lord knows me. He knows when I need to stop. He knows when my body has reached its limit. He knows when my soul needs quiet before my hands can fight again.

Sometimes that rest comes in ways I would never have chosen. Sometimes life simply brings me to a place where I cannot keep moving at the same pace anymore. And I don’t particularly enjoy that place.

But surrender changes what happens there. I stop asking, How quickly can I get back up?

And I start asking, Lord, what are You doing in me while I am down here? Because I know my God. He wastes nothing.

“In all things God works for the good of those who love him.” (Rom 8:28)

Even this. Even September. Even the exhaustion. Even the tears.

Even the days when getting up took longer than I thought it should. He is faithful. His Word is true. “God is not human, that he should lie.” (Num 23:19)

So I’m not walking into October angry about September. I’m walking into October rested. Awake. Submitted. And ready.

September, you taught me enough. I’m about to kick you under the bed and close the door!

Hello, October.

I don’t need to know exactly what you hold. I know Who holds me. So, Lord, here I am again. Fully surrendered.

What are You going to teach me next?

V.L