They say, “everything you want is on the other side of fear”.
Which sounds reasonable. Except they don’t tell you the fear you’ll feel on the way to everything you want won’t feel like something you can just walk over, like a bump in the road you’ll just address with “Yep, there’s that fear they warned me about. I’ll just step over this and be on my way.”
The fear you’ll feel when you’re on the journey toward everything you’re purposed for feels like dying. It feels like terror. It feels like insanity.
It’s trying to keep you safe. It’ll do anything to stop you taking risks, from going somewhere where you can’t use your past experience, skill and wisdom. It doesn’t want to learn anything new or be scared out of its wits. It doesn’t want to starve or freeze or be told it’s an idiot, what the hell, you can’t do that, what are you thinking?
Your fear really, really doesn’t want those things. So it will have you sobbing in the shower while your belly hurts and your knees buckle, all the while begging you to stay the same, or go back to how things were, or stop being a fool, or leave, or stay, or take that person back, or make that person go, or give up this mad, insane path you’re on, because who does this? Who do you think you are? And God isn’t real and miracles don’t happen and where’s your common sense, you fool?
Fear. Yep, it’s a small, scared orphan. And I’m the driver of this minivan. I’m the driver of this minivan.
Your minivan is doomed! Were all going to die!
Oh, fear. You need a cookie and a glass of milk and an early night, I think.
No, fear doesn’t sound like the still, small voice. The fear standing between you and everything you want is a screaming, crying, thrashing and very convincing big, loud voice.
Yesterday, I stood in the shower sobbing, while fear had it’s way. And I didn’t step over it. I had to go through it. And it made me ill, and have crazy dreams, and it gave everyone around me a bit of a scare too.
And then, there was you.
Friends reached out their hands and prayed for me to break through. I broke down, and crawled a few inches forward, and held my ground, which is kind of the same thing. This morning, I got up. Coffee, breathe in, breathe out. My belly hurts.
But this time, I’ve woken up on the other side of that fear standing between me and everything I want. It didn’t feel like I thought. I can still smell the mess it left. My ears are ringing from the screaming. As I go further away from my security, the guns get bigger. But so does my faith in the still, small voice.
Thank you God for sending others to speak the still small voice to me when fear had me sobbing on my knees. And thank you for letting me get out of the shower before you sent help, because finding me like that, I’m sure I’d probably have woken up in hospital today.
Which I think came in at about plan D.
Another day, another preconceived idea of what living by faith really means.
Have a quiet day. That’s today’s plan A.
Love, Jo xxx