Fighting For Us

Fighting For Us

The Valley, the Fire, the Battle — and the Christ Who Has Already Overcome

A song by Hillsong Worship from the album Great I AM

There are songs I enjoy listening to.

There are songs I love singing.

And then there are songs that somehow become a Bible study while I am listening to them.

Fighting For Us is one of those songs for me.

I love this song.

I love the strength of it. I love the declarations in it. I love how it moves from the valley and the fire, through weariness and battle, all the way to the victory of Jesus.

But perhaps what I love most is that when I listen carefully to what it is saying, I find myself opening my Bible.

Because behind those powerful words are truths I have had to learn—and am still learning—in real life.

Faith does not mean there will be no valleys.

It does not mean there will be no fire.

It does not mean I will never become tired, frightened, disappointed or confused.

It means that Jesus is still Jesus in all of those places.

And the older I become, the more precious that truth becomes to me.

Walking Through the Valley

Whenever I hear about walking through the valley, my heart immediately goes to Psalm 23. Yes, though I walk through the ( deep sunless) valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for you are with me.” Psalm 23:4

David never says God’s people will never enter valleys.

He says something better:

We do not walk through them alone.

That distinction matters.

I have lived long enough to know that loving God does not exempt us from painful seasons.

There are valleys of grief.

Illness.

Family worries.

Financial uncertainty.

Waiting.

Disappointment.

Spiritual dryness.

Times when we simply do not understand what God is doing.

And sometimes the valley lasts much longer than we expected.

I don’t believe faith requires me to pretend the valley isn’t dark.

Faith does not deny the darkness. It refuses to believe that darkness has become our shepherd.

The valley describes where I am walking.

It does not tell me who is leading me.

The Shepherd does.

And perhaps two of the most important words in Psalm 23 are simply:

“Thou art…”

You are here.

Right here.

With me.

Walking Through the Fire

Then there is the fire.

Immediately I think of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in Daniel 3. I love that story because God could have prevented the furnace altogether.

But He didn’t. They went into the fire.

And then the king looked inside and saw something he could not explain.

There was another One with them.

That changes the way I think about God’s protection.

Sometimes we pray:

“Lord, don’t let me go through this.”

And sometimes He delivers us before we ever enter the furnace.

Praise God when He does!

Sometimes He brings us quickly out of it.

Praise God for that too!

But sometimes He says, in effect:

“I am going in there with you.”

That is not abandonment.

That is presence.

Isaiah says:

“When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.” Isaiah 43:2

That does not mean Christians will never be physically harmed or suffer loss. Scripture never promises us immunity from suffering.

The Bible contains faithful people who suffered terribly.

So the miracle is not always deliverance from the fire.

Sometimes the miracle is God’s sustaining grace within it.

Sometimes victory looks like coming out.

Sometimes victory looks like still trusting Jesus while I am in there.

Be Still — He Is God

I love the words:

“Be still, and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10

We often put this verse on peaceful pictures.

Beautiful mountains.

Still water.

Quiet sunsets.

And I love those too.

But Psalm 46 itself isn’t peaceful!

The earth is moving.

Mountains are being thrown into the sea.

Waters are roaring.

Nations are raging.

Kingdoms are falling.

And right there, in the middle of all that turmoil, God says:

Be still. Know that I am God.

That gives the verse a completely different weight.

Being still does not necessarily mean sitting down and doing nothing.

There are times when I still need to make decisions.

Pray.

Work.

Seek help.

Speak truth.

Care for my family.

Set boundaries.

Do what is responsible.

But underneath all of that activity there must be a place inside me that remembers:

God is God.

I am not.

Oh, how difficult that can be!

Because I like knowing what is happening.

I like knowing how things are going to work out.

I like solutions.

I like things fixed.

And sometimes God simply does not give me the whole picture.

That is when trust becomes more than a lovely Christian word.

It becomes surrender.

Father, I don’t understand this. I don’t know how You are going to do this. I don’t know what tomorrow looks like. But You are still God.

God Alone

And this is another reason I love the song.

It keeps bringing everything back under the authority of God.

Fear is not God.

Illness is not God.

My circumstances are not God.

Governments are not God.

The enemy is not God.

Other people’s opinions are not God.

And—this one can be harder—

my preferred outcome is not God either.

That doesn’t mean those things aren’t real.

It means they are not sovereign.

There is only One who is.

And calling Jesus Lord is not merely declaring His authority over the things that frighten me.

It means surrendering my own life to His authority too.

I cannot joyfully declare that He is Lord over my enemies while quietly insisting:

“But this part of my life is mine.”

If He is Lord—

He is Lord of all.

What About When I Am Tired?

This part touches me deeply.

Because sometimes we Christians can make tired people feel guilty for being tired.

As though strong faith should always sound loud and confident.

But Scripture does not shame weary people.

Look at Elijah.

After one of the greatest victories of his ministry, he became exhausted and overwhelmed.

And I find God’s response so tender.

Before the next instruction came, there was rest.

There was food.

There was care.

Jesus Himself said:

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

There are days when faith may sound like:

“Nothing is impossible with God!”

And there are other days when perhaps all we can manage is:

“Jesus… I am still here.”

I believe He hears both.

Weariness is not always unbelief.

Sometimes a human heart and body have simply carried a great deal for a very long time.

And sometimes continuing to hold onto Jesus with trembling hands is itself an act of worship.

When It Looks as Though the Story Is Finished

Pain has a terrible habit of speaking in absolutes.

Nothing will ever change.

This is how it will always be.

There is no way forward.

God has forgotten me.

This is the end.

But God sees a story we cannot yet see.

Paul wrote:

“He which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6

Now, I have to be careful here.

God not being finished does not mean every earthly situation will eventually turn out exactly the way I want it to.

Some doors really do close.

Some losses remain losses in this life.

Some prayers are answered differently from the way we desperately hoped.

Some things will not be completely restored until eternity.

But God’s redemptive purpose in Christ will not fail.

Not even death can stop what He has begun.

Because resurrection is coming.

What Does It Mean That God Is Fighting for Us?

This is where I think we need biblical wisdom.

At the Red Sea Moses told Israel:

“The LORD shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.” Exodus 14:14

What a promise!

But I don’t want to take “God is fighting for me” and turn it into:

“God is on my side, therefore anyone opposing me must be God’s enemy.”

That can become very dangerous.

God does not automatically endorse every decision I make.

Every person who disagrees with me is not my enemy.

And every conflict I enter is not God’s battle.

Our deepest enemies are far greater than the person who irritates us, hurts us or disagrees with us.

Sin.

Condemnation.

The accusation of Satan.

Death.

And look at the extraordinary way God fought that battle.

The Lion conquered as the Lamb.

Jesus conquered through the cross.

The Battle Has Already Been Won

This is where the song becomes so powerful to me.

Jesus’ death and resurrection accomplished something that cannot be undone.

At the cross, the guilt of sin was answered.

The powers of darkness were defeated.

Condemnation was removed for those who are in Christ.

And death itself received its fatal wound.

Yet here we are.

Still facing temptation.

Still suffering.

Still praying.

Still waiting.

Still grieving.

Still sometimes fighting battles.

How can both things be true?

Because Scripture gives us an already and not yet.

Christ has already won the decisive victory.

But we have not yet seen every consequence of that victory brought to completion.

Death still occurs.

But death will not have the final word.

Satan still opposes.

But Satan will not win.

Sin still tempts.

But sin is no longer our master.

We are not fighting to somehow make Jesus victorious.

Jesus already is victorious.

We persevere because our King has already won.

Faith Watches God Move

I love believing God for miracles.

I believe He heals.

I believe He opens doors nobody else could open.

I believe He answers prayer.

I believe He intervenes.

I believe absolutely nothing is too difficult for Him.

But faith is not a method of forcing God’s hand.

Faith trusts His character before I know His answer.

Sometimes God moves by changing the circumstances.

Sometimes He opens a door.

Sometimes He closes one—and later I realise that was mercy too.

Sometimes He changes me.

Sometimes He sends another person.

Sometimes He gives wisdom.

Sometimes He gives strength that I know did not come from me.

And sometimes He sustains me through an outcome I would never have chosen.

I want the kind of faith that watches for God without telling God what He must do in order to prove that He is God.

Nothing Is Beyond His Power

Nothing is impossible with God.

I believe that with all my heart.

But that doesn’t mean God has promised to do everything I can imagine.

It means no created power can stop God from accomplishing His will.

Nothing is stronger than He is.

No enemy can overthrow Him.

No promise of His can fail.

No darkness can extinguish His light.

And no circumstance in my life can suddenly dethrone Him.

He is God alone.

Death Does Not Get the Last Word

This is perhaps one of the greatest declarations of Christian victory.

Paul almost taunts death:

“O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” 1 Corinthians 15:55

That does not mean death doesn’t hurt.

Jesus wept at Lazarus’ grave.

Christians grieve.

We miss people.

Separation hurts.

Faith does not require us to pretend otherwise.

But we grieve with hope because Jesus Christ walked into death and came out alive.

He rose bodily.

And because He lives, those who belong to Him will live also.

The grave may receive the body of a believer temporarily.

It cannot keep it.

The Hand Holding the Victory

And this may be the thought that touches me most of all.

Victory does not depend upon how victorious I feel.

Thank God for that!

Some days I feel full of faith.

Other days I have questions.

Some days I feel courageous.

Other days I am tired.

Some days worship pours out of me.

Other days my prayer may be very quiet.

But Jesus does not become less risen because Mimi has a difficult day.

His resurrection is not held together by my emotions.

My feelings can change.

The empty tomb does not.

And so I keep coming back to this:

The hand holding the victory is scarred—but it is alive.

Jesus holds the victory.

Not me.

When Chains Don’t Break Overnight

I love the biblical picture of broken chains.

Christ really does set people free.

But I also think we need to be careful not to make someone feel like a failure because every struggle didn’t disappear the moment they believed.

Some people experience dramatic, immediate deliverance.

Praise God!

For others, freedom becomes a journey of repentance, obedience, prayer, accountability, counselling, treatment and getting up again tomorrow.

The gospel still declares something enormous:

There has been a change of ownership.

Sin is no longer master.

Learning to live fully in that freedom may take time.

Grace is not impatient with the process.

The Name of Jesus

And then—

Jesus.

The name above every name.

But His name is not magic.

We don’t simply attach “in Jesus’ name” to whatever we want and thereby obligate heaven to perform it.

The name represents the Person.

His character.

His authority.

His finished work.

And our belonging to Him.

The power isn’t in a sound separated from Jesus.

The power belongs to Jesus Himself.

“It Is Finished”

“It is finished.” John 19:30

Nothing needs to be added to the sacrifice of Jesus.

Not my religious performance.

Not punishing myself.

Not trying to earn forgiveness.

Not being “good enough.”

Not another sacrifice.

Jesus died once for all.

Finished.

But “finished” does not mean every consequence of the Fall has already vanished from this world.

People still hurt.

Christians still battle sin.

The enemy still opposes.

People still die.

The cross does not tell us those realities are imaginary.

The cross guarantees that they will not have the final word.

What Victory Really Looks Like

This is perhaps what this song makes me think about most.

We can have such a strange idea of victory.

We imagine victory means escaping.

Winning.

Being admired.

Getting the answer we wanted.

Watching the enemy fall while we stand triumphant.

But look at Jesus.

Jesus overcame not by avoiding suffering but by walking faithfully through it.

He overcame temptation through obedience.

Hatred through love.

Sin through sacrifice.

Death through resurrection.

So perhaps Christian victory sometimes looks very different from what the world calls victory.

Sometimes victory looks like forgiving while still hurting.

Remaining truthful under pressure.

Refusing bitterness.

Continuing to love.

Trusting God while grieving.

Praying when we haven’t yet seen an answer.

Getting up again.

Remaining faithful.

Whispering the name of Jesus when that is almost all we have left.

The Lamb changes our definition of strength.

And After Everything… Jesus

This is why I love Fighting For Us so much.

The song travels through the valley.

Through the fire.

Through weariness.

Through battle.

Through chains.

Through death.

Through victory.

And ultimately everything comes back to Jesus.

And isn’t that where everything should end?

Not:

Look how strong my faith was.

Not:

Look how well I survived.

Not:

Look how perfectly I understood God’s plan.

Not even:

Look how courageously I fought.

But:

Look at Jesus.

He was there in the valley.

He was Lord over the fire.

He held me when I was weary.

He remained God when I couldn’t understand.

He fought the battle I could never win.

He carried my sin.

He broke condemnation.

He entered the grave.

He rose again.

And He holds the victory.

Perhaps that is why this song affects me so deeply.

Because after living long enough to know that life contains both extraordinary joy and very real valleys, I don’t need a faith that promises me I will never suffer.

I need a Saviour who will never leave me.

I don’t need to be told that every fire will disappear.

I need to know Who walks through it with me.

I don’t need to manufacture enough confidence to make myself victorious.

I need Jesus.

And I have Him.

So when the valley is dark—

Jesus.

When the fire is hot—

Jesus.

When I am tired—

Jesus.

When I don’t understand—

Jesus.

When I am waiting—

Jesus.

When the battle seems long—

Jesus.

When my own strength is gone—

Jesus.

And when one day death itself stands before me—

still,

Jesus.

Because the answer was never my courage.

The answer is Jesus.

And the hand holding the victory is scarred—

but it is alive.

Jesus & Mimi Quiet words. Joyful colours. Everything pointing to the Creator.

20 August 2026