It started with an innocent comment at a family gathering in our home about whether or not we smelled a natural gas leak, and it ended with me perched on a stool at 1:30 in the morning trying to pry the carbon monoxide detector down from the wall to be sure it was working.
I remember how tired I was that night. We had had a long, full day of family and friends, and I was exhausted by the time I turned off the lamp that night. But just like any irrational fear I have ever had, the question hours earlier about whether or not we had a gas leak poked into my sleepy thoughts with just enough panic to render me fully and anxiously awake for the next five hours. We’d checked the furnace and the water heater in the basement. We’d replaced our carbon monoxide detectors the year before; they were well within their five-year life expectancy. We’d polled the other guests; no one else smelled anything. It was just one of those quirky things. All was well, truly.
But as I lay in bed thinking through our day, that one niggling little thought danced around the periphery of my mind until it took center stage and forced every logical line of reasoning to the very back corners of my brain and locked them in a closet. All I could think about were the horror stories I’d read or heard about people dying from carbon monoxide poisoning. People who died because their furnace or stove or hot water heater had killed them while they slept blissfully unaware they were being suffocated.
After a couple of hours, I got up as quietly as I could so as not to wake my husband, dragged a stool to the nearest carbon monoxide detector, and carefully stood up to examine the apparatus hanging high on the wall. I stared at it with unblinking eyes, a feat that takes great concentration at 1:30 in the morning. I counted to sixty and watched for the machine to flash. Wait. Does a red flash mean it’s working or that it needs batteries? I can’t remember. I counted out sixty more seconds and barely caught the next red flash. I pried the device from the wall, and using the flashlight on my phone, read the instructions on the back with squinty eyes. It only addressed beeps and sounds. No flashing red lights. How could I know it was working without testing it? And if I tested it by pushing the test button, the entire household would wake up.
Frustrated, I laid the machine on the coffee table in the living room, put away the stool, and crawled back in bed. I prayed relentlessly for the Lord to protect my family in case there was a gas leak. I prayed the detectors placed throughout the house would work if something were wrong. I prayed that no one would die just because I didn’t know if our carbon monoxide detectors worked. I stayed awake as long as I could, feeling the need to keep watch while my family slept. I finally drifted off around 4 a.m. (In my anxious exhaustion, it never occurred to me to Google the answer to my question.)
The next morning, my husband passed by the carbon monoxide detector I’d laid on the coffee table as he headed to the kitchen for coffee. He smiled a little and turned to me where I sat slumped on the couch sipping coffee and fumbling through my Bible reading with bleary eyes. “The gas leak comment got to you, did it?”
He knows me well. All it takes is one little comment, one little seemingly innocuous thing to fear, and I will give myself to it with all my heart. When I am afraid, I will trust in the carbon monoxide detector. I will pray for the smoke alarm. I will camp out next to the weather channel. I will intercede for the flood lights outside to deter home invaders. I will do anything but rest in the fact that we’ve made all the wise decisions we can humanly make and trust God with our lives.
Psalm 4:8 comes to me often in the night. I’ve recited it so often, I’ve worn out the words. They’re soft from exposure and rough handling. The corners of each glyph are sanded down from the years of rolling around on my tongue, from countless nights of pressing them down into the folds and crevices of my skeptical brain. “In peace I will both lie down and sleep, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.” I believe it, but sometimes I don’t believe it. Or, I believe it, but I better go around and check all the door locks again. I believe it, but I better stay awake and keep watch. I believe it, but things might not go well if I clock out for the evening. I believe it during the day, but I don’t believe it at night. I believe it, but worrying about things makes me feel like I have a hand in sovereignty.
The truth is, I don’t believe it in the middle of the night when I’m perched on a stool pulling down a carbon monoxide detector down from the wall because the world might not go on if I don’t obsess about the things I’m afraid of.
The thing about fear is that it drives out the true things about God’s character. Yes, I need to change the batteries on my smoke alarms every six months, and I need to make sure I understand how the monoxide detectors work. I need to lock the doors at night and make sure the storms we’re expecting don’t include a tornado barreling down our street. I need to use the wisdom God has given us to be keep my family safe. But in the end, I control nothing. In the end, God is either sovereign or He’s not. In the end, what I tell everyone I believe about God’s faithfulness is displayed in whether or not I trust Him with our lives. I want to say with the psalmist, “When I am afraid, I will trust in you, in God whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can man do to me?” (Psalm 56:3). Lying awake at night worrying about all the ways we can be harmed does not speak of the deep-seated trust I like to think I have in the Lord.
I want to lie down and sleep in peace.
But that means I must believe that the Lord alone makes me to dwell in safety.
I don’t believe that the Bible guarantees our physical safety all the time. For sure, suffering abounds in this broken, sinful world, and Jesus promised we would have trouble. But Jesus has also overcome the world (John 16:33), so for those of us in Christ, our souls are eternally secure. Which means, that when push comes to shove, there is nothing that can rob us of the eternal inheritance we have through Jesus’ sacrifice at the cross. It is sure, certain, guaranteed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.
So, if trouble comes or if it doesn’t, God is in control of the days He has ordained for us. He is never asleep, never takes a break, never misses a thing. The Spirit lives in us, and Jesus is holding all things together. What ridiculous thing it is, then, for me to think that my restless spinning of thoughts in the middle of the night is doing anything other than moving my trust away from God and robbing me of a good night’s sleep. I can and should be prepared, but ultimately, I must lean hardest on God’s sovereign kindness and His commitment to work things together for the good of those who love Him, whatever that looks like in His wisdom.
What ridiculous thing it is, then, for me to think that my restless spinning of thoughts in the middle of the night is doing anything other than moving my trust away from God and robbing me of a good night’s sleep. Share on XOn Psalm 4:8, Spurgeon wrote:
“I shall not sit up to watch through fear, but I will lie down; and then I will not lie awake listening to every rustling sound, but I will lie down in peace and sleep, for I have nought to fear. He that hath the wings of God above him needs no other curtain. Better than bolts or bars is the protection of the Lord… How many of our sleepless hours might be traced to our untrusting and disordered minds. They slumber sweetly whom faith rocks to sleep. No pillow so soft as a promise; no coverlet so warm as an assured interest in Christ. O Lord, give us this calm repose on thee, that like David we may lie down in peace, and sleep each night while we live; and joyfully may we lie down in the appointed season, to sleep in death, to rest in God!”
I really want my carbon monoxide detectors to work, but more than that, I want to lie down and sleep peacefully on the knowledge that God is has ordained my days will complete the work He has begun in my life in His good timing.
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.