Be sober, be vigilant… Part 2

After sitting with the word sober, it dawned on me that, although sobriety clears your mind, it doesn’t automatically tell you where to look. Clarity without direction can still drift, and that’s where vigilance comes in.

The second instruction in 1 Peter 5:8 is to be vigilant. And at first glance, that word can feel a bit tense. To be vigilant essentially means to be watchful or guarded. Almost like you’re meant to be scanning for danger at every turn. For a long time, I subconsciously associated vigilance with exhaustion; with being on edge, bracing myself, anticipating what might go wrong. But when I slowed down and actually studied the word, I realised biblical vigilance isn’t rooted in fear at all. It’s rooted in awareness.

The word translated as vigilant comes from the Greek word γρηγορέω (grēgoreō). It means to stay awake, to watch, to remain alert. Not in a frantic or suspicious way. Just… awake. The distinction in this detail is important, because Scripture never tells us to be anxious, but it repeatedly tells us not to be asleep. Jesus says, “Watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation.” Paul says, “Watch, stand fast in the faith.” Revelation says, “Blessed is the one who stays awake.” What struck me is that vigilance is always paired with position; Watch and pray. Watch and stand firm. Stay awake and keep your garments. Biblical vigilance is never presented as scanning endlessly for threat. It’s about remaining present, attentive, and responsive to God. That reframed vigilance for me completely. Biblical vigilance assumes something important: the victory is already won. You’re not watching for victory, you’re watching from it. You’re not guarding something fragile; you’re stewarding something precious.

Practically, vigilance has started to look like paying attention to my internal shifts. Noticing when I’m suddenly more irritable, more numb, more rushed, or more overwhelmed or overstimulated than usual. Not condemning it. Just noticing it. Because those shifts are often the earliest indicators that something is pulling at my attention. It’s also meant paying closer attention to my thought patterns. Not analysing every passing thought, but becoming aware of the ones that keep returning. The ones that quietly undermine peace, distort perspective, or push me into urgency. The ones that sound logical but don’t carry the fruit of clarity or trust.

Relationally, vigilance has required a deeper level of honesty with myself. It has meant guarding my heart, not in a hardened way, but in a wise one. That’s looked like not accepting every invitation, even when I technically could. Creating distance with people I still have to work with or interact with, especially when I already know there’s a tendency toward offence, tension, or boundary-crossing. Not because I’m bitter or avoiding people, but because I’m learning that constantly placing myself in environments where I’m likely to be hurt, provoked, or drained doesn’t make me loving; it just makes me vulnerable to carrying things I was never meant to hold. Vigilance here hasn’t meant dramatic cut-offs or labelling people as “bad.” It’s been much quieter than that. Choosing not to stay in rooms where I feel uncomfortable and allowing myself to step back when something doesn’t sit right, without forcing myself to rationalise it away. Listening to my soul and spirit when they signal a sense of being unsettled around someone, and not dismissing that quiet alarm in the name of being gracious or “giving the benefit of the doubt.” I’ve realised how often I’ve overridden those signals in the past. How quickly I’ve talked myself out of discernment because I didn’t want to seem overly sensitive, difficult, or be told I'm “moving mad”, lol. But discernment doesn’t shout; it whispers, and biblical vigilance is about listening before the whisper becomes a wound. Guarding my heart in this season has also meant being intentional about unforgiveness before it has a chance to take root and creating space when needed so resentment doesn’t quietly build. I’m learning to choose wisdom over overexposure, and peace over proximity, while understanding that loving people well doesn’t require unlimited access to my inner world.

Spiritually, vigilance has looked like refusing to rush God; letting pauses remain pauses, and letting unanswered questions stay unanswered until peace settles. Listening not just for instruction, but for alignment, because vigilance isn’t about doing more for God; it’s about staying awake with Him. The clearest picture of this for me is Jesus in Gethsemane. He knew betrayal was coming. He knew suffering was near. And yet He wasn’t frantic. He withdrew, He prayed, and He even named the weight honestly. Jesus stayed awake. He wasn’t anxious, or defensive. He was anchored. The disciples slept while Jesus watched. Not because He was trying to control the outcome, but because He was fully present to the moment and fully submitted to the Father.

That’s the kind of vigilance I’m learning to practise. Not the kind that is rooted in hardness, suspicion, or bracing myself against life. But attentiveness, awareness, and staying awake to what’s happening within me and around me, without losing peace. As I move toward 2026, I’m realising that vigilance isn’t something you switch on in a crisis. It’s a posture, a way of staying present to God and to myself. It’s how the drift gets noticed early, instead of fallout being dealt with later.

If sobriety clears the mind, then vigilance directs the attention. And when those two are held together, life begins to be lived from clarity rather than reaction. I’m still learning this without trying to master it or perform it. Just choosing, day by day, to stay awake where I’d usually numb out, rush past, or push through.

Just like in my previous post, I’ll leave you with the questions I’m sitting with now:

Where might you be functioning, but not fully awake?
And what would it look like to invite God into that space, without fear?

P, xo