The Lion and the Lamb

We were just talking, two friends catching up, sharing life, unpacking the weight of unspoken struggles. And then she said it.

“I have learnt to live with it.”

I stopped.

“Live with what?” I asked.

“All of it,” she said. “The disappointments, the setbacks, the things I once prayed would change. I have just learnt to live with them.” Right there, something in me shifted because I realized that somewhere along the way, we have all done the same.

We stopped expecting.
We stopped believing.
We stopped fighting.

We did not call it quitting, we called it adjusting. We called it being realistic. We said things like, “Maybe this is just how life is.”

The enemy does not always show up with destruction, sometimes, he just whispers: “This is enough. Just stay here.” He does not have to steal your joy if he can make you believe you will never have it. He does not have to block your dream if he can just convince you to give up on it. He does not have to shut the door if he can just make you stop knocking!

However, faith does not settle! Faith does not say, “Well, I guess this is just how it is going to be.”

Faith fights. Yet, so many of us have learnt to live with things we were meant to conquer. We have adapted to dysfunction. We have accepted less when we were promised more. We have built houses in places we were only meant to pass through.

How many of us are just surviving when God called us to thrive? How many prayers have we stopped praying? How many dreams have we quietly buried?

Ecclesiastes 10:5-7 says, “There is an evil I have seen under the sun, as an error proceeding from the ruler: Folly is set in great dignity, while the rich sit in a lowly place. I have seen servants on horses, while princes walk on the ground like servants.”

That is not how it is supposed to be! There is an error under the sun when those who were called to reign settle for less. There is a misalignment of order when sons and daughters of the Most High live like servants instead of kings and priests (1 Peter 2:9). If the enemy cannot take your inheritance, he will convince you to stop reaching for it. He will make you walk when you should be riding. He will make you think survival is success. It is time to correct the error.

Now, somebody will say, “But aren’t we supposed to be content?” Yes, Apostle Paul said he had learnt to be content in all circumstances (Philippians 4:11-13). However, it is important to note that contentment is not complacency! Apostle Paul was content in prison, but that did not stop him from writing letters that shaped the Church. Hannah was broken over her barrenness, but she did not just live with it, she prayed until she gave birth to Samuel (1 Samuel 1:10-20). Jacob wrestled with an angel all night and refused to let go until he was blessed (Genesis 32:24-26).

A few days after that conversation with my friend, as I was sharing with my mother, she looked at me and asked something that shook me to my core.

She said, “Where is the lioness in you? You too, no longer roar.” I felt that.

I thought I had it all going on. I thought I was holding it together, juggling responsibilities, showing up, staying strong. However, somewhere between surviving and performing, I had silenced my roar.

My mother went on to share that we are called to be both the Lion and the Lamb (Revelation 5:5–6). A Lamb in humility, surrender, and trust. A Lion in boldness, authority, and dominion. We were never meant to be just one. There is a time to bow, and a time to stand. A time to surrender, and a time to fight. A time to wait, and a time to roar.

If we live only as the Lamb and never as the Lion, we will spend our lives enduring what we were created to overcome. We will settle in spaces we were meant to pass through. We will carry burdens we were meant to cast down. It is time to shake off resignation. It is time to stop calling survival a strategy. It is time to remember who you are.

Yes, be the Lamb; tender, trusting, surrendered but do not forget the Lion; bold, fearless, and born to roar. Sometimes, grace looks like gentleness and other times, it looks like holy defiance.

So what if, instead of saying, “I have learnt to live with it,” we declared, “I have learnt to fight for it”? What if we prayed with tenacity, like Hannah? Wrestled for blessing, like Jacob? Faced down giants, like David? What if we stopped waiting for life to change and started changing how we live because maybe, just maybe, we were never meant to live with it in the first place.

We were meant to rise.
We were meant to roar.