“For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” — Romans 8:38-39 (NKJV)
I have been holding onto this one for a while.
It has been sitting in a file on my desktop — hard to open, harder to read, and honestly? Sad. Not sad in a hopeless way, but sad in the way that life in this broken world can feel when you are walking through it with your eyes open. And yet, here I am on the other side of it, grateful, refined, and still standing. All glory to God.
If you’ve been following along here at winten.net, you know the last post was not easy to write. God did something remarkable in my body — healing my lungs after 14 years on oxygen therapy. He then placed men in my life who are currently walking through what I walked through. Men on oxygen. Men who need hope. And God has allowed me to come alongside them and say: I know what this feels like. And I know the God who heals. That is not a small thing. That is a calling forged in the furnace.
So why was the enemy so busy in December and January?
Charles Spurgeon once said: “The enemy doesn’t waste ammunition on things that don’t matter.”
He wasn’t wasting any ammunition on us.
December
It started with my mother.
Jill and I were at the hospital watching her suffer. She was in so much pain. And I failed. I lost my witness — with a nurse and with my sister. It wasn’t the nurse’s fault. It wasn’t my sister’s fault — she was hurting too. She loved mom. We were all hurting. But I fell into my flesh. I reacted out of pain instead of out of the Spirit. And I have to sit with that.
I keep coming back to what Paul said in Romans 7:24 (NKJV): “O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?”
That is my cry too. Not a cry of despair — but an honest, humbling cry of a man who knows he is not yet perfected. I am human. I grieve. I snap. I fall short. And I am grateful for a Savior who is not surprised by any of it.
But then — while I was already in my own sin, still at the lowest part of that valley — I was sinned against. And this one was different. It came from inside the camp.
The Rampart
God has placed Jill and me in a family. A fortress. A rampart. He has surrounded us with people — brothers, sisters in Christ — who stand with us. That is not something we take lightly. It is something we treasure. It is built by His hand and held by His faithfulness.
So when an attack came from within that rampart, it knocked me sideways.
I was already carrying my mother’s suffering. I was already ashamed of my own failure. And now this — a wound from inside the wall. It leveled me. I want to be honest about that because maybe you have been there too. Maybe you know what it feels like when someone you trusted, someone you counted on in your circle — strikes a blow. It is a different kind of pain. It’s not what the world throws at you. It’s closer.
And God, in His sovereignty, allowed it.
I didn’t understand that at the time.
And Then the Car Broke Down
As I write this, I actually laugh. I have to laugh.
Jill was driving home from the hospital. The car broke down. Right there. In the middle of all of it.
It was so on the nose that it almost felt like a scene from a movie. Like the enemy wanted to make sure he covered every base. Grief? Check. Personal failure? Check. Attack from within? Check. Now let’s get the car.
I stop here and I just give God the glory. Because we got through those days. Not gracefully — not without tears and arguments and exhaustion — but we got through them. By His hand. Only by His hand.
Then January Came
We celebrated. We genuinely thanked God for getting us through December and declared His faithfulness over what had just happened. We meant every word.
And then January decided it had something to say.
It wasn’t as brutal as December — I want to be honest about that too. But it was relentless. Sickness moved into our house. And then — I wrecked our other car. Remember, one was still being repaired from the breakdown. Now we had two cars in various states of not working. Crazy doesn’t quite cover it.
Jill and I were crying out to the Lord for sanctuary. That is the word that kept coming up — sanctuary. Rest. A place to breathe. We were tired.
But God
February came.
And God showed us the first part of the plan. The reason. The why behind all of it.
I won’t share every detail yet — that story is still unfolding — but I will tell you this: when God revealed it, Jill and I wept. Not from grief this time. From the kind of joy that can only come when you look back at something you nearly didn’t survive and see His fingerprints all over it.
He was preparing us. Refining us. Positioning us. And the enemy — being the enemy — could see what God was doing before we could.
That is why the ammunition was flying.
What I Carry Forward
A pastor once told me: “You are either in a trial, coming out of a trial, or going into a trial.”
He was right. That is the rhythm of life for a believer in a fallen world. And I am not going to pretend I love that. I don’t always love it. But I hold fast to what I know is true:
God will never forsake me.
Not when I lose my witness in a hospital room. Not when I get hit from inside the rampart. Not when both cars are broken and the sickness won’t leave and the grief is still fresh. Not ever. Romans 8:38-39 is not a nice thought — it is a promise. And I am standing on it.
So I am studying up for the next trial. Reading the Word of God daily. Praying. Not forsaking the gathering of the saints. That is the preparation God gave us. It wasn’t glamorous during December or January — but it was the foundation that held.
And here on the other side of it, I am grateful.
Grateful for Jill — who stood with me through every single day of it. Grateful for the fortress God built around us, even when it took fire. Grateful that He is refining something in us worth refining. Grateful — simply, deeply grateful — to be walking in His love and His light.
Maranatha. Come, Lord Jesus.
If you are in the middle of your December right now — hold on. Don’t give up on the fortress. Don’t give up on the God who built it. He sees what the enemy sees. And He is not surprised.
— Dennis