As the year turned, our home felt full and tender at the same time. It was one of the first New Year’s mornings I woke up without my son under our roof since we lived here—he was away at school, stepping into his own season. Still, my heart was deeply grateful that we were all alive and connected, even across distance.
Christmas had been beautiful—filled with laughter, love, and togetherness—even as I carried significant pain in my body. By New Year’s Eve, my husband and I attempted to stay awake for movie number two, but we barely survived the first (Gran Torino) before sleep claimed us.
Meanwhile, my daughter was rushing to finish her laundry. In the rush, she may have accidentally pulled the dryer vent loose from the ceiling. None of us could see the danger that the small mistake created.
The very thing we could not see—the threat of deadly, invisible carbon monoxide—was what came closest to taking us out.
Yet the very thing we could hear—the alarm, and my daughter pounding on the door—became the sound of grace.
Elisha and the Unseen Army
In 2 Kings 6, the prophet Elisha finds himself surrounded by an enemy army sent to capture him—not because he has done wrong, but because he is doing the will of God and exposing the enemy’s plans.
The king of Aram is furious that Israel keeps escaping his traps, only to be told,
“It’s Elisha. He tells the king of Israel the very words you speak in your bedroom.”
So the enemy sends horses, chariots, and a great army by night to surround the city where Elisha is staying.
Early the next morning, Elisha’s servant steps outside and sees the city completely encircled. Panic grips him.
“Oh no, my lord! What shall we do?”
Elisha responds calmly, with a vision his servant cannot yet see:
“Do not be afraid. Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.”
Then Elisha prays,
“O Lord, open his eyes so that he may see.”
Suddenly, the servant sees the mountain filled with horses and chariots of fire—all around Elisha. Heaven’s army was already in position. The enemy was real, but God’s protection was greater.
The Watchman on the Wall
Many cultures tell a similar picture: a quiet city at night. Lamps dim. Streets empty. Families asleep. All appears peaceful.
Beyond the walls, danger moves quietly—bandits slipping through the trees, weapons muffled, torches hidden. No one inside hears a thing… except one.
High on the wall stands a lone watchman. The night is cold. The shift is long. It would be easy to drift, to assume nothing ever happens “on my watch.” But something in his spirit won’t let him rest.
The wind shifts. A faint sound—a rustle, the soft clink of metal.
He has a choice: ignore the unease and let the city sleep, or trust the warning and sound the trumpet.
He chooses to act.
The trumpet blast shatters the silence. Lights flicker on. People wake up confused—some even annoyed. But when guards rush to the gates, the truth becomes clear: the ambush was real.
The city is saved not because the danger was small, but because someone stayed awake, listened, and responded.
The watchman is not the hero instead of God—but a partner with God.
The Alarm of Grace
On New Year’s Eve, our home became that city—and my daughter became that watchman.
She wasn’t standing on a wall. She was just trying to finish laundry before midnight. But when the carbon monoxide alarm began screaming, she listened.
She could have ignored it. She could have had headphones on. Instead, she ran—banging on my bedroom door, pulling me out of sleep.
At first, I assumed it was nothing. No smoke. No visible danger. Just noise. We reset the alarm, restarted the dryer, and returned to “normal.”
Then it went off again.
That second alarm felt like a trumpet blast from God.
This time, I whispered a quiet, desperate prayer because I truly didn’t know what was wrong. And it was as if an unseen hand guided me back into the laundry room and gently tilted my head upward.
There it was—the vent pulled from the ceiling. An open pathway for invisible, deadly gas to fill our home while we slept. As I touched it, it fell to the ground as if it was waiting to.
We could have entered the New Year in eternal silence.
Our story could have ended between movies, between loads of laundry, between one year and the next. My son wasn’t even physically there, yet the enemy still found a way to attempt harm in another direction a few hours after—a testimony for another time.
The audacity of the enemy was undeniable.
But so was the faithfulness of God.
When You’re on the Enemy’s Radar
As 2026 begins, here is what this night keeps whispering to my spirit:
The enemy does not waste time attacking what is not a threat.
The enemy may be bold, but God’s grace is bolder.
Attacks are not always evidence of failure—they can be confirmation of purpose.
Elisha was targeted because he was disrupting the enemy’s plans.
The city was targeted because it held something worth protecting.
Our home was targeted on a night when promises had already been spoken, prayers had already been lifted, and blessings were already in motion.
Just days later, I sat in a church service where the minister—someone who did not know my story—began to prophesy over my life. He spoke of what the Holy Spirit was revealing to him about me: about calling, timing, and what God was preparing to unfold. As he spoke, it became clear that the night of the alarm was not random. It was a powerful reminder that the enemy often tries to interrupt what God is actively bringing to life. The threat was real, but it did not have the final word. God did.
If you are facing wave after wave—physical pain, emotional strain, attacks on your children, threats against your peace—it may not mean you are losing ground. It may mean you are carrying something the enemy fears.
But hear this:
- For every army the enemy sends, heaven has already surrounded you.
- For every unseen danger, there is unseen grace.
- For every quiet plot in the dark, God raises a watchman.
- For every threat, there is a covering.
If you are on the enemy’s radar, you are also on heaven’s calendar.
Prayer
Lord,
As this new year begins, thank You for every unseen rescue You have already worked on my behalf. Thank You for alarms that still function, for daughters and sons who act as watchmen, for gentle nudges that lift our heads to see what we might otherwise miss.
Open my eyes, like Elisha’s servant, to see that those who are with me are more than those who are against me. Teach me not to interpret every attack as abandonment, but as evidence that You are at work in and through my life.
Guard my home, my children, my mind, and my calling under the covering of Your grace. Let the audacity of the enemy only drive me closer to the certainty of Your presence.
In Jesus’ name, amen.
Reflection for the New Year
Where have you heard “alarms” in your life lately—warnings, interruptions, or inner checks you’ve been tempted to ignore?
Ask God this week:
“Lord, open my eyes to the unseen ways You are protecting and guiding me.”
Consider journaling one moment where you later realized God quietly kept you from harm. Let that memory become your first testimony of the year.
As you step forward, hold this close:
If the enemy had the audacity to come for you, trust that God already positioned His grace to keep you.
You are seen.
You are covered.
And your story is not over.
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