Fear Is A Liar

Fear 

We had three darling little boys at the time (a daughter arrived later)...I didn't know how passionately I would feel about these munchkins until they arrived. When the firstborn got here, I remember being scared to leave the hospital, because I was certain I would break him (all 10 pounds, 8 oz of him - red, screaming Viking-worthy screams). My days were full of feeding, cleaning, naps and lots and lots of walks, which seemed to quell the lusty howling. By the time number three got here, I was an expert. Any woman with three boys in rapid succession becomes a force to be reckoned with. That much testosterone makes for some resilience. The daughter was a walk in the park, after all that chaos. 

Something started happening to me, however. It started with stomach trouble, then what felt like heart attacks -- chest pain, back pain, even left arm pain. After way too many doctor visits and speculation, it was finally revealed that I had a bad gallbladder and it had to be removed. But the damage was already done, to my fear meter. I began to believe that God was telling me I was going to die soon. Not in an audible voice, but in quiet moments of prayer or reading, where the house was (finally) quiet and I had time to think and think some more. This fear began to creep in, slowly but surely. I didn't want to tell anyone, not even Ken, at first. It seemed ludicrous. I had had a sweet relationship with the Lord since I was a young child. He had always seemed to me like my Daddy -- loving, kind, benevolent. But I had also listened to many speakers over the years and one in particular talked about how God told him all sorts of things, things about the future and things concerning his health. I distinctly "knew" I was going to die soon. Ken's mother had died when he was just a toddler, and his brother was four months old. I saw how this affected him and was a little obsessed with the tragedy of it. He had no memory of his mother, and his family was of the mind that you didn't speak of the dead. He was not allowed to know her. I began to fear this same scenario. 

My days began to get worse. I would look at my rambunctious boys, so full of life. The morose thoughts would begin to crowd my mind and I could not enjoy or embrace the fullness of what was in front of me, because I was mourning what I thought was the truth: that I wouldn't be there to watch them grow up. 

I was brought up where true Christianity was walked out...my parents prayed about everything. They were far from perfect, full of themselves and their willful ideas. But they knew and lived in a way that was real -- sins were confessed, forgiveness was asked for and given, and dependence on God was a daily, breathing entity. There were no sacred cows, no frilly or fancy programs -- just the simple life of walking with God in faith, fellowshipping and learning at church each week, and living what they believed. Honest and genuine, a gift to us kids. 

Along the way, however, there were a good many teachers and philosophies of "hearing from God" apart from the Scriptures. Now this is going to be controversial, but it is what I have walked through, so I am compelled to tell it. The Bible is very clear that we are not to add to or detract from the Word. We believed that, but I found myself listening for the voice of God, in a mystical, ethereal way, apart from the scriptures. That would seem to be okay, until you wake up one day, paralyzed with fear and unable to function because you think God told you that you were about to die. It was as real to me as the air I breathed. I descended further into despair. I would look about me as I went along the way -- in shops or grocery stores, where I'd see people shopping and think, "What is it like to just shop, to not be afraid this was my last day?" 

I spoke to Ken and then tentatively to my sister about it. I would experience a few good days and then spiral again. Ken was working night shift and normally left around 10:30 in the evenings. There were many nights I begged him to stay home because I was so scared. I would guzzle Benadryl sometimes so I could sleep. No one knew how scared I really was. Often, I would not sleep all night, then would hear him arrive home in the morning and would fall immediately in the bed and get just a bit of rest until the kids woke up. Misery was growing.

This all came to a head one morning after I had not slept, again. It had been many months of this half-life. Ken walked in the door; I sat him down and said that I was going to either find some answers that day or he was going to have to put me in the loony bin. He asked me what I wanted him to do. I told him to go on to bed and that I'd wake him up if I needed him, but that we would not be having school that day or doing anything constructive except me finding answers. 

We didn't have Google or computers back then, just a phone book. I began calling counselors and clinics, to find someone who could help me with my predicament. I didn't want to talk to anyone I knew, because I sounded like I was losing my mind (maybe I was) and didn't want anyone that I knew knowing about it. I was desperate. I called many different places, to no avail. They all had appointments for weeks and weeks out. Eventually, I called a ministry in Tennessee and they referred me to an evangelical speaker in Atlanta...they said that he was a very discerning man and could help me. I didn't have any confidence in my own pastor at the time, and isn't that a shame? 

I called this man's office and reached his secretary. She said that he was leaving in 20 minutes for the airport and wouldn't be available for at least another week, but he agreed to talk to me. Once on the phone, he could hear the cacophony of my boisterous boys in the background. He told me to speak to them and tell them it was important for me to have some quiet time, then to lock my bedroom door. I set them up with some toys upstairs and came back to the phone. He listened carefully to my story and the difficulty I was having with fear. I told him I knew that God was telling me I was about to die.  

His response was nothing I was prepared for. He said, "I'm not discounting your fear, but do you understand that you are sinning?" He then outlined the fact that I was, actually, going to die sometime, but only God knew that day. When we got down to the roots of it, that I was so scared of leaving my children, he had me pray and aggressively give them to the Lord. He asked me, "What if you do die soon? Do you have the faith to trust God, that He knows better than you?" 

I knew all these things, in my head and in theory, but when the realities (and possibilities) of the ugly parts of life hit you between the eyes, we discover what we really believe. I found myself lacking. I would have said easily, "I trust God." But did I? Well, not really. Our basic self wants to control everything, if we are honest. To think that I couldn't manage my world cranked me right on up to high anxiety. "Easy believism" is the bane of the modern church -- we don't really know what we believe. Often, we make up a pretty, simple religion in our own heads that might have nothing to do with the Bible. It feels good to us and floats in the ether, not based on any real substance. 

This particular day in my life, when I faced the question of who I was really going to trust, the chains of fear fell off. My life since then has been different, sometimes more desert-like, but also sometimes more dessert-like.  Walking in clearer light changed everything. Soon after, we got pregnant again and had a darling girl, Viking-sized like the others. We named her Elizabeth Hope, which means "God is my oath" and "Hope" -- because, well, duh. 

I run across many people who live in secret, dreadful fear. They don't have to tell me -- I know it too well. "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." I John 4:18. I have found a perfect love, more amazing than anything of this world, and therein lies the answer.  

Green Is the Color of My Mind (with orange and purple hanging down to the ground. But I don't care, 'cause I'm colorblind!)

I've been highly involved with three arenas in my life (and well, dozens of others too, but will only talk about these three today).  I'm intrigued how differently these three areas sit in my brain and experience.    

#1 - Teaching. Way back when I was a teenager, I thought that I wanted to become either a journalist or a coach. My 16-year-old self wanted to be on TV, to be a weather lady or news reporter. I thought that I needed an English/journalism degree, so that was foremost in my mind. Secondly, I thought I'd love to be a coach, seeing as I loved the game of basketball as if it were my life's blood. But there was also that pesky part of being a coach = teaching. I would think to myself, "What if God wants me to go to Russia to be a missionary and teach math?" Both those possibilities made me sick at my stomach. Russia, at the time, seemed to be this cold, scary place. And I despised math. Plus, I'd have to teach people, ick! Then as adulthood came into view, I realized I was a weenie when it came to telling people what to do. I'd rather just do things myself and not have to be the commander. Funny how God sees our plans and laughs. I spent some 25 years or so teaching. Not math (I outsourced most of the high school stuff by bartering with my painting skills), but I taught my own children at home (we were considered insane by some in the 80s), then taught art and flute to other kids for many years.

Teaching is a unique window into the souls of children. You can see right through to them. I could detect a teachable heart or a stubborn heart, just because I was trying to show them something. You can ask any teacher about this and they will usually agree. It's an uncanny phenomenon. Most (not all) of the kids I taught, I could have told you how they'd turn out as adults. Teachers can see the future and have a massive responsibility. Hats off to all of you that are teaching (I ain't doing that anymore...) 

#2 - Art/Decorative Painting. Besides teaching basic art to my own children as well as a good many other kids, bartering with my paint skills for math classes led to an ever-widening net of opportunities. This and that person wanted my experience, so it opened up to a full-scale business. I had decorators and contractors contacting me for their needs...the 90s and 2000s were ripe for murals, hand-rendered logos and faux finishes. 

Artistry is a unique window into our own souls. When I hit the "flow" that is that right-brained song, there's nothing closer to heaven for me. I feel very close to the Lord because I know these things are nothing I've trained for....they just come out and announce themselves. He has gifted all of us for our own places in the world, some for organizing, some for driving, some for directing Fortune 500 companies and some for many other abilities. I know that there are things inexplicably beautiful in all people and those are hints of the divine. He left those to remind us of Him.

#3 - Real Estate. I got my license some 19 years ago. The downturn happened right as I got it, so my busiest season has been since 2014 or so. You'd think I would understand it by now. I've never advertised it in a traditional manner; it has happened by relationships and word of mouth. At least half of my business is dealing with estate sales, not for the faint of heart. People who are selling Mama's house are in the worst place -- they have lost a relative, they might be fighting with siblings over the estate, or they are really needing the money and have anticipated this for years. Usually the home is in a mess, because parents have aged and lost the ability to keep up home maintenance. There are piles of belongings and lots of repairs needed. Much crazy-making can happen when everybody has to get along or agree on what is going to occur. I have to be counselor, lawyer and realtor all wrapped up in one place. This is where it gets hard to communicate. No one wants bad news, and if there's no good news to be had, why would you tell it? It's all a part of the business, and then there's the left-brain parts that contort me into a pretzel. I shouldn't tell my weaknesses in public, but I've never been able to hide myself well. 

Real estate is a unique window into the souls of other people. Their best and worst sides come out and my part is to try to keep the circus in balance. I love to talk but I don't like to boss people around. Communication is key but people are sensitive, anxious and needy when it's time to sell their homes. In my experience, there are two kinds of salesmen: Sharks and Dolphins. And I ain't no Shark. 

Summary: Each phase of our lives brings challenges and blessings. I used to look at old people and thought their lives must be boring. And maybe some of them were. But more likely, they had a lot going on that I knew nothing of. I really do regret not picking the brains of my Grandmas more. Not that I'm saying I'm old. No, I am not. I shall stay 39, except for on my birthdays, where I turn 40 for one day and then revert back. Daddy taught me these principles, and I am believing him for that...  

Tilting at Windmills

Little foxes, little arguments. 

A tiny infraction on one side can open into a massive chasm that destroys relationships, even businesses, churches, nations. Unfortunately, these things seem to be on the rise. All the "sensitivity training" and reams of writing and counseling are teaching us all to stare longingly into our bellybuttons and have thinned our skin to a crinkly, fragile state. The traditions of pulling yourselves up by the bootstraps or enduring through the storm have been largely relegated to old books or tales from the past. We have forgotten how to endure. Or to truly love.

Dear friends who we considered family have jumped ship and abandoned all of us and even our church because of a tiff between two wives in our social group. What started as a smart-aleck slight quickly escalated to something I can't quite describe. Long-term friendships have been abandoned, and there is a wake behind this middle-school-worthy girl fight that makes my heart feel a bit like it has been through a-stompin'... and I'm not even remotely part of the skirmish. 

But the tongue has the power to crush, to malign, and to destroy. "How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire! And the tongue is a fire, a world of unrighteousness. The tongue is set among our members, staining the whole body, setting on fire the entire course of life, and set on fire by hell." (from James 3)    It is the nature of mankind to gossip, to spread information under the guise of concern, and I am counted among the guilty. The scriptures call these words "tasty morsels." How fun is it to have the newest "scoop" on something wrong or evil or distasteful? We throw these things out for others to hear, clutching our pearls, anxious to see the shock and awe of such injustice. Heaven forbid we look at the log in our own eyes. 

There are better ways of healing hurts. One is to simply "step over" it, as our elder stated yesterday in Sunday School. Let it go. Get over it. Forgive it. Love covers a multitude of sins, isn't that what the Good Book says? Squash that little bug of irritation and be free to walk in peace. Love each other back, even when there is hurt. I have a friend, 35 years or so in the making, where we had multiple hurts between us. Things involving our kids, situations, jealousies, gossip. One day in recent years I found myself languishing in a body of water with this friend. Our eyes both misted over as she said, "Can you believe we are still true friends, after the hurts, the trials and troubles that we have worked through?" And it is as she said... forgiveness, love and a resolve to not make mountains out of molehills saved our friendship over the years. We have both grown, matured, walked a few valleys of our own...and came out on the other side still friends. Deeper comrades, so when the real hell happened, we were there for each other. 

We do not have to always have our own "protections" as preeminent in our lives. There is space, and need, for overlooking each others warts and stupid responses. Grow some skin. Not meaning to sound trite, but truly, love can build a bridge.