Fearless

I remember distinctly the first time I felt overwhelming, paralyzing fear.

I was 6 years old. I will spare you the details, which included sleeping in my parents floor that night, and going to the altar at church to ask for prayer. (I couldn't even get the words out, because I was so young I didn't understand what was going on, only that I was afraid, all the time, and I needed to be prayed for by as many people as possible.)

I haven't spent the 31 years since then in a constant state of terror, but I have consistently battled fear in one form or another throughout my entire life.

As a teenager, I turned on every light in the house on my way to the bathroom at night.

As a newlywed, I was petrified that people in my new hometown wouldn't like me. I laid awake at night, so consumed with fear over it that I couldn't even sleep. That same fear, that I was unliked or unaccepted or too polarizing a personality to really have friends, has plagued me for many years.

Motherhood added to the focus of the fear-vise. Raising children is terrifying. What will I forget to teach them? How will they know what to do in a situation? Are they safe? Do they feel loved?

Some of those are rational concerns, and can lead us to set our minds to being better parents, and that, in and of itself, is not bad.

This is not that, not for me. I have obsessively feared, for 15 years, that one of my children would drown. The ocean, and lakes, are especially terror-inducing for me. The thought that they might fall, or be dragged, in over their heads, and I wouldn't be able to find them and save them because the water is deep and dark and swirling...I have woken up from a dead sleep, sweating and gasping and shaking and sobbing, just thinking about it.

I am aware, trust me, that fear is not from God, and is, in fact, a tactic of the devil. I have scriptures written and memorized and strategically place all over my house, reminding me of Who overcomes fear, and Who is victorious, and to Whom I belong. I KNOW my fears are irrational. I know they are the enemy attacking me, distracting me, trying to keep me cowering in a corner instead of fighting him.

Last week, I dropped my 15-year-old daughter off for the driving portion of drivers education. Her instructor was the cranky little old man who had taught the classroom portion. But unlike the class time, where there were 15 other students, the driving portion was one-on-one. And as I drove away...I was gripped with fear.

"She's innocent, and young, and trusting. She's a little bitty girl. What if she's so focused on driving that this cranky old man tries to attack her?"

That's all it started out as. A twinge of worry for my sweet daughter alone in a car with a man she barely knows.

Rational thoughts tried to intervene (all said in my head in the voice of my husband and father.)

"He's super old, and he's been doing this job for 30 years, and surely if he was a creepy man, he would've been reported by now. I'm sure its fine."

"How can anyone attack anyone while driving? That's not safe. He wouldn't try anything like that."

"Faith is a highly trained martial artist. She has learned to defend herself. She's strong and fast and has excellent situational awareness. I dare that little cranky man to try anything. She will break his nose." (This one gave me the most momentary comfort, because its true, my little bitty girl is a BEAST. I've seen her fend off attacks from 6'3" police officers and soldiers in her Krav Maga class. She can absolutely defend herself.)

But the fear continued to swirl. "She shouldn't have to go through that. It will scar her forever to have to defend herself against a physical attack. How can I get ahold of her? Why didn't I ask to ride along? I don't even know where they are going for the driving lesson. How can I find her? How can I keep her safe from this?"

By the time I was halfway home, I was so twisted up with terror that I was convinced I would return to pick her up and she would've been forced to fight off the cranky old man who was trying to attack her.

I stopped at a stoplight, with my sweaty palms gripping the steering wheel, gasping for breath trying to force myself to calm down. And then...then the Spirit rose up within me. And I began to shout.

"I know that You love her more than I do, Lord. I know that You see her. I know that You are the only one who can really protect her. Thank You that You are the one who arms her with strength. Thank You that You are the preserver of her life. Thank You that she hears Your voice, and feels the power of Your presence. Send You angels to surround her, God. Set a guard between her and any evil. Thank You that only You can truly heal us from hurt and tragedy and wrong doing done to us. I choose to trust You, Lord. I believe that You are the Redeemer of all things.

Devil, even if all that I fear comes true, I still trust my God. Do you hear me, you stupid fear? Even if all that makes me afraid comes to pass, even that isn't reason to be afraid. Because my GOD is the restorer and redeemer and healer of every single thing. Even when you think you win, you don't win."

And anyone who saw me on the road would've thought I was CRAZY. Because I was pounding the steering wheel, and pointing my finger into the air, and yelling, and laughing, and crying.

Two hours later, when I picked her up, she was none-the-worse for wear. Of course. Because it had been an entirely irrational spiral on my part.

I took that drive time, and my total meltdown, and filed it under "another time the enemy attacked me with fear, and the Spirit drove him back with the Word."

And I thanked Him for always, my whole life, being faithful to help me fight this battle. A fight against an old foe that I have become familiar with.

But something happened this morning, something that inspired me to share this little piece of my struggle.

My sweet, innocent, little bitty 15-year-old daughter is leaving in 2 days. For the mission field. She will be gone 13 days. This will be her 3rd mission, but her FIRST without either myself or her father along on the trip.

There is so much planning and packing and preparing that goes into missions work. We've been totally consumed with that for weeks now, going over the mental catalog of every possible thing she might need or want while she's in a third world country with no Target nearby. She doubled down on 10th grade to get ahead, so that she didn't miss any assignments while she was gone. It's been busy.

People, friends, have been asking me if I'm okay, and how I'm feeling about my little girl going across the WORLD without me. I keep answering "I don't know. I'm just putting one foot in front of another, and hoping that I don't lose it when she actually leaves." "I'm trying not to think about it. I'm just in denial."

This morning, though...this morning I sat down to pray, and, while there are a million things to pray about on my list...the only thing I had in my heart was the team leaving in 2 days, with my sweet little girl among them.

And so I prayed. For protection. For divine appointments. For attitudes of humility and kindness. For teamwork. For health. For hearts that prefer each other, and eyes that see the spiritual needs around them. I asked the Lord to refine them, as only a trip outside one's comfort zone truly can, and I prayed that they would bear with one another in the refining.

And when I prayed "Lord, be with my girl. Let her see You in a new way, and hear You more and more, and as she says 'Yes, Lord' on this trip, will You give her a new revelation of Your glory?"

And then I stopped. Almost as if the Lord said "Shhh" to me. The house was dark, and until that moment the only sound had been my whispered conversation with the Lord.

I sat. I waited a beat. And then I realized what He wanted me to know.

And I started laughing. And weeping. And my arms went straight up in the air. And if there hadn't been 5 sleeping people in the house, I would've shouted.

I am not afraid.

I. Am. Not. Afraid.

I AM NOT AFRAID.

Arguably a motherhood moment where a little bit of worry and fear for a child is acceptable, and I am not consumed with terror. Not only am I not consumed...

I.

AM.

NOT.

AFRAID.



Can it be that He wants to use all our moments to make us more like Himself? That giving me children isn't only about me teaching them to love the Lord, but its about teaching me to trust Him more? And when they begin to say "Yes, Lord" to whatever He asks of them, we also have an opportunity to say "Yes, Lord," too?

"The Lord is calling me to Bangladesh. Will you pray about letting me go?" One little request. One little girl, willing to say "YES."

And then a month of my husband and I praying, and finally, around the lump in our throats, saying "Yes, Lord," but really not wanting to be obedient to Him. Really wanting to keep her close.

If not for that "yes," there never would've been this morning, where I saw His hand at work in me, new and miraculous and so awe-inspiring that I just said "GLORY" as I typed the words.

I don't know if I'll still feel this excited at 5:30 on Wednesday morning, when all our planning and preparing and praying and packing turns to waving goodbye...

But I am now altogether elated with the idea of saying YES to Him so that I might be flooded again with the goodness of the ONE Who loves me so dearly, and calls me into deeper waters.

This morning, this day...God Almighty has done a miracle.

I am FEARLESS.