Love and Fear

I have been thinking a lot about fear. What causes it and how do we overcome it?

I suppose the idea first struck me after Houston flooded last week. My sister told us that her two boys asked her why God did this. My sister explained that God did not cause the rain, but allowed it to happen. It is simply a part of life, and in times like these, we have to turn to God, friends, and family to give us strength to get us through it.  

My first reaction whenever anyone questions why God did something evil, is to immediately jump to His defense and explain the realities of sin and evil and love and God. I knew what my nephews felt and I knew what my sister meant. However, even here, my knee-jerk reaction was to defend God.

Almost immediately, God whispered in my ear and reminded me that He did not need defending. I pictured Him smiling at me and gently reprimanding me, redirecting my good intentions. “I do not need your defense. I need your love.”

I responded by rephrasing what my sister already said in her own way, “What Satan intends for evil, God uses for good.”

The boys learned this in a glorious way almost immediately. My brother-in-law, who had been out of state, came back home early. His employees and several of their friends came by to help them clean and repair his shop.

The school my youngest nephew attends brought aid to the families affected by the flood.

Local businesses donated food and supplies.

A community came together to help one another put the pieces of their lives back together.

Love in action.

A beautiful testament to the love of God. “I don’t need your defense. I need your love.”

So, how did this story of love get me to thinking about fear?

My sister made the comment that after experiencing this flood, she is afraid of the rain. Will it flood again? Will it be worse next time?

All the stories from the flooding made me think about my own fears. What is it I fear and why do I fear it? Are there things I used to fear that I no longer fear? What can I do to overcome the fears I have now?

When I was a kid, I used to fear dying and growing old alone. After facing my own mortality when I got cancer, I no longer fear death. After going through divorce and being alone for the first time in my life, I don’t fear being alone. Even if I outlive everyone I care about, I will never be alone. God will always be with me.

I used to be deathly afraid of heights until I started remodeling the house I lived in after my divorce. I grew quite comfortable on ladders. Although I still don’t like heights, I don’t have that paralyzing fear I once had.

I fear snakes.

I fear speaking to strangers without an agenda.

I fear missing the mark somehow.

I fear someone I love needing me and me not being able to help them.

What terrifies me most is the thought of losing my Bailey.

Is all fear bad? I mean, having a healthy fear of snakes ensures I will stay clear of them. If they leave me alone, I’ll leave them alone. Being afraid of heights will ensure that I take appropriate safety measures into consideration when facing heights.

But what about those things I can’t control like not being at the right place at the right time or losing someone I love dearly? I suppose I fear them precisely because I cannot control those potential circumstances.

God tells us not to fear. “Fear not” is supposedly the most repeated phrase in the Bible.

That’s easy to say, but how do I really go about fearing not?

In Psalm 56 David says:

When I am afraid,

I will trust in you.

In God, whose word I praise,

In God I trust; I will not be afraid.

That’s all well and good, but this doesn’t exactly give me the step-by-step playbook on how to overcome fear.

Then again, maybe it does.

When I am afraid, I will trust in you. Trust is not an easy thing, but think of this. Who does a child turn to when she wakes up in the middle of the night from a bad dream? She finds comfort from Mom and Dad.

We, too, can find comfort from our Daddy. All we have to do is call His name.  

In God, whose word I praise. We are taught that Jesus is the living word.  Call on the name of Jesus.

We can also look at “word” literally. Read the Bible.

When we are afraid, we can open the pages of the Bible and read until the fear subsides. We can talk to God, open up and be honest. Tell Him everything that’s in our heart and on our mind.

When I am truly able to shift my focus from the fear in front of me onto my Daddy, all fear seems to wash away, like storm waters after a clear and sunny day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Smell the Roses

I sat outside on my rocker, enjoying a peaceful evening, and reflecting on the week we had.  Tuesday marked a week since we had to put down our little filly. She was so beautiful. That early Tuesday morning, as I was praying, about 3am, I was finally able to say "not my will Lord, but yours be done."

When the phone rang at about 8am, I heard Tony say "whatever you think it best, Doc. My wife wants know if we can be there with her . . . Ok see you at 9:30."

My heart broke, but I was able to accept His will. This past Saturday, after a restful day, we were sitting on the porch enjoying the beautiful evening, and we saw two fire flies. We had not seen any in about 2 years. 

Wednesday morning, I woke up early, looked out the window, and what did I see? All our horses in the road. Yes, our stallion was at it again. The horses across the field are in heat and he wanted to go over there so he broke down the fence. There was a weak spot in the fence and he found it. We were able to get the horses back and fix the fence. Our problem child was at it again. (They were in my flowers before Tony could get them back to their pen. )

That afternoon, I was listening to some music. I looked out the window and I saw a blue jay on our porch eating some bird seed. I had never seen one on our porch before.

To me, it was like a message from our Lord telling me He is never far from us. He was reminding me of His love for me. 

These two things seemed so special because they were so beautiful and unexpected. God shows us how much He loves us in so many ways. We just have to stop and take notice. We have to take time and smell the roses, just like TR did that morning.

Lord, thank You for loving me the way You do.

Flowing Obedience

This morning, I woke up and went jogging for the first time since the first week in January. I admit, I am a fair weathered outdoor enthusiast. Anyway, my time outside did wonders for my wandering spiritual life. God often reminds me that we have wonderful talks whenever I venture out alone and undisturbed. This morning, I finally overcame my lazy tendencies and got out early.

Toward the end of my journey, I paused by the small man-made lake in the subdivision near my house. I sat on the edge of the road and dangled my feet near one of the storm drains. After a fury of a storm swept through town last night, runoff water from the creek on the other side of the road poured through the drains and out into the lake.

As I sat here, I reminisced of playing in these same storm drains with my best friend as a child. I never see children playing here anymore. I blame cable television and electronics.

I stared down at the rushing water, reliving in my mind those wonderful moments of exploration.

As I found myself lost in thought, I stared at a square cement slab below me. I watched as water rushed to it, rolling in a symmetrical wave. The visual reminded me of times when I felt stuck in front of a brick wall, unable to see the other side.

This thought refocused my eyes onto the water itself. In some places, the water bypassed the slab altogether, rushing with great swiftness into the lake using the path of least resistance. Other water flows got caught up in the wave behind the slab. But it did not stay there. The force of the wave propelled the flow of water around the slab and along another path. Although slower, the new path still found its way into the lake.

At other places along the edges, the flow of water moved even slower. It appeared in places as if it was not moving at all. However, upon closer inspection, this water flowed as well and still made it to the lake, although it took much longer.

Watching the varying motions made me realize that this entire flow of water is made up of billions of individual droplets coming together to form this controlled chaos.

God taught me two lessons by watching the water.

1.       This flow is us—humanity. We as individuals come together and flow together. A single drop would never make it to the lake on its own, but working together, we can all reach the ultimate goal—eternal salvation.  

When I have been stuck behind the slab or lost on the sidelines, others have been there to push or pull me along. Hopefully, I have done the same for others—all of us working together in love with and for the same Father.  

2.       I thought again of the widow of Zarephath. I would love to be obedient, without thought or question, rushing straight forward the moment He calls me to do something. Unfortunately, I all too often find myself stuck behind the slab, questioning and doubting before I’m able to go around and finally get on the path He set for me. I hate to admit that I have even found myself in the gathering puddles, barely seeming to move, feeling lost and abandoned.

The water reminded me that, just like the story of the widow, I should never stop striving for perfect obedience, but I should remember that what is most important for me right now is not how I get there, but that I continue to keep moving forward.

I am continually amazed by the ways in which God uses to speak to me. Thank You, Father, for talking with me this morning and for never giving up on me.

 

 

 

 

 

The Widow and the Hungry Fool

Have you ever contemplated the story of Elijah and the Widow of Zarephath from 1 Kings 17: 7 - 16?
It reads:

⁷Some time later the brook dried up because there had been no rain in the land. ⁸ Then the word of the Lord came to him: ⁹ “Go at once to Zarephath in the region of Sidon and stay there. I have directed a widow there to supply you with food.” ¹⁰ So he went to Zarephath. When he came to the town gate, a widow was there gathering sticks. He called to her and asked, “Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?” ¹¹ As she was going to get it, he called, “And bring me, please, a piece of bread.”

¹² “As surely as the Lord your God lives,” she replied, “I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.” 

¹³ Elijah said to her, “Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. ¹⁴ For this is what the Lord, the God of Israel, says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the Lord sends rain on the land.’”

¹⁵ She went away and did as Elijah had told her. So there was food every day for Elijah and for the woman and her family. ¹⁶ For the jar of flour was not used up and the jug of oil did not run dry, in keeping with the word of the Lord spoken by Elijah.

We never learn her name. We never “hear” her inner voice as she processes what Elijah is telling her and as she follows his instructions. I wish I could have glimpsed inside her head.

Did she know Elijah before this encounter or was he a stranger? That had to have made a difference. After all, here is this man, telling her to sacrifice herself and her beloved son - and feed him first. He wants her to trust him. All reason would tell her that if she did as he said, there would be no flour or oil left for her and her son.

 Did that truly matter? Maybe she figured they were going to die anyway. Eating one last meal would merely delay the inevitable. May as well feed this man first. If I am not mistaken, the custom of the day was to take care of strangers. Society also placed more value on the life of a man over that of a woman and a child. In her world, she would certainly give to a stranger – and a male stranger at that – before seeing to her own needs.

Still, did she grumble, cursing this man and God for changing her plans and taking what little she had from her?

Let’s go back to whether or not she knew Elijah. If she knew him, it may have been easier to trust him. She could have thought to herself, “Well, this sounds absurd, but Elijah is a man of God. If he says the flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry, then maybe I should trust him. I don’t know how this is possible, but if Elijah says so, it must be so.”

If she did not know him, she may have thought, “Who does this man think he is? He’s not fooling me. The Lord will keep my flour pot full and my oil will not run out? Ha! I’ll believe that when I see it.” I can see her shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she goes to prepare bread for this hungry fool.

How would I have reacted in the same circumstances?

I am reminded of a time when my pastor approached me about a ministry he wanted me to get involved with. He told me he prayed about it and God gave him my name. It was something I thought was preposterous for me and would never have considered it had he not made the offer. I accepted because I trusted him and trusted his relationship with Christ. The ministry turned out to be a great blessing for me.

Still, would I have placed so much confidence in him if he had asked me to give him my last piece of bread?

If someone without the prayer life of my pastor had suggested the same ministry for me, and told me God told him so, I would have laughed and never even given it a passing thought. I would have missed out on a great blessing.

As these thoughts swirl in my mind, the words of Jesus about worry come to mind. In Matthew Chapter Six, Jesus addresses the problem of worry. He asks why we worry about what to eat or what to wear. He tells us to consider the birds of the air. They do not sow or reap or gather into barns, but God feeds them. Yet, how much more valuable are we? If God feeds the birds of the air and clothes the lilies of the field, how much more will He do for us?

I know without a doubt that God is capable of doing immeasurably more than I could think or imagine. Yet, for me, trust is still a massive obstacle, a daily fight within myself. My heart knows, but my head will not let go. I want the play by play account. I want to know the outcome before I take that first step.

I want to know what the widow was thinking when this man approached her, as she prepared the meal, before and after she handed over the last of her sustenance. Were her hands trembling? Did fear for herself and her son grip her heart? Or was she resigned to her inevitable fate, walking and reacting in a trance-like state, still doubtful of the promised blessing, but obeying anyway?

The author of 1 Kings fails to give us any insight into her inner person. Maybe the lack of insight is intentional. Maybe what matters is not her fear or trepidation. Maybe the only thing that matters is her obedience.

And because she obeyed, God greatly blessed her.

Oh, my Father, I thank you for the story of the faithful and trust filled widow. I pray that I may remember her and that I, too, will act in obedience. 

For the Love of a Horse

This past week, my family experienced a unique tragedy and heartbreak. One of my mom's horses gave birth to a filly late on April 1, April Fool's Day. My mom and step-dad found her early the next morning.

On April 2, they spent the day with me in San Antonio, almost two hours away from home and their newborn. When they arrived home later that day, the poor little filly was on the ground with a huge gash on her neck.

They later found out that the stallion, upset because the baby was not his and eager to get to the baby's mother, grabbed her by the neck and threw her to the ground. He probably would have killed her had my parent's faithful dog not intervened.

Heartbroken by this sudden tragedy, my mom and step-dad did their very best to nurse the poor little girl back to health. They did everything in their power to do, including loading her in the car and taking her to an emergency vet. They spent countless hours with her, doctoring her wounds, feeding her, and comforting both her and her mother.

In Frida's short life, my mom and step-dad grew to love her dearly, as one would love a newborn human baby in crisis. What a terrible way to be welcomed into this world.

My heart broke for them. They are not young. Taking care of a healthy horse, let alone an injured horse, is no easy feat for my aging parents. They are still in good health, but they do not have the energy and stamina at 70 that they had even ten years ago. I worried for them in so many ways.

My siblings and I prayed for the life of the little filly and for the hearts of our parents. During church on Sunday, I considered whether or not to fill out a prayer request card. I hesitated for a very brief moment, wondering if it was silly to ask our pastors to pray for a horse born less than three days before.

The moment was fleeting. After all, I remembered how often I have begged others to pray for my baby girl, Bailey, whenever she got sick or injured. I remembered a story I once read online at http://christiancourier.ca/  about a young boy who rose his hand during prayer time at church asking for prayers for his dog. The article was from the perspective of a preacher, talking about the importance of prayer in all its forms. It may seem silly to us. After all, there were major life catastrophes to pray for at the time. But for this boy, the dog was a major prayer concern.

And again, while reading Three Steps Forward, Two Steps Back by Charles Swindoll, he tells a story of a young boy who asks his parents if they can pray for a shirt during their family prayer time. So, every night, they pray for a shirt in his size. One day, the mother receives a call from a company with an overstock of merchandise and has twelve shirts in his size they want to donate. Talk about an answer to prayer!

Anyway, why is it silly to pray for a newborn filly? God loves all creatures, great and small, and cares about their lives. That alone is reason enough to pray and ask others I trust to join me in prayer. More than that, though, I love my mother and step-father. I love my step-brother and step-sister and nieces who are also affected by this tragedy. My love for them and knowing they are hurting is ample reason to pray.

I wanted nothing more than to give my mom a great big hug. When my step-dad said he felt like this was God’s great big Aprils Fools joke on them, I wanted nothing more than to squeeze him tight and assure him that God loves him and that little filly more than anything in this world and that He is hurting right along with them, not playing some evil trick on them. God is not spiteful.

I knew I could not be there to comfort them, but I knew God could be. And that is the biggest reason to pray.

 

 

Baby filly, originally going to be named Negra if a girl and Midnight if a boy. After the accident, they called her Frida, after Frida Kahlo, a Mexican painter known for her self-portraits, a very independent and strong woman who suffered from lifelong health problems. 

Facebook update from my mom on the morning of April 5, 2016:

"An update on our Filly. We had to put her to sleep. Our vet said she would never be able to stand, walk or even sir. I was with her and loving her when she went to sleep. But now she is running in heaven. My heat is broken but I must accept His will."

Had Frida survived, they were going to call her Lagrimas (tears).

Unity In Love

This past week, I received my bimonthly copy of Holiness Today, a Church of the Nazarene publication. The theme of this issue is Shedding the Light on Our Assumptions. One article, entitled Catholics and Nazarenes: Friends or Foes?  by Jeremy Scott piqued my interest most of all.

I grew up Catholic and joined the Nazarene church in 2005. My journey from Catholicism to Nazarene started early. Once I became legal driving age and fulfilled my Catholic rites of passage, my parents released me to find my own spiritual path. I attended a non-denominational church for a while before I stopped going to church altogether for a few years.

Then, I met and married a Baptist. I spent many wonderful and formative years in the Baptist church. However, my husband and I both stopped attending church regularly because of work requirements.

My job at the time allowed me the leisure of listening to the radio. During slow Sunday mornings, I often listened to sermons. One preacher caught my ear more than any other. He was a fascinating teacher-preacher based out of Nashville, Tennessee, where I resided at the time. When I finally advanced in rank and got weekends off, I decided to check out his church, Nashville First Church of the Nazarene, even though I had no idea what a Nazarene believed. All I knew was that I wanted to be where Pastor Gary Allen Henecke preached. NFCN became my church home until I moved back to Texas and found a new Nazarene church.

Once I was old enough to leave the Catholic Church, I did so without looking back. I had some issues with the church that I could not resolve, and, because of these unresolved issues, I became embittered toward the Church.

Even so, the Catholic Church still held a special place in my heart. I protected her like a sibling. I was allowed to say mean things, but I would be quick to defend if someone else made unfounded complaints.

The complaint I hate most is that Catholics do not know Jesus as their personal Lord and Savior. It bothers me when other Christians assume that just because someone is Catholic, they are not real Christians.

As the article in March/April 2016 edition of HT states, “such overgeneralizations are not only untrue, but a hindrance to being Christ’s people together in the world.”

I recently had a conversation with a group of people about our faith and when we came to Christ. One woman confessed that she did not come to Christ until well into her thirties. She added that the reason she came to Christ later in life was because she was raised Catholic. She seemed genuinely bitter about that. It made me sad and eager to share my own story.

I do not remember a time when Jesus was not a major part of my life. He was my best friend as a child. As a matter of fact, my earliest memory is of my dad picking me up, holding me in his arms, and making such a big fuss about the fact that I sang out loud in church that morning. The spirit obviously filled me that day and stirred something in me, making it impossible for this quiet little girl to remain quiet.

I was raised in a Catholic Church. I met Jesus in a Catholic Church. I am forever indebted to them for introducing me to my best friend.

My mom is one of my greatest spiritual heroes. She is extremely devout. Her devotion goes beyond tradition. She knows Christ intimately. She, too, was raised a Catholic. My mother still attends Catholic Church and is very involved in their ACTS program.

As the article, Catholics and Nazarenes: Friends or Foes? points out, “The temptation is to assume that because someone believes differently about one thing, then we have nothing in common . . . It is truly unfortunate that we must distinguish between one group and another because, in the kingdom of heaven, there is and will be no division whatsoever.”

I know I am as guilty as anyone else at times, especially when I allow myself to dwell on the specific moments in my life when the Church’s stance on something differed so greatly from my own ideologies that I accused them unjustly of being no better than the Sadducees or Pharisees of Jesus’ time.

I, too, must remember that Jesus does not call us to uniformity, but to unity in love.

“Jesus shows us that the living faith-full outflow of one’s life is truly that which He is concerned about . . .Christ explicitly told us that people will know that we are following Him by the way they see us love each other,” not by which church we align ourselves.

“This is the goal: loving with the love of Christ. The rest is indeed detail.”

 

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