Tonight I’m going to write about something near but not so dear to my heart.
It seems like the world has gone crazy over the last few years. Maybe it’s always been crazy and I just didn’t realize it, or maybe it’s a new feeling of crazy because now I have kids. The possibilities of death and disease and kidnapping and abuse that could snatch my children away from me are overwhelming. And, to be honest, can be quite paralyzing. If I let myself think for even two minutes about the ways the world can grab my kids, I end up on the twisty slide of horrible fear. It starts as that gripping feeling in the pit of my stomach, and much like heartburn, travels it’s way up my chest and throat, and eventually springs out my eyes as a gush of uncontrollable tears.
Anyone else know what I’m talking about?
Now I talk about this because I deal with it, not because I’ve overcome it. Fear trots alongside me like that obnoxious stray dog who thinks it’ll get fed if it sticks around long enough. And to be sure, each time I glance down to make sure it’s still there, I encourage it to get a little closer and a little closer. If I’m not actively sending it away, it becomes my constant companion.
Tell me if I’m wrong, but fear steals. It steals the joy of the moment because our thoughts are consumed with the future. It steals peace because our hearts are intent on living in a scenario where there is no peace. It steals thankfulness because all we can think about is what we don’t have in that imaginary scenario. Be it sickness or death or separation, or whatever, we imagine a situation where we are without. Without peace, without love, without joy, without comfort, without hope, without life.
But wait, aren’t we robbing ourselves of those things when we give our minds and hearts over to fear anyway? If my mind is there instead of here, what is filling it? That peaceless, loveless, joyless, hopeless scenario that may never come true.
See, God is really, really good at giving us grace for our circumstances. But He doesn’t ever give us grace for the ones that are not here. Why would He give me the grace to handle a situation that I’m imagining? Here’s the flipside to that: every time I let fear plant a what-if in my mind, I imagine the worst. I imagine a scenario that lacks God’s grace to carry me through. That’s what fear, and our old enemy, wants to do. To plant a seed of distrust in our hearts: if ______ comes true, God will not carry me through it.
But dear friends, that is the old lie. I struggle to remember and to set my heart on this truth: that if we or our children encounter any of the horrible things happening, be it sickness or death or pain or suffering, the grace of God will wrap around our hurting shoulders and carry us through the thick of the suffering. God doesn’t give us grace for the imaginations of our fearful hearts, but He does give us grace for the real struggles we do and will face.
When two of our good friends died from cancer, battling long and hard against it, I watched as God’s insurmountable grace carried both families. This nightmare was horrific, but God had not abandoned them. In the middle of all my fears, I have to remember that God will not abandon me either.
I can’t answer exactly why God allows terrible things to happen. But instead of dwelling on the why, I can look to the overwhelming evidence that He remains present to get us through them.
So to the fears that pile up against me, to that stray dog I abhor, to that rising feeling of panic that I despise, I turn my back. When fear comes knocking at my door, I’m learning to let Jesus answer it. There should be no room in my heart for them, only for the peace that comes with knowing my Savior, and the joy that comes from His grace for the present.