Fear & Frontier

I can feel my blood pressure rising, my pulse quicken with anxiety. Why? One word: transition.

A new season of transition has begun. The last one began with Ellie's birth. Now, just when I was feeling like I had motherhood in hand, I turn around to see my five-month-old barrel roll across the floor to get into the Xbox wires, and eat her first solid foods (which I'm going to have to start actually cooking and storing soon), and take two naps instead of four (meaning I have less time for writing and voice acting), in addition to realizing that we're moving across the country in two months, and my husband's going to school and working part-time, and I'm not going to know where the grocery store in Wake Forest is.

It's new, and so it scares me. And while slipping into the all-too-comfortable "American Dream" scares me more, a house, white picket fence and 2.5 children certainly sounds a whole lot safer.

I mean, how will I know who I'm going to be in these new situations? I know how I am now - I can avoid the pitfalls easily. But in the future, when new stresses beset me and I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off because Ellie spilled her milk and rubbed peanut butter in her hair and the maybe-new-baby is squalling because he/she rolled over onto a sticker and I haven't taken a shower in two days and we have to adjust the grocery budget because prices went up and income went down and we're taking our first overseas family mission trip in three weeks...then, who will I be? How will I handle it? Can I accomplish every task set out for me in that dark frontier of the days I've not yet lived?

But isn't this a picture of my whole life? Have I ever really known what I was doing? I'd say no, and as it turns out, God has not failed me in staying true to his good, gracious, sovereign character to date. This doesn't make my feelings go away, but the Word does command me not to be afraid. It says to bring my requests to God in prayer and thanksgiving, instead. Friends, if you think of me, will you pray that I will turn my fear of transition over to the Lord in thankful prayer as soon as it arises? I could use the prayers, and the reminders of just how in control God is over periods of great change.

The Block

I discovered this today amongst some old files. I was attempting to describe where my heart was at at the time. It ministered to me today, providentially, and I hope it does the same for you. 

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I stand on a pedestal, like a slave being sold at the block, for all the world to see. I breathe shame. Despicable child that I am, I cannot but look at the faces surrounding me and wonder, “What do they see? What are they thinking?” The questions burn—they taste like vomit in my mouth!

Yet, who can I be, but this slave? I know nothing of the world that does not demand perfection.  All my life, my captors have tried to train me to be a model of perfection, but I have failed them! In my heart, I am sickened by the fact that I want to please them at all, enough to sacrifice my heart, mind and body to their deadly appetites. I want so badly for them to praise me that I let them keep me on the block longer and longer, just so people will know that I am of some worth to these men!

In the crowd, I see the beloved face of my husband and the faithful eyes of my best friends. They look at me now with a feeling much deeper than the simple concern they began with. They were once slaves, too, you see, but a man of light set them free long ago.

That same man once came to my cell to free me. I stepped out from behind bars only to jump back into the arms of the people I knew best.

Yet my dear ones cry for me here, today, especially my husband. Their eyes plead with me, begging me to believe that I am destroying myself, grinding myself into nothing. From the ground, they beg me with earnest voices to at least try to see what they see. But up here on the block, I see nothing but my ambition to be worth something to these slavers.

My husband reaches out his hand, telling me that I am worth his very life to him. I turn my head away. He who would take me home, nurse me to health, dress me in beautiful robes and hold me tenderly in his arms, does not count. The only people who count are these dealers in death. Why? Because they are the men who run the world, don’t you see? They are the ones who will launch us forward into fame and renown. They are the victorious army – everyone else fights with a glory that will not be seen until the very end. While I am on this earth, I want to be a part of the army that looks like it’s actually winning!

Sleep is my only respite from this deadly dance.

In the night, I curl up in my cell and forget about my captors’ presenting me until the next day. Someone shakes me awake. For a moment, I hang on the edge of a dream, clinging onto the doorframe that leads into a land where my value is secure and my eyes are made new. Then, the wind of reality sucks me out, out, out, with black and hellish pain I cannot fully describe.

What is this? A man has come to rescue me in the night. He reaches out his hand, as my husband did, and in his skin is the light that illumined the dream. In his being is the essence of value, security and newness, made real before my eyes.

But I cannot accept. Oh, who could accept something so good? Something so good could not be true. And I cannot ever be free.

“I will free you.”

No.

“Dear one, I will free you.”

No, Lord, NO!

“I have adopted you, and you are my child. I have loved you, and you are able to love and be loved. I have become your righteousness, and you are sanctified forever with me.”

I can’t.

“No matter what you say, beautiful one, no matter what you do, these things will not change.”

I bare my teeth. Anger erupts in my heart and scratches up my throat like a scream too loud and bitter to swallow down. I scream, and scream, and scream.

His face never changes, except for a slight tightening of the eyes that might be sadness. His face is all love and compassion. He is not unsure of himself, even in his emotion. He is surety incarnate as he looks at me, spreads out his hands and says, “Did I not tell you it is finished?”

I swallow every word I have ever spoken when I see those hands with those holes gaping in them, wounds that pierce from front to back with indiscriminate hatred and rejection. In my mind’s eye, an image of blood and storm clouds and tears and death flashes like lightning.

“NO, LORD!”

Noise like a hurricane explodes in my ears. I cannot hold on any longer! I cannot, I cannot, I--!

All at once, the world goes still.

I am not in my cell.

I panic, groping the floor, trying to figure out what this strange world is. I collapse—I am too exhausted to go on.

In a haze, I feel strong arms lift me. They hold me securely and carry me as their owner walks forward.

I look up, dizzy and squinting against the mist, to see a smile more warm and definite and unchanging and sincere and full and holy than could belong on anyone but the Son of God himself. He brushes a tear from my cheek with his finger—I didn’t know I was crying. I need to turn my face away. I cannot face him like this; I can never face him again!

I cannot stop crying. He cradles my head, lets me bury it against his chest. When I look up, he is still smiling with even more love than before, if that were possible. I try to return the smile, weakly.

He nods, and holding me close, whispers, “Did I not tell you? It is finished.”

Walks in the Dark

As I made the pleasant walk from the gym to my car tonight, I wound through the familiar shrubs and bushes nestled around the walls of the fitness center. I scuffled across a stretch of dry, brown ground, kicking up dust as I did. I crossed a quiet street, and passed a sleeping church and huddle of houses before reaching my vehicle.

I had made that walk many times before, but in the past, I felt fear.

From the summer of 2009 to the summer of 2010, I dealt with rampant fear in my life. Like a cancer, its mass spread from one area of my existence to another, devouring truth and implanting panic. For example, when I took walks like the one described, I experienced constant paranoia that someone would attack me. In addition, I was consumed by fear that I would be found un-beautiful by the world, so I indulged disordered eating behavior and rejected all affirmation from my husband. Also, I hated flying, because the idea of a plane crash made me pale with terror. The list went on. It was a difficult time, one of profound confusion and struggle.

I won't go into any more details now. Suffice it to say that God delivered me over the course of the year as I met with a Stephen Minister (lay counselor) at Wildwood Community Church, listened to the Word spoken and accepted the love poured into my life by loved ones. 

My walk tonight reminded me, with a burst of clarity, of just how far God has brought me. I'm no longer scared of dark walks alone, nor am I a slave to bad eating habits and thoughts. I also dislike flying only for practical reasons now. 

Can we say HALLELUJAH? God was so patient with me the entire time, which is material enough for an entirely new post! What I want to comment on right now, though, is how my past issue of fear branched out, in seemingly unrelated ways, so that I felt its effects holistically.

If you see a pattern of fear (or some other issue) cropping up in several different areas of your life, whether or not they seem connected, it is likely that you need to deal with the general issue of fear (or fill-in-the-blank) in your life. And by deal with, I don't mean grit your teeth and will yourself to do better -- I mean bring before our holy, healing God. For I know that he is the only one who can deliver us from ourselves.

To the dismay of my writer's mind, I don't have much of a conclusion to offer here. Just keep in mind that we see patterns in our thoughts and behaviors for a reason, and instead of trying to play whack-a-mole and kill off the different ways a bad thing manifests itself, we need to go after the thing itself.

Words Trapped Behind a Fearful Smile

As the night settles over the mountains of Colorado Springs, my Thanksgiving break draws to a close. I've had a wonderful week with my parents- and sisters-in-law, and Chris' and my friend Stephen.

I have a feeling of letdown. Vaguely, I dread returning to Norman, knowing that life wil resume, and with it, all the everyday insecurities I long to escape. When I'm here, I rest in the knowledge that I'm loved. Granted, it took until almost six months ago for me to feel entirely myself with my in-laws, comfortable enough to let loose while knowing they accept me just the way I am.

I must admit that it takes me a looong time to trust anyone fully. When I do, it's so freeing! It's like stepping from a greyish world into an entirely new reality, where I experience hope and confidence and joy to overflowing. It's like suddenly realizing the heart of God, realizing the holy pride he feels in his unique creation -- me.

In "normal life," though, I don't know who I can trust, no matter how many times they've "proved" themselves to me. My warped perspective on life is that everyone has a button that drives them away for good, and it's only a matter of stumbling over and pushing that button. The longer I spend with a person, the more likely I am to find that button and lose their love forever. That's why it's difficult for me to grow attached. The deeper and longer I love, the greater the risk of heartbreak -- a keener kind than I experienced in middle school break-ups. This is what I hold to every day I'm in Norman, going about my business at OU and elsewhere.

Now that I realize this, I long to give it over to God. I cannot live in bondage depending on who I'm with or where I'm located. It is not the responsibility of every person outside my family to show me exactly what I want to see as proof of their sincerity. They can't show me perfect love -- I have to realize this.

Not only that -- I have to realize that there is a greater love that fills my need, because it truly is a need. When we sinned against God, we were cut off from him and his glory, and brought a death sentence on ourselves. Our debt was too great to pay. God knew that. He sent down his son, the very image of himself, to live a human life, bearing our human temptations and pains, and at the end of it endure false accusations, betrayal and brutal murder at the hands of those who he loved perfectly. In that way, he paid the blood price that was too much for us to pay, and he paid it in full. Not only that, he rose again, thereby proving himself conquerer of sin and death -- the very things that kept us away from his great heart. He ascended into heaven. He has prepared a place for us with him. One day, he will come again, and reign in all beauty, goodness and majesty that we have barely tasted.

Hallelujah. May his grace rain down on me in this struggle.

I.A.T.M.A

IATMA. I Apologize Too Much Anonymous.

Now that I've told you I'm part of this "anonymous" group, I might as well tell you everything. Chris and I created IATMA in our merely-flirting days when he pointed out that I, well, apologize too much. I apologize for everything. For being in someone's way when they're squeezing past my knees in a theater. For not writing "milk" in clear-enough handwriting for Chris to read what it says.

My latest addition to this sad list took place yesterday. The young woman I'm meeting with asked me to hold her accountable to read her Bible during the week. I have quite a bit of trouble doing this. Last week, I didn't ask her, even though I remembered to. That was selfish. Bah. Sorry for being a bad person.

This week, though, I did ask her. Aren't you proud of me? Sorry, I had to ask!

However, I stumbled through the question with something along the lines of, "So, I really hate to ask you this, because I always feel bad, but since you asked me to..." Blah, blah, blah. She just laughed at me and told me she would keep me accountable to not apologize for pointless things.

Sorry that I'm not explaining where I'm going with this. I'll do so now. My apologizing addiction indicates how terrified I am of offending people! I hate offending people. It makes me a little sick to my stomach to think about. But I mean, if I'm going to be a Christian, which I am, then I'm going to offend someone at some point, right?

Anyhow, all this was further underscored when I was deciding on a memory verse for myself and my mentoree (pretty sure that's not a word, but whatevs). One particular verse was on my heart, but I was afraid to choose it because I didn't want my mentoree to think I was trying to send her some kind of message about how she should improve her life by doing more good, Christian-y things. I was so afraid of offending her--with scripture!--that I acted in my own earthly "wisdom" and kept my mouth shut. Later, the Spirit made clear it was the edifying verse we should memorize this week, and I shared it. Oy ve!

After that, I decided I need to start attending my IATMA meetings again.

I'll try not too apologize for missing so many of them lately.

Contemplations of a Young Wife, Twelfth Part

A Song of Sentiments to My Husband 
About the Difficulties of Honesty and Openness.


My love, you look me in the eye,
And I have to tear my eyes away.
Today, my mouth's an iron fist,
Clenched hard, so my heart cannot escape.
Well, maybe. Maybe...

Tomorrow, I'll let you see the steps
I dance in secret.
Tomorrow, I'll let you break the code
Of what I'm weeping.
Tomorrow, I'll be one day more like Christ,
Who teaches me how truly to be true --

This time, I'd rather run and hide
Under the shelter known as surface truth.
Today, you saw, at least, my mind
One step away from how you wanted to.
But maybe, maybe...

Tomorrow, I'll endure the pain of pulling
Out the arrow.
Tomorrow, I'll let you dig right beside me
In the refuse.
Tomorrow, I will claim another day
With Jesus, who alone can make me true --

Tomorrow, I'll tell you.

You who are one flesh with me,
I'll unlock my mind,
And if you will help me, we'll
Draw out the soul inside.
Then, when all those earthly shadows are laid bare,
We will hear the Spirit speak
The truth about what's true.

Why People Scare Me

By now, you've probably picked up that I just love people! And because there's a flip side to every coin, that can be both a good and bad thing. You're astute enough to know the good reasons; among the bad reasons is the fact I put way too much stock in what people think of me. I feel like I fly by the seat of my pants in friendships because I'm always acting on assumptions of how I'm making the people feel.


Which brings me to the point: I don't give the most dependable, trustworthy people in my life enough credit, because it's so difficult for me to trust.


It may appall you to know that I receive compliments with more skepticism than I care to admit. Over the years, I've lived in fear that people are merely covering over their dislike for me--a dislike that will come back to bite me later.


Do they think I'm being a bad friend? Will she be mad at me because we didn't go to coffee this week? Should I have talked on the phone with her an hour longer? These questions constantly run through my head, so even when sincere love is staring me in the face, I often don't recognize it as such.

I have more encouraging people in my life than I ever could've hoped for. It's frustrating when I find myself doubting, even spurning, my friends' uplifting remarks because I'd rather disbelieve them now than be disenchanted later when I find out they don't like me that much after all. All this because my distrust springs from somewhere deeper: I don't trust the Lord when he says that I am lovable and worth loving.

"Perfect love casts out fear." Every day, I am more sanctified in this, like everything else, than I was yesterday. I look forward to seeing my relationships mutually flourish on a foundation of unity and fellowship instead of fear.

P.S. How is it that there are no "fear" or "trust" tags in my tag cloud at this point? That thing is getting humongous! There has to be some overlap here! Until then, I'll just keep throwing in new words...