There’s a story I’ve carried with me for years about a hunter who went on an African safari. Now, I’m not a hunter myself, not even close. I’ve been invited to go hunting; however, the thought never appealed to me. But when I first heard this story, something in it sank deep into my heart, because it paints a vivid picture of how we, as believers, are called to hold steady when the enemy comes roaring out of nowhere.
This hunter was experienced. He knew his way around the woods, but this was new ground for him. The African bush is wild, unfamiliar, and filled with things a man can’t see until they’re far too close. He wasn’t alone; he’d hired a local guide to help him read the signs of the land. One day, they set out, one behind the other, moving through thick jungle. The guide led the way, watching for tracks and movement in the shadows. They had no idea that just a few feet away, hidden by the tall grass, lay a massive male lion.
Unseen by the hunter, unnoticed by the guide, the lion lay in wait and watched them pass.
Then, in an instant, the silence of the jungle was shattered. With a sudden, deafening roar, the lion lunged from its hiding place and charged. But instead of going for the guide up front, it went straight for the hunter at the back. He had only a breath, only seconds to act. He was trained with a gun, but not trained for lions. Still, he lifted his weapon and fired. The shot landed, but the lion did not stop. He fired again. This time, the lion turned, stumbled back into the undergrowth, and disappeared. The two men stood frozen as they heard a heavy crash deep in the brush. The lion had fallen.
In that moment, the guide turned sharply to the hunter and told him not to follow the lion into the trees. The hunter, steady even though his pulse was racing, gave a little laugh and said, “Do I look like a fool? I’m not going in there after him.” So, they waited. Minutes passed like slow hours in that jungle heat, until at last the silence broke with one final, deafening roar, the sound of death. When they found the lion, they took the necessary steps to ensure the beast was truly gone.
It was only then, when the threat had ended and the adrenaline began to drain from his veins, that the hunter’s body began to shake. He trembled so fiercely he could barely stand. He would later say it felt like he shook for an hour, though it was only a few minutes. The danger had passed, but the fear caught up to him afterward.
This story, for me, has never really been about the hunter or the lion. It’s about what happens when life throws something wild at us without warning. When something fierce and unexpected comes straight for the part of us we thought was safest. It’s about staying calm when you have every reason to panic, about choosing your footing when everything in you wants to run. It’s about refusing to chase trouble deeper into the darkness. And for anyone who walks with Christ, it’s about how we stand our ground when the real enemy comes roaring to devour what God has given us.
Peter doesn’t soften the truth when he writes, “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” The roar is real. So is the threat. But so is our victory. Jesus has already done what needed to be done. And yet, when the roar is near, it’s easy to forget.
I think we forget that the battle isn’t with the people around us. It’s not the co-worker who pushes our buttons or the neighbor who tests our patience or even the voice inside our own heads that whispers doubt and shame. Paul reminds us that we do not wrestle against flesh and blood. There’s something deeper at work. Forces that thrive on confusion, fear, weariness, and lies. The enemy’s purpose hasn’t changed since the garden. He comes only to steal, to kill, and to destroy. But Jesus speaks a better word: “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
Like that hunter, we might find ourselves suddenly cornered. We might hear the roar of something we didn’t see coming. But we don’t have to be unprepared. We can choose, even trembling, to stand our ground.
One thing I’ve learned and sometimes relearned the hard way is that panic is the first trap. When fear takes over, it clouds our thoughts, robs our peace, and makes us react in ways we later regret. The enemy loves panic. He loves the confusion it stirs up. But Scripture whispers a different truth: “God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” When fear comes roaring, I try to pause and breathe, to say a quiet prayer. “Lord, steady my hands, steady my heart. Help me remember I’m not alone.”
Another mistake is to pull away. The voice that says, “Just handle this alone, don’t bother anyone, don’t talk about it, just shut the door and pretend you’re fine.” Isolation is easy, but it’s a trap, too. Two are better than one, Ecclesiastes says, because when one falls, there’s someone there to help them back up. The lion always picks off the one who wanders alone. We need each other more than we like to admit.
Then there’s the power of our own words. How often have I spoken defeat over my own life? Words like, “I’ll never get through this. I’m done. God must have left me. I can’t handle it anymore.” The power of life and death is in the tongue. When we echo the enemy’s lies, we give them more room to grow. But God invites us to speak a better word: “If God is for me, who can be against me?” We hold life on our lips. Speak hope, even when your knees are knocking.
If panic, isolation, and defeat are traps, then prayer is the way out. Not desperate, last-resort prayer, but honest, steady, here-I-am-Lord prayer. Sometimes my prayer is only this: “God, I’m under attack. I feel it. I need you to hold me up.” And then I reach for His promises. I say them out loud if I have to. “No weapon formed against me will prosper. Every tongue that rises against me will fall.” Jesus didn’t argue with the devil when He was tempted in the wilderness. He just said, “It is written.” And that was enough.
I remind myself to put on the armor Paul talks about. Not just pretty words, but real protection for real battles. The truth that buckles tight around me when everything feels shaky. Faith that lifts like a shield when the enemy’s lies come flying. The Word that slices through confusion. Peace that helps me stand my ground when running seems easier.
And when it’s hardest, I lean into worship. I’ve found that praise is the best way to drown out a roar. Paul and Silas knew that. Beaten, chained, and stuck in a dark cell, they sang anyway. And heaven shook the ground to set them free. Worship doesn’t always change the situation in a moment, but it changes the way I stand in it. Praise says to the roaring enemy, “You can growl all you want, but my God reigns.”
When the hunter faced that lion, he didn’t drop his weapon and run. He didn’t chase danger deeper into the dark. He stayed where he needed to stay, aimed true, and waited. In the end, the lion fell. And when the shaking came, it was only after the threat was gone.
I think about that when life corners me. When bills come due, when friendships strain, when fear presses close in the dark. Maybe you feel it too. Maybe you’re standing face to face with your own lion right now. If you’re trembling inside, that’s alright. Even brave men shake when the danger passes. The enemy wants your panic, but God offers you peace. The enemy wants you alone, but God calls you closer. The enemy wants your words to echo defeat, but God has put life in your mouth.
So, breathe. Steady your hands. Lift your eyes. Pray honest prayers. Armor up. Stand shoulder to shoulder with people who know how to pray for you through the attack. And if all else fails, sing. Sing until the roar loses its power. The lion who thought he’d have you for lunch has already lost at the foot of the cross. Let him roar. He can’t devour what Jesus has redeemed.
Stay calm. Stay steady. Keep your cool under pressure. The victory is already yours.
And if you need someone to remind you of that today, I’m here. We’re in this together, and we’re not alone.