What Are You Afraid Of?

What Are You Afraid Of?

I am not afraid of a lot of things…

I’m not afraid to change my hair color, and I do quite frequently.

I’m not afraid to wear red boots or carry a pink purse.

I’m not afraid to fly.

I’m not afraid to walk into a room full of people I don’t know.

I’m not usually afraid to try new things, and I love to learn new things!

I’m not afraid to drive in snow and ice (good thing since we’ve had plenty this year!)

I’m not even afraid to drive in California!

What I am afraid of is pain… physical, emotional, or any other kind of pain. I’m afraid of hurting and I’m afraid of being hurt. Unfortunately, I’ve done plenty of both.

From my fear of pain, come lots of little fears…

I’m afraid of confrontation.

I’m afraid of saying no.

I’m afraid of facing painful realities—I have a thick wall of protection around my heart.

I’m afraid of failing.

I’m afraid of disappointing others.

I’m afraid of facing painful realities—did I say that already? Yes I did, because it’s probably my biggest fear. I have said that I’m the Queen of Denial because I have so often stuck my head in the sand and denied reality. You would think I would have learned by now that all that does is create more pain, prolong the pain, intensify the pain.

So, in a few weeks, I am going to step up to my fear, take it by the horns, and with God’s help move just a little beyond it. This good little Polly Anna, Bible Study Girl is going on a mission trip. As I said, I’m not afraid to fly there, I’m not afraid to drive there. I’m not even feeling any fear of gangs or violence. What I fear the most is looking into the face of a homeless man and truly trying to understand him… truly loving him… truly accepting him… and sincerely and honestly praying for him. Even though I may see the eyes and feel the pain of someone I deeply love as I look at him, I will not shrink back. I will do it. With God’s help, I will do it.

So, what are you afraid of?

Missing My Unswerving Hope

I have not had much to say here recently because, again, I have not been listening much. I have been running… busy… vacation… dance class… homework… laundry… the list goes on.

I miss listening, and my heart yearns for it.

So today I pulled out my kindle and began reading through My Clippings. One of the first ones to really catch my attention and express my heart of late is from “Hinds’ Feet on High Places.”

My heart has been hurting because of a loved one who I’ve not heard from in a long time. I miss him, I struggle to trust and not to worry. Most of the time I trust, but some days the weight gets heavy.  Because as the Much Afraid says in “Hinds’ Feet on High Places”, “I am afraid… I have been told that if you really love someone you give that loved one the power to hurt and pain you in a way nothing else can.”

The Shepherd confirms Much-Afraid’s fear, “To love does mean to put yourself into the power of the loved one and to become very vulnerable to pain, and you are very Much-Afraid of pain, are you not?”

Oh yes, Lord, I, too, am very Much-Afraid of pain. That’s why I continually find my heart barricaded behind a wall so thick, nothing much can penetrate it. The problem is, when you build a fortress around your heart to keep out the bad, you also keep out the good. Hence, my lack of listening… my lack of journaling… my lack of peace.

When will I learn, Lord? When I get to heaven I suppose. But until then, I’ll keep working on myself… on my schedule… on my priorities.

Brutal Honesty

I just read a book by Kristen Johnston, called “Guts”. Johnston is an actress (3^rd Rock from the Sun) who is also a recovering alcoholic/drug addict. She swears like a sailor, and she and I would not see eye to eye on much of anything relating to religion or politics. One thing we do see eye to eye on is the need for honesty… the brutal, gut-level kind. And that is what I found refreshing about her book.

I really didn’t even mind her swearing and I eventually got past the religious and political gap--first, because she doesn’t spend a large amount of time talking about those things; and second, because I was so drawn in by the way she admitted that she used to lie… all the time… about everything. A huge part of her recovery, and probably the biggest hurdle she had to cross was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. She had never done that before, and she didn’t think anyone else did either.

Being a recovering Polly Anna (and liar… the denial kind), I value brutal honesty more than I ever knew possible. Telling the truth is also a large part of my recovery and I cannot stand Christian literature that glosses over the ugly truths about what goes on in the human mind. Frankly, I don’t think Jesus can stand it either. In the world today there is real suffering, real pain and real sin. If the truth about those things cannot be told, how can we ever be healed from our grief, our sin, and yes, our addictions—and we all have them—IF we are brutally honest enough to admit it!

A Cruel Prayer?

“I do not pray that you may be delivered from your pains…” What? That sounds so cruel, Brother Lawrence. How can you not pray that someone who is suffering be delivered?

I am reading “The Practice of the Presence of God” by Brother Lawrence. He worked in the kitchen of a monastery and had very little education. But what he did have was a profound peace in the midst of poverty, a lowly position, and much hard work. This peace was so profound that visitors to the monastery sought him out to learn his secret. Hence this little book of his writings was assembled.

So this man of great peace wouldn’t pray for his friend to be delivered from his pains… what did he pray for? “…but I pray GOD earnestly that He would give you strength and patience to bear them as long as He pleases. Comfort yourself with Him who holds you fastened to the cross: He will loose you when He thinks fit.” He continues that “men of the world” who consider sickness and pain as just a part of living, and “not as a favour from GOD… find nothing in it but grief and distress. But those who consider sickness as coming from the hand of GOD, as the effects of His mercy, and the means which He employs for their salvation, commonly find in it great sweetness and sensible consolation… GOD is often (in some sense) nearer to us and more effectually present with us, in sickness than in health.”

That speaks to my soul. I have experienced that amazing sweetness of the nearness of God during times of unimaginable grief and pain. It’s hard to describe how you can hurt so badly and yet experience the presence of God so sweetly at the same time. God knows that the pain you are suffering through is unbearable. By the way, despite what many will tell you during times of grief and pain, God DOES give you more than you can bear! But He does not make you bear it alone. He uses it to help you see your utter dependence on Him.

So, if you’re a friend of mine, I’m sorry, but I won’t be praying for you to be instantly delivered from any pain and suffering. But I will be praying for God’s profound peace and the sweetness of His amazing presence to carry you through until He has accomplished all that He wants to accomplish in you. God wants so much more for you than your present comfort.

Brother Lawrence continues, “[God] often sends diseases of the body, to cure those of the soul. Comfort yourself with the sovereign Physician both of soul and body." And that is my Unswerving Hope.

The Gift of Grief

Yesterday, at our church, the sermon was based on the movie, “Letters to God.” It was about suffering and grief, and how God makes something beautiful from our pain. Topics like that always resonate with me.


Years ago, I thought being a Christ follower meant having all my needs (and wants) met. Prosperity, healing, a perfect family. Yet that hasn’t been my reality, and it has taken me years to learn why.

“Letters to God” is based on a true story about Tyler, an 8-year-old boy who has brain cancer. In one of the scenes a grandfather figure explains to Tyler that he was “chosen by God” for a unique “honor.” Chosen by God to suffer? Not exactly. Tyler was chosen by God to be a warrior, to point people to God.

That’s kind of the way I feel about grief. When we first lost our daughter in a car accident almost seven years ago, I felt like I had become a member of a club no one wants to join. I’m a member of a few other clubs I rather not have joined, but the “Outliving Your Child Club” has been one of the most painful.

As I woke up this morning, I had a picture in my head of grief being like a gift. I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. It’s a gift that no one really wants, but we all receive at some point in life. Some of us receive it earlier in life. Some receive it more often. But if you ever love anyone, chances are, you will receive the gift of grief somewhere along the way.

My grief if wrapped up in a beautiful box. Early in my grief journey, I carried it with me everywhere I went. It was heavy and it consumed every moment of every day. It invaded every decision, every action, every move I made. I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t go into Wal Mart without carrying this giant gift with me.

As time went by, I was able to leave my gift at home more often. It was still there. It was still mine, but I didn’t have to carry it with me everywhere I went. Now, almost seven years after my daughter’s death, it’s like I keep my gift on a shelf. Every now and then, especially on holidays, birthdays, and what would have been milestones in her life, I take my gift down off the shelf. I open it up and take out my grief. I hold it in my hands, turning it over and over. I feel the weight of it, the hardness of it. I know this sounds crazy, but I also admire its beauty. I cry a little—sometimes a lot. I blog about it some, but not as often as I used to. But then, I put my grief back in that box. I tie the beautiful bow around it, and I gently place it back on the shelf.

Then I go on with life. Seven years ago, I never would have believed that I could go on with life without my daughter. But here I am, functioning, parenting again, serving, living. And my gift of grief remains… until the next time I take it down off the shelf. My grief has changed my life, but it no longer consumes my life. Because of this gift, I have found a Hope that I otherwise would never have known… a true Unswerving Hope.

The Joy and Pain of Motherhood

Motherhood. I became a mother for the first time 24 years ago today. I don't know of any one thing in life that could have such potential both for immense joy and devastating pain. When we become mothers, we open ourselves up to the most wondrous joy possible in this life. Giving birth and seeing that miracle of new life occur right before our eyes is amazing. There is nothing like it. Watching our children grow and learn and discover is a truly wonderful experience.

But when we become mothers, we also open ourselves up to the potential for the most heart crushing pain I've ever imagined. Nothing hurts more than seeing your child hurt--helplessly standing by as they struggle to navigate life's twists and turns. Nothing hurts more--except maybe seeing them die.

Today I'm going to the funeral of a 24-year-old boy who could not bear life's twists and turns any longer. His mother and father will stand bravely greeting an almost endless line of well-wishers. Then they will go home to figure out this "new normal" that will be their daily lives. The well-wishers will go back to their lives and routines as usual, but this family's lives will never be the same.

This mother's life will never be the same. She will be asking God all the most difficult questions. Not just "Why," but also, "Why couldn't You have intervened?" "How could this possibly be Your will?" "How could anything positive ever come from such a tragedy?" "Where did I do wrong?" And most of all, "Are you really in control? Do You really care?"

And God will answer. There is no answer that will completely heal this mother's pain. She will have to do the hard work of feeling every excruciating ounce of the pain while allowing God to do major surgery on her heart. Only then will she be able to experience the healing that God's holy scalpel can bring. It is not a quick-fix, pain-free process. But it is a healing process. She will never "get over" her grief, but she will come out a changed person if she allows God to do His refining work.

Father, I pray for this family that is experiencing the deepest pain I have ever known. Thank You for Your faithfulness to comfort them. Thank You for Your people who will be there to comfort them--to help them remember their son--and to assure them that he will never be forgotten--that his life was not in vain--that You will bring something beautiful from this terrible tragedy. Amen.