The Accuser in the Courtroom : Fighting The Enemy in Your Mind

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Due to the heaviness in my heart, my thoughts led me to imagine I was in a courtroom. I was the judge, and a case was being made by the plaintiff—the accuser. He rose and said, "I am making a claim against the defendant. The question is: can we trust that He is who He says He is?"

The accuser continued, "If you really love her, why did you let this happen?"

As the judge, I immediately interjected, "Overruled!" I told the accuser, "You are not allowed to say 'if,' as the defendant’s name and nature is love."

He rephrased: "Since you love her, why did you let this happen?"

I then noticed that the client of the accuser looked like me—and the lawyer defending the defendant was also me. This trial was about me, about my heart, and I needed to decide whether I would allow the accuser to defend me, or if I would stand and represent the defendant—God.

The warfare in the mind is the common battleground. The enemy is constantly trying to sway, tempt, or lure us away from God and paint a negative picture of who God really is. Like for me, right now—life is really kicking my butt, and the one thing I’ve been battling a lot is head pressures. It feels like tension headaches—dull, lingering—and it’s been happening for months with no real resolution.

Today, I found myself crying hysterically. I prayed to the Holy Spirit to speak to me and, if I had grieved Him in any way, to forgive me. And then, in my mind, I was back in the courtroom.

I could hear the accuser ask the defendant’s lawyer, "Where is your God? You keep praying, and things are still the same."

In real time, I cried.

Then the lawyer—me—defending God responded, "He never left nor forsook me." I was fighting a deep feeling of abandonment.

But the accuser pressed on: "You’ve been begging. Why hasn’t He answered you?"

The lawyer—me—pushed through and said, "My God is bigger than my doubts, and this light and momentary affliction won’t last long."

2 Corinthians 4:17

As I processed all this, I tried to shake off the courtroom scene and move somewhere else in my home to escape my thoughts. But there I was again, back in the courtroom. As judge, I knew I had to remain impartial—but I looked at the defendant and wondered: Will God ever say anything?

The accuser continued hammering away. I watched as the client—me—he represented sat with her head low.

He ran on: "Will you ever have all you prayed for? You asked years ago and still don’t have them—no house, no kids, no financial freedom. Maybe you should have never opened your mouth to ask."

As the judge I asked, "Is there a question here?"

He replied, "Why does she still believe? Clearly, it won’t happen."

From the bench, I watched as the defendant—me—grew quiet, and softly said, as tears rolled down her face, "His ways are not our ways. His thoughts are not our thoughts."

Trying to break the courtroom scene, I shook my head while sitting on the couch, then started crying aloud:

"Take heart, Esther, take heart. Christ conquered the world, conquered this season and my emotions. Take heart. Take heart. Take heart."

In that moment, it felt like the accuser was winning—gaining ground against the defendant, against God—and God still had not said a word. But then I asked myself: Does God need to speak?

The truth is—He doesn’t. God doesn’t need me defending Him in my mind or judging the accuser’s attacks against His character. Because in truth, God has no rival and no equal.

Then I realized—sitting there in my own thoughts, ready to throw in the towel and strike the gavel in favor of the accuser—I could hear Christ’s words echo in my ear:

"But what about you? Who do you say that I am?"

The courtroom fell silent. Everyone looked toward the judge—me.

The version of me represented by the accuser slowly raised her head.

The lawyer version of me defending God also turned, waiting. I had been so busy judging what the accuser was implying about God that now, I was on the spot to answer for myself.

The lawyer-me had been trying to defend God, when I should have simply announced Him.

The defendant-me had been so emotional and justified that I forgot I had authority.

I then stood up in my home—out of the courtroom in my mind—and said aloud:

“God, You are my God. You are the Beginning and the End.

You are my Healer, my Promise Keeper.

Those who hope in You will not be disappointed.

You are my Refuge. You are my Strength.

You are my Vindicator, my Great Defense.

You are my Father.”

I had forgotten this. I had been lured by the temptation of my feelings, seduced by the accuser’s arguments, and distracted by my broken heart. In my mind, God had become the enemy—and I was dangerously close to calling Him a liar, as if He were like man.

But in His mercy, He didn’t answer.

He waited—for me to respond.

He gave me a chance to come to myself.

The enemy is always trying to get you and me to turn from God—to shift our allegiance away from Him. I was close to calling God a sinner.

> Job 40:8 MSG

“Do you presume to tell me what I’m doing wrong?

Are you calling me a sinner so you can be a saint?”

It was time for the accuser to be silenced—and for God to be exalted.

I left that courtroom with the case overturned—because God had already spoken on my behalf.

An overturned case means a higher court has reversed the decision of a lower court, nullifying the original ruling.

No matter what, I had power—not as the victim, lawyer, or judge—but through the truth that God’s court has a greater Lawyer who intercedes for me: Jesus.

Jesus Christ has fought—and continues to fight—on our behalf, against every accusation brought against us by the same enemy who tries to convince us to accuse God, only to later accuse us before God.

It’s tempting to let our emotions get the best of us. But no matter how you feel, gird yourself in truth—even if it feels far away.

The accuser is the enemy—not God.

And God loves us so much.

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