Be Sober, be vigilant… Part 3
The rest of the scripture says this: “Your adversary the devil walks around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.”
What’s interesting is that this part of the verse isn’t actually new to me. I studied this years ago, and for a long time, it was the part I held onto most. The imagery and warning stayed with me. It shaped how I understood vulnerability, community, and spiritual safety long before I ever really slowed down to examine the be sober, be vigilant part. Ironically, that was the bit I skimmed over.
The revelation I received back then centred on isolation, and how dangerous it can be. Especially for someone like me. I’m a huge introvert by nature, and for years my default response to overwhelm, offence, disappointment, or exhaustion was to cut everyone off and retreat into my own little space. Sometimes it was dramatic, sometimes it was in anger, but most times it was just quietly disappearing for a while to “process.” It felt safe, controlled, and easier to manage this way. But the Lord began to show me something through this scripture that completely changed my paradigm.
Because I’m a visual learner, I remember looking into how lions actually hunt. And what shocked me wasn’t the violence of the attack, but the strategy that comes before the attack. A lion doesn’t rush in blindly. It observes, identifies a target, and before it ever attacks, it works to isolate. A lone animal,
one that’s already drifting from the herd, distracted, wounded, or lagging behind. Why? Because isolation weakens, and vulnerability makes the prey easier to devour. When animals move in herds, an attack is much harder to execute successfully. Not because every animal can see in all directions at once, but because together, they can. If one animal is looking straight ahead, another can see what’s coming from the side. Another can sense movement from behind. In a herd, awareness is shared, and protection is collective. This is why community is so important, and one of the reasons scripture tells us not to forsake the gathering of the saints. When an animal walks alone, it can only see what’s directly in front of it. Anything approaching from another angle goes unnoticed until it’s too late.
“Your adversary, the devil walks around…” Not rushing , or panicking, but quietly observing with intent. “Seeking whom he may devour.” Not whom he will devour. Whom he may. That word may implies access. The need for opportunity and permission, and suddenly I began to connect the dots between 1 Peter 5:8 and Ephesians 4:27 “and do not give the enemy a foothold”, which essentially instructs us not to give the devil the opportunity or permission to devour us.
What the Lord showed me then, and what I’ve never forgotten, is that isolation is often a strategy of the adversary, especially when it comes dressed as self-protection, independence, or “needing space.” Sometimes isolation doesn’t begin physically; it begins internally, with offence, unprocessed hurt, disappointment, with the quiet decision to withdraw instead of staying connected. That revelation was confronting for me, because I realised how often I used isolation as a coping mechanism. And how easily it became a place where I felt hidden and protected, but was actually more exposed.
Over time, God also taught me something important: isolation and separation are not the same thing. Isolation pulls you away from covering, accountability, and support. It weakens you gradually and quietly. Separation, on the other hand, is often initiated by God, and it is usually an act of consecration. It’s purposeful, intentional, and sacred. Separation isn’t about disconnecting from people out of fear or offence; it’s about being set apart so your focus can be sharpened, your devotion clarified, and your alignment restored. Throughout Scripture, God separates people not to diminish them, but to prepare them. Jesus withdrew often, but He was never isolated in a way that made Him spiritually vulnerable. His separation was always anchored in intimacy with the Father, not driven by offence, overwhelm, disappointment, or the need to self-protect.
That distinction changed how I relate to my own introversion. I learned that solitude can be healthy and silence can be holy. But cutting myself off completely, especially when wounded or overstimulated, was not strengthening me the way I thought it was. That’s why the command to be sober and vigilant has started to matter so much more to me now. Sobriety keeps you clear enough to notice when you’re drifting toward isolation under the guise of rest. Vigilance helps you recognise the strategy before it becomes vulnerability.
Sometimes the adversary doesn’t need to attack loudly, sometimes the roar is subtle, and sometimes it sounds like, “Just pull back.” “Deal with it alone.” “You don’t need anyone right now.” And sometimes resisting that strategy doesn’t look like fighting at all. It looks like choosing connection when retreat feels easier. It looks like refusing to romanticise isolation and not letting offence or disappointment push me into silence. It looks like staying visible to the right people, even when I’d rather disappear. It looks like resisting the quiet invitation to “handle it alone” when help, prayer, or perspective would actually strengthen me. It also looks like learning to distinguish, in real time, between God-led separation and enemy-driven isolation by the fruit they produce. Separation that comes from God draws me closer to Him, sharpens my focus, and leaves me strengthened. Isolation influenced by the adversary leaves me inward-facing, guarded, and quietly weakened.
The lion doesn’t always attack with noise, sometimes the danger is in the slow drift away from covering, from connection, from being seen.
So this part of the scripture reminds me of something I learned years ago and still need to remember now:
Strength isn’t just about endurance, it’s about positioning. The enemy may walk around looking for access, but we don’t have to make ourselves available. And perhaps that’s the invitation in all of this; not to strive harder, but to stay sober enough to see clearly, vigilant enough to notice the drift early, and humble enough to choose connection, consecration, and truth over isolation disguised as safety.
I’m still learning this.
P, xo
