“Here We Go”: Thoughts from the Edge of the Lion’s Den

I was thinking about the story of Daniel today.

It’s a story we often tell to kids, full of lions and courage and angelic deliverance—but underneath it all, it’s a story about conviction, anxiety, and follow-through.

I started thinking about Daniel’s mindset. I imagine he began with confidence when the edict was issued—the law that said no one could pray to any god but the king. And in those first moments, maybe adrenaline was high, but so was clarity. His decision was swift: Forget that. I’m doing what’s right.

At first, maybe the consequences didn’t feel real. The human mind can segment things—we can obey conviction while holding fear at bay. Maybe no one will notice, he could’ve thought. Maybe God will cover this quietly. I’ll pray as I always have—windows open, no performance, no shame.

But then someone did notice.

And when they dragged him in, I wonder if Daniel thought, Surely this is where it stops. Surely God won’t let it go any further.

But it did go further.

I think about that moment—as he was lowered into the lions’ den. If there was any fear, any doubt, any spike of panic or adrenaline, that is when it peaked. The faith was real. The trust was steady. But the body is still human. That’s where courage lives—in the descent.

And it made me think about us—about me.

These days, we face lions of a different kind. It’s not always death we fear the most—it’s being canceled, humiliated, discredited, losing a job, failing your family by not making enough money, or hell just being wrong. Embarrassment can feel more terrifying than death. And the den isn’t just a place—it’s a decision. It’s a moment of no return.

I don’t usually write like this, but as I dive deeper into Scripture—not just its text but its intent—this story has been working on me.

Whether Daniel’s story is historical or legendary, the meaning still cuts through: once you’ve stepped toward the lions’ den, don’t turn back. Follow through.

I find myself approaching a lions’ den of my own. I don’t know how this ends. But as I get closer to that edge, all I can say is: Here we go.

Please, God—do something with this den of lions.

They might eat me alive.

Or they might become pillows under my head, a strange kind of protection.

Either way, I’m going in.

And like David in the valley of the shadow of death, I may not be there exactly—but I swear, I can feel the vultures circling.

Still, I will fear no evil.