How to Fight Back When You’re Under Attack

It never fails.

Honest-to-goodness, my first scheduled book interview with Janet Parshall on her live radio show, lightning knocked out power to my church building! I only needed one landline phone for the interview and none of the dozen phones available worked. Cell phones are a no-no for on-air broadcasts, in case you’re wondering. Five minutes before the show, Janet’s producer canceled my interview, saying they’d have to reschedule another time.

Grrr.

When such absurdities strike, I can only guess the enemy’s up to one of his distraction tactics. Sideswipes such as this always send me into a mental spin. This is one of the reasons I’ve started a series: “I Don’t Want To Worry Anymore.”

Just like you, I need reminders of what to do when the unknown creeps in. Although all the tactics I’ll list deal with combating fear, today we’ll specifically address what I’ve done when I felt my anxiety’s linked to spiritual warfare. I don’t know about you, but when God’s about to do something extraordinary, that’s when the madness begins.

For instance, the spring of 2013 there was an upcoming event where I was both heartbroken and anxious, all wrapped into one.

You see, the week before my speaking engagement, my dad suddenly passed away. Sad, shocked, and emotionally raw, I wavered on what to do about my commitment. Since my name, photo, and seminar description on “How to Write a Book” were already printed in the District Toastmasters’ program, I felt obligated to follow through.

On the drive down to Fort Lauderdale, all I wanted to do was turn around, go back home and weep under the covers.

I had forty-five minutes of silence to question why in the world I hadn’t canceled this gig. Dumb, dumb, dumb decision, Dabney.

But it wasn’t until the hour or so before my presentation that I realized I was a serious mess. In my distracted state, I’d minimally prepared for this speech. Sure, I’d just completed my manuscript and my tips of what to do were fresh on my mind. And my PowerPoint, I reasoned with myself, could back up memory mishaps. But typically, for a big event like this, I’d prepare for hours.

Not this time.

Panic welled as I listened to the whispers growing louder in my head. Surrounded by District Governors, club presidents, and all the other bigwig Toastmaster types—who were expecting a professional presentation—I knew they’d see right through a shoddy speech.