The Thing about Fear

The thing about fear is that it keeps you from loving, because you can’t love the people you’re afraid of.

Fear whispers, “You’ll look stupid when you try that. Everyone is watching. You’ll make a fool of yourself.”

Fear never tells you its closest relative is Lie, and Fear and Lie have a lot in common.  

If you give it an inch, it’ll take a mile, and pretty soon it can have you making excuses, retreating, procrastinating, avoiding, and doing a bunch of other things that don’t have much to do with living at all.

It will keep gifts and talents and potential nice and safe, tucked away where they’ll never have to face scrutiny.

Fear is a trickster. It says, “Stay with me. I’ll take care of you. There’s danger out there.” Of course, it doesn’t tell you about another kind of danger: the tragedy of a risk-free existence, where little is ever accomplished because little is ever attempted.

Fear is a lot like the weather channel; it predicts possible forecasts, but it’s rarely correct.

But the other thing about fear?

It only survives when it’s given power. And it only has power when it’s fed. And it’s fed on a good diet of lies and what-ifs. And a good serving of avoiding and retreating and excuse making and not-nows- but-maybe-some days. 

And its power lessens with each choice to face the thing feared. Or when it’s not a thing that must be faced so much as believed—it grows weaker with each lie that’s replaced with a truth, each decision to focus the mind not on the “what-ifs, “ but upon the Who-Is,  who is holding all things together by the word of His power. 

I can’t win this fight with fear by telling myself, “No one thinks I’m a fool,” because there might come a  time when someone thinks I am (maybe the time has already come). It won’t help very much to say, “No one is looking at you anyway,” because even though nine times out of ten, no one is, there’s still that one percent. And sometimes people will laugh or scoff, or “say all kinds of evil against you falsely.” I can’t ultimately fight fear by saying, “this thing I fear most likely won’t happen,” because maybe it could happen. 

I need something stronger.

I experienced this reality recently. I had just gotten off work after a long day and I was exhausted and not feeling very well. But we had dinner plans with a group of people I had never met. I was overwhelmed by the thought of having to be social when all I wanted was to go home and lie flat on my back. I  was afraid of how I might be perceived, especially because I wasn't feeling very "upbeat." What will they think of me? Will they be scrutinizing me as "Geoff's wife."

Then this song came on the radio:

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus blood and righteousness
I dare not trust the sweetest frame
But wholly trust in Jesus name
Christ alone; cornerstone
Weak made strong; in the Saviour's love
Through the storm, He is Lord
Lord of all. (Cornerstone, Hillsong United)

And everything shifted. I didn't instantly feel wonderful, but the overarching reality of who Christ is and what He has done brought the smaller circumstances of the moment into their proper perspective. I knew I didn't have to fear and I could love these new friends with Christ's help, in spite of my emotions and exhaustion. I needed to be reminded of where my hope truly lies.

I need to know that at the end of the day, no matter what, I am loved. I need to know that even if I  breathe my last breath in this next moment, I will be safe. I need to know that this isn’t all there is—that there is a hereafter and my hope will not be cut off. Back behind even the decision to hit “publish” on this post, I need to know I’m accepted and loved regardless of how I am received.

I need Jesus.

And the thing about Jesus?

He gives me all this and more. And He’s right here with me, strong enough to help me fight the strongest of fears. And unlike those fears, He always tells the truth. In fact, He is truth. And He wants even more than I do for me to be free--to live in all the fullness of a life where his truth becomes the inner voice I hear, creating new grooves in the patterns of my thinking, enabling new rhythms for things like learning and loving and risking--things we sometimes have to stumble our way into while we're still afraid. But as I put one foot in front of the other, as I take the small risks of wounding my pride and learning something new and the bigger risks of losing my life for His sake, I know I'll find the grip of fear loosening and the blessings of his kingdom breaking in, sometimes where I least expect them.

To Geoff: A Letter for You on Your Birthday

Dear Geoff,

I thought you were a little crazy that first time I met you and you ate an orange, peel and all. Or was it garlic that time? I can't remember. Your unconventional ways were strange to me, at first. When we go to a restaurant and I order water and you say, "That sounds good. I'll have some of that too," I still laugh, even if I want to hide behind the menu sometimes =) You aren't worried about what people think, and that's a good thing.

But your unconventional ways bleed into all areas of your life. Yes, it's sad that common courtesy is actually rather uncommon. But for you, it's totally normal to leave big fat tips, to talk to the cashier at the grocery store and make his or her day with some compliment or funny remark. It's totally normal for you to remember peoples' names and to make fast friends with perfect strangers.

And it's just like you...

to tutor a guy for free during your summer break,
to take some of the young guys from church to the gym with you and teach them to lift weights,
to learn to roast your own coffee and to pour me a cup every morning,
to change the oil in my car and install new windshield wipers,
to use our tax return to pay rent for the whole summer, instead of spending it on some new toy.

I could go on and on. But I'll let some of your good works remain a secret. Although, as I've told you before, Jesus never said, "Don't let your left hand know what your spouse's right hand is doing," if that sentence even makes sense. I know you take Jesus' words seriously, and I admire how you really do so much that no one else will ever know about. But I do want to brag on you every once in a while. And hopefully by doing so, others can learn from your example as well.

Geoff, you don't just live for the moment.You discipline yourself for future tasks. You are always learning. You live for a purpose greater than yourself--and that purpose is the kingdom of God. You want others to know Jesus. You seek to follow him in every area of your life. Of course, you don't do this perfectly. But you do it faithfully. And you seek to learn from your mistakes and respond in humility when you are corrected or challenged.

I used to think I wanted a fairytale romance. But there's this thing about fairy-tales: they' re not real. And they're usually just about two people whose whole world is seeking their happiness in each other. But the beauty of a marriage with two people seeking to follow Jesus is that your life together can be so much bigger than that--it can become about other people too. You know one of the most romantic things? It's when our house is filled with people, and I catch your eye and smile, and you wink back at me from across the room. Knowing we are in this together, that we get to love people together--this is the stuff true love stories are made of.

So, I'm so thankful for you and your unconventional ways. I know there are other men out there who are unconventional in good ways too. I know some of them and I'm thankful for them. The world would be a better place if more of you existed.

But today, on your birthday, I celebrate you, and the fact that I get to be your teammate in life. You are definitely my favorite of all.

What's in Your Cup?

"You can tell a lot about a person by the way (s)he handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights."

Isn't this so true? Of course, a rainy day in South Texas is usually met with celebration due to the drought we are experiencing, but Maya Angelou's point is still clear: frustrating and unforeseen circumstances reveal our true colors.

I was made very aware of this last week when a series of frustrating circumstances happened one morning. It would be a long and involved process to share them in detail, but they included being stuck behind an electric gate when I needed to get to work, having no clock in the room when I was giving a massage (every room is supposed to have one), and discovering, after stepping out to get a clock, that the one I retrieved had a dead battery. This put me behind schedule, causing me to need others to step in and help things go smoothly. But I was frazzled and anxious and stressed. In the process of getting ready for my next appointment I vented my frustration to my co-workers. I spoke rudely about another person. I felt entitled to special treatment because my morning had already gotten off to a rough start.

Later in the afternoon my emotions had finally calmed down and I was faced with the reality of my lack of inner grace. An analogy came to mind that I had heard years ago from a friend. "What happens when you shake a glass of orange juice--What comes out of it? Orange juice, right? Well, what happens when the circumstances of life shake you--what comes out of you? I challenge you to become like Jesus, so that when you are shaken, when you are jarred by unexpected circumstances, it will be the character of Jesus that comes out of you." To re-state the obvious: what comes out of something is what is already inside of it. Wow.

As I reflected on my morning I realized how far I still have to go for the character of Jesus to flow freely and naturally out of my life. Sure, it's easy to be kind when I'm prepared to be kind. It's easy to think I'm being thankful when life is going smoothly. But throw an unexpected event, especially one that seems and maybe really is unjust? Throw in a pan that's supposed to be "non-stick" that's really not? Throw in someone being late and not respecting my time? Ah, then we'll see the real stuff Avery is made of.

I so want it to be Jesus that spills out of me when my cup is shaken. But, I have seen that this doesn't happen automatically. There must be some process, some set of habits that ready me for the times when circumstances beyond my control will come and I am faced with the choice of how I will respond. And so I am reminded once again of the need for spiritual disciplines. Dallas Willard says this:

Often when we come to do the right thing we have already done the wrong thing, because that is what was sitting in our body "at the ready." Intention alone cannot suffice in most situations where we find ourselves. We must be "in shape." If not, "trying" will normally be too late, or totally absent. Instead, our intention and effort must be carried into effect by training which leaves our body poised to do what Christ would do well before the occasion arises. Such training is supplied by THE DISCIPLINES FOR LIFE IN THE SPIRIT.

 Now a discipline is an activity in our power, which we pursue in order to become able to do what we cannot do by direct effort. Disciplines are required in every area of life, including the spiritual. Therefore Jesus directed and led His disciples into disciplines for the spiritual life: fasting, prayer, solitude, silence, service, study, fellowship and so forth.

I do not have the time, nor the expertise (hence this blog post) to go into a post on the spiritual disciplines. I would, however, strongly encourage you to read the full article from which this quote by Willard is taken. You can find it here:  http://www.dwillard.org/articles/artview.asp?artID=34.


The experiences I encountered, and what they revealed about me provided an opportunity to consider this: I do not take the spiritual disciplines seriously. I know their value. I can give the Sunday School answer about their importance: What would help in *fill-in-the-blank* situation? What would help when you are faced with *fill-in-the-blank* temptation? Well, prayer, of course. Knowing Scripture. Maybe a habit of fasting, etc.

Oh, I know these things, but am I practicing them? With sincerity? With regularity?

I am a Spiritual Discipline Dabbler. I try a new Bible reading plan at the beginning of the year, and by February it's usually fizzling out. I try to have concentrated times of prayer throughout the week for a while, and then I revert to back to praying here and there throughout the day, which is good to do, but isn't quite the same as spending focused time in prayer. This can be said of fasting, silence and solitude, memorizing and studying Scripture. My life isn't void of spiritual disciplines altogether, but I lack consistency.

And it seems that the space between where I am and the character of Jesus spilling more readily out of my cup might just be a more serious practice of spiritual disciplines. This, of course, combined with a deep knowledge of the love of God for me in Jesus, and the Spirit of God using those practices to transform me. I know this to be true: the character of Jesus will not be produced in me without some effort on my part. This happens both through the character transformation resulting from spiritual disciplines, as well as the daily choice to take up my cross and follow Jesus, in whatever specific way that command may apply to my life at the moment. When the circumstances of life shake me, I really do want the character of Jesus to spill out of me. But it's not enough to want it. To refer back to Willard, "[my] intention and effort must be carried into effect by training which leaves [my] body poised to do what Christ would do well before the occasion arises."

So I ask you, what's inside your cup? When the Christmas tree lights are tangled, or when far worse trials or temptations come, how will you respond? Will you join me in seeking to train now so that others might see the beauty of Christ in us even on our worst days?