Dear Self: Caring for Your Mind and Soul in a Violent, Spirit-Warfare Age

“Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God…” (Psalm 42:5)

Dear me,

I’m writing to you as a pastor and a friend—because lately the news feels like a storm that keeps finding the cracks in your windows. You’re tired. You’re scrolling late into the night, bracing for the next outrage, the next siren, the next “breaking.” And when the world keeps breaking, it’s easy to feel like you’re breaking too.

In just the last few days, we watched the assassination of Charlie Kirk during a campus event in Utah—a single shot from a rooftop, the kind of detail that stays in your chest. Authorities call it a political assassination; a 22-year-old has been charged. The facts are still unfolding, but the grief is not. It never waits for the next press conference. AP News+1

And then there was the stabbing on the train—a young woman killed on a Charlotte light-rail line, her life ended between stations. Federal charges were announced, and a city tried to steady itself while commuters kept riding. Safety announcements now mingle with the sound of wheels on tracks. ABC News

These are not just headlines; they are wounds. And every wound asks your nervous system a question: Are you safe? How should you live now? When the body keeps score, the soul must answer.

This is a letter about how to care for your mental health in a time like this—how to think, feel, and act in ways that protect your inner life and keep your lamp burning. It’s also a letter about spiritual warfare, because what we’re living through isn’t only political, cultural, or psychological. There is a battle for attention, affection, and allegiance. The enemy loves chaos. But you belong to the Prince of Peace.

So breathe. Sit down. Let’s make a plan—not driven by fear but built on hope, discernment, and the Holy Spirit’s steadying presence.

Name the Turbulence, Don’t Numb It

You don’t heal what you won’t name. Trauma-tinted news cycles invite two bad options: doomscrolling or numbing. The first floods your nervous system; the second freezes it. Neither restores you.

Practice: For five minutes, write a simple “This is what’s happening” paragraph.
“I’m sad about the assassination. I’m angry that a commute turned into a crime scene. I’m weary of violence. I feel small.”
Truth unlocks the door the Spirit wants to enter. The Psalms teach you to lament before you theologize (Psalm 13, 42–43).

Prayer: “Lord, here is my fear, here is my grief, here is my anger. I give You my raw. Meet me here.”

When you tell the truth with God, your emotions stop running the room and start taking a seat at the table.

Discern the Times Without Swallowing the Times

Jesus said, “See that you are not alarmed” even as He named wars and rumors of wars (Matthew 24:6). Alarm is a reflex; discernment is a discipline.

Set a news rule: Two small windows a day (e.g., 10 minutes morning, 10 minutes evening). No doomscrolling after 9 p.m. Your hippocampus—a.k.a. the librarian of memory—files facts better when the amygdala isn’t on fire.

Choose sources, not streams: Streams (endless feeds) monetize your arousal. Sources (curated outlets) inform without exploiting your attention. Decide in advance who gets to speak into your mind.

Community check: Share one headline a week with a grounded friend and ask, “What feels true? What needs verification? What can we do?” The devil traffics in isolation; the Spirit builds discernment together.

Naming real events matters (Kirk’s killing; a train-line murder) without surrendering your nervous system to them. Facts are not supposed to be your shepherd. Jesus is. AP News+1

Remember: Violence is a Symptom; the War is Spiritual

Scripture is frank: “Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but… against the spiritual forces of evil” (Ephesians 6:12). That doesn’t erase human responsibility—laws must be enforced, victims honored, perpetrators restrained—but it reframes the battlefield so you don’t start hating neighbors while the real enemy laughs.

Armor up, gently: Truth, righteousness, readiness, faith, salvation, the Word, prayer (Ephesians 6:13–18). Don’t imagine a cartoon soldier; picture a calm, rooted person who refuses to let lies, rage, or despair rule the heart.

Fast from outrage: Outrage pretends to be moral clarity. Often it’s just adrenaline in a tuxedo. Try a 3-day “no snark / no sarcasm” fast. It’s astonishing how much cleaner your mind feels when contempt isn’t your daily vitamin.

Bless your enemies: Not because they’re right, but because you refuse to let evil set your agenda (Romans 12:14–21). Blessing doesn’t cancel justice; it cancels hatred’s lease on your heart.

Stabilize Your Body So Your Mind Can Pray

Your body is not a footnote to your faith; it is a temple (1 Corinthians 6:19). In violent times, you must shepherd your physiology toward peace.

Breath prayer (90 seconds):
Inhale: “Prince of Peace, hold me.”
Exhale: “I am safe in You.”
Repeat slowly. The vagus nerve is a disciple too.

Sleep is spiritual: Set a tech-curfew and a bedtime. When you sleep, your brain drains inflammatory toxins and resets emotional regulation. Jesus slept in storms for a reason.

Walk daily: Walking lowers cortisol and teaches your body that life moves forward. Pray a psalm as you go (23, 27, 46, 121). If you can, walk near trees or water; creation is a counselor.

Eat simply: Hydrate. Aim for proteins and fiber. Spikes and crashes in blood sugar impersonate spiritual attacks. Sometimes the devil you need to cast out is called three espressos and no lunch.

Practice a Rule of Media and Mercy

In warfare, supply lines win. For your soul, the supply lines are Scripture, sacrament, community, and service. Build a small “rule” (a trellis) so the vine of your life has something to grow on.

Morning (10–15 min):

Read a Psalm aloud.

One proverb.

One short Gospel paragraph.

Pray one sentence for one person in pain.

Midday (2 min): Stop. One breath prayer. One text of encouragement to someone else. Mercy interrupts self-absorption.

Evening (10 min): Examine the day with God: Where did fear win? Where did love win? Where did I feel led? Confess. Give thanks. Sleep.

Weekly: Receive Communion with your church family. Evil wants you atomized; the Table makes you one.

Seek Help Early—That Is Wisdom

There is no shame in therapy, pastoral counseling, or medical support. If your sleep, appetite, mood, or functioning are eroding for two weeks, that is a dashboard light. Pull over. Consider a Christian counselor, a wise therapist, or your pastor. If you’re in crisis or feel unsafe, call 988 (U.S.) for immediate support. Getting help is not a lack of faith; it is an act of faith—entrusting your healing to God’s ordinary means.

Guard the Gates: Eyes, Ears, Mouth

Your mental health rides on inputs (what you watch and hear) and outputs (what you say and share). The enemy loves to plant a seed of fear at the gate and harvest despair in your heart.

Eyes: Curate beauty into your life—Scripture on the wall, a candle, a clean desk, music that lifts. Beauty is not escapism; it’s resistance.

Ears: Worship daily—even one song. Sing until anxiety can’t find space to narrate your day.

Mouth: Refuse gossip, mockery, and catastrophizing. Speak life. You’ll be surprised how quickly your nervous system follows your tongue.

Respond to Violence Without Becoming Violent

How do you live after a public figure is assassinated? After a train ride turns fatal? You take sorrow seriously and you take formation seriously.

Grieve with God: Pray by name for families. Lament the loss. Ask the Lord to “bind up the brokenhearted” (Isaiah 61:1). If you don’t grieve, you calcify.

Stand for justice: Support leaders and laws that protect the vulnerable. Encourage transparency and competency in public safety. Pray for those in authority (1 Timothy 2:1–2). To be pro-life is to be pro-neighbor.

Refuse escalation: The kingdom does not advance by the sword, the snub, or the subtweet. When you are wronged, ask, “What response would leave a residue of Christ here?”

Remember the particulars—and then hand them back to God. Facts matter (Kirk’s death was ruled a targeted shooting; a suspect is charged; a train-line murder led to federal action). But your fixation doesn’t add wisdom to the world; your formation does. AP News+1

When Panic Knocks at 2 A.M.

Keep a small card on your nightstand with this script:

Name it: “This is anxiety, not prophecy.”

Breathe (four counts in, six counts out, five rounds).

Ground (name five things you can see, four you can feel, three you can hear, two you can smell, one you can taste).

Pray Psalm 23 slowly—shepherd, valley, table, goodness following.

Decide one mercy for tomorrow (text a friend, set a counseling appointment, deliver a meal). Anxiety shrinks when purpose enters the room.

Train Your Attention Like an Athlete

The enemy’s favorite theft in your life might be attention. Whatever masters your attention will shepherd your emotions and steer your choices.

Lectio brevissima: One verse, five minutes, full focus. Read it aloud three times, then carry a single phrase through your morning like a coin in your pocket. Today: “Be still and know…” (Psalm 46:10).

Attention sprints: Work 25 minutes, phone in another room, then stretch and pray one sentence before you resume. Attention is a muscle. Train it.

No-phone corridors: First 30 minutes after waking, last 30 before sleeping. Guard those doors. The Spirit meets you at thresholds.

Practice Micro-Courage

Courage isn’t a Hollywood swell of music; it’s small faithfulness added up.

Make the call.

Take the walk.

Start the therapy intake.

Write the apology.

Schedule the Sabbath.

Show up to church again.

Turn the news off and the worship up.

Fear shrinks when your feet move.

Hope Is Not Optimism; It’s Orbit

Optimism says, “Things will get better.” Hope says, “Christ is risen.” One depends on circumstances; the other depends on a Person who walked out of a tomb. Hope is not naïveté; it’s orientation—you orbit a different center.

So rehearse resurrection daily:

Creed: “I believe in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.”

Confession: “I have let fear lead me. Lord, have mercy.”

Commitment: “Today I will be an agent of peace in one conversation.”

Violence can bruise your world, but it cannot break the kingdom. Evil is loud; Jesus is Lord.

A Litany for Violent Days (Pray This Out Loud)

For the grieving—Comfort them, O Christ.

For the fearful—Steady them, O Spirit.

For the angry—Purify, don’t petrify.

For leaders and law enforcement—Give wisdom, honesty, competence.

For perpetrators—Stop them; bring them to repentance and justice.

For our cities—Bless our trains and campuses, streets and sanctuaries.

For the Church—Make us true peacemakers, not spectators.

For me—Guard my mind, warm my heart, guide my steps.

Amen.

When You Talk to Yourself, Talk Like a Pastor

You don’t always control who talks to you, but you can choose how you talk to you. Become your own pastor for 60 seconds a day:

Name grace: “You are loved. God is not panicking.”

Name truth: “You cannot carry the world, but you can carry today’s cross.”

Name action: “Text someone. Drink water. Go outside. Pray one psalm.”

Name hope: “The darkness is not the landlord here.”

When your inner voice sounds like Jesus, your outer life begins to resemble His.

A Gentle Plan for the Next 30 Days

Daily (15–20 min)

Read one Psalm (out loud).

90-second breath prayer.

One act of small mercy.

10-minute walk.

Tech off 30 minutes before bed.

Weekly

Sunday worship (no excuses).

One hour with a safe friend.

One act of tangible generosity.

Review your news rule; keep it.

If symptoms persist (sleep disruption, intrusive fears, panic, persistent sadness): book a therapist or pastoral counselor. That’s faith in motion.

A Final Word to Your Weary Heart

Yes, the world is shaking. Yes, some nights will still be long. But listen closely: Peace is not the absence of sirens; peace is the presence of Jesus. The cross was a violent day. The resurrection was a quiet morning. The loudest day did not win.

A man was killed on a stage; a woman was killed on a train. We say their names to honor their lives and to refuse numbness. We acknowledge the facts, we demand justice, and then we choose formation over fixation. We put on the armor of God without taking off the tenderness of Christ. We become the kind of people who can walk through stations and campuses and living rooms as small sanctuaries—lamps on, hearts calm, hands open.

And when anxiety knocks—and it will—you answer the door with a deep breath and a deeper truth:

“The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid?” (Psalm 27:1)

Hold this line like a rope through the smoke. You are not alone in this. You are held, led, and loved. The Spirit is not wringing His hands. He is forming you—right here, right now—into a person who can carry peace where the world has forgotten it.

So, dear self, close this letter and take the next gentle step: pour a glass of water, step outside, lift your chin to the sky God made, and whisper, “Prince of Peace, rule here.” Then go do the small, faithful thing in front of you. That’s how we win our minds back in a violent age.

Grace and courage,
—Your future self, in Christ