Our Strong Escape: on panic attacks and the pain that draws us to Him

We need a Strong Escape from the harshness of this world. We need a Refuge.

I sit on my knees by the window, fighting the wave of panic that is inching up into my stomach (and, slow and steady, into my mind). A surge of nausea makes me swallow hard. I anxiously try to breathe steady, repeating the mantra to myself that you are okay. You are not going to die. It’s just in your head.

I call my mom and ask her to come. She’d seen it the other day, that bulge in my throat at every swallow. That hormonal gateway swung out too wide. She’d asked me to swallow and then nodded somber, knowing.

I think back to when we first found out, years back now, that the growing in my throat was a thyroid gone wild. The yearlong depression, gray day after gray day, the rainiest drought I’ve ever known. I had felt a little like King Saul, tuning out my demons with songs because my own thoughts were too much to handle.

So the recurring surge of panic takes me by surprise, because this stage is done, right?

But I am weak of both body and soul in this life, and the reminders are gifts, however they come. I need God. I am a desperate case without Him.

The pain of the panic drives my soul to my Refuge, my Strong Escape. It reminds me of my frailty, my humanity, my weakness. And in those bleak truths, it reminds me of how sufficient He is. How filling He is. And we know in the deepness of the soul that any filler but Him is a bold-faced liar.

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’”

“How great is Your goodness, which You have stored up for those who fear You, which You bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in You.”

David uses this word “refuge” repeatedly in his Psalms. He stakes it like a flag in enemy territory; he brandishes it like a victory amid dark days. He claims it repeatedly. He reminds himself—and us—that those who hold up in Him find the great and filling blessings. What blessing is more precious than being close to God Himself?

God is a safe place for the deeply broken. Honestly—He’s the only place.

Those who have experienced sickness, pain, loss, depression, weakness, know that being strong is not enough. There is a God sized gap looming between our effort and His glory. Only Jesus can fill that. And we weak ones know beyond a shadow that the darkness of our pain points us full face to the light of His Truth.

Maybe that’s the encouragement of the words spoken to the pained and captive people—that the depth of truth reaches the depth of brokenness:

“Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for Him.’ The LORD is good to those whose hope is in Him, to the one who seeks Him. It is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD” Lamentations 3:22-26 (emphasis added).

So we praise You for the reminders, Lord, the ones that drive us to our Strong Escape.

That Word of Encouragement (When the Father Prunes the Useless Parts)

No one knows me better than my mom.

I can see us now—sitting like we always do—her in the cream-colored chair, the one blued over with birds and branches; me on the couch, tucked in between decorative pillows, bare feet on the ottoman edge. Both of us cupping steaming mugs of coffee (either our first or second brew of the day). We just sit and talk, sharing understanding. And I pour out my heart journal-style, feeling full freedom.

I feel safe there.

And, inevitably, when she detects the pride, the control, the sin of the heart festering like gangrene, she pulls the stops and speaks with gentle eyes, loving lips. And because she knows me deep, heart-level, these wounds of love sliver open and heal quick—like paper cuts. There’s pain, but it’s pain with gratefulness, which eases the ache.

The Perfecter of my faith does this, too.

And He’s been pruning me.

He caught me in the kitchen, multitasking at washing dishes and holding a grudge, pounding soapy anger on pots and plates. Scrubber in the hand, I rubbed the grit hard and washed it off hot. The darkness outside and the microwave clock both told me I had a right to be mad. And, to ice that cake, I was planning for a party that would end up being cancelled.

This and all the depth of my heart the Lord has seen. And so He’s been snipping off these useless bits.

He is our perfect Father, our sinless parent. And His punishment—His pruning—is one of the biggest blessings we get. It’s a testament to His love. Even though there’s a sliver (and sometimes more than that) of pain when parts of us are cut away.

One father says of Another:

“My son, do not despise the LORD’s discipline and do not resent His rebuke, because the LORD disciplines those He loves, as a father the son he delights in.”

Hebrews calls this a “word of encouragement.” The soul encouragement sparked by the very thought that we are God’s family. And—what we can’t lose sight of, especially in these pruning times—that the end is “a harvest of righteousness and peace.”

It’s like the tree in my backyard that had to be chopped: fungus ran through the top of it and would have destroyed the rest. So midway up the tree it was sliced slant-wise. For a while it stood there, a gaunt stick of a tree pointing up toward heaven. But it grew back—different and curved and beautiful. And without disease.

So there’s joy tucked up in this pain. Joy in the Father’s presence. Joy in the cutting away. Joy in the letting go.

And we praise God for that.

Scratches in the Veneer

I walk out of the grocery, pushing my small cart with one hand and holding my Starbucks coffee with the other. The rough and pot-holed pavement jolts the cart at every step. I frown as a small splash of coffee spurts out of the cup and pools in the white lid. Another step and a great toffee-colored splat hits my hand and my coat.

Two blots on my right sleeve.

My brow tightens.

I huff loudly.

The uphill journey to the car feels long as the bumps increase and my coffee flies like a puddled explosion before me time and again. The sting of embarrassment hits me with each drop of coffee. I start to wonder if there is much left in the cup. And, just as I reach my car, I breathe deep and repress the sticky hand itching to sling the coffee full-force at the affronting pavement because I just can't handle it anymore. I bump my cart against my car and mumble a begrudged thought about being thankful for the coffee. And for the way it makes my hand feel warm in the cold (which may have held a hint of sarcasm).

Ever been here? In the fire of a heated moment wondering why you're as mad as you are?

For me, these moments are cracks in the steely veneer of my own disillusionment.

Cracks that let me peek into the state of my heart. As much as it seems so in the burning heat of the moment, it's not the matter at hand that causes the anger; it's the state of the heart.

There's a verse that has been reading me of late. It snuck into my quiet time with God. It snuck into Sunday's sermon. And it snuck onto my phone, unexpectedly:

"For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of Him to whom we must give account." Hebrews 4:12-13

There's no safer, more honest place to be than before the One whose eyes see through to the core--the heart, the intentions, the mistakes, the failures. (The near meltdown over spilt coffee in a Kroger parking lot.) For His own, it's safe there, before those eyes. Because God knows, and God still loves. He knows now, next week, next month, next decade...

If He didn't know all, how could we be fully assured of His endless love?

When the [painful] scratch pulls past the veneer, there's blessing in the open eyes, opportunity for the willing heart. Seeing sin is the blood-filled blessing that wrings our hearts clean of the wrong, if we come to God and seek it. It's not easy, whatever the sin is. The flesh fights hard. But the Spirit is stronger than we are.

This place, this hurt, is where the gold fills the cracks. Beauty indescribable comes shining from the Spirit life within. A soothing balm for the pain.

Show us what we need to see, Healing Father, and make us more like You.