I wish I had known differently. Before going to the field, one of my required readings was a book on disaster preparedness. I learned skills I hoped I would never need. I thought between disaster preparedness, my life experiences, and my understanding of the Word that I was ready to face what would come my way.
And yet, I didn’t know how to navigate fear.
Early in my time on the field, I noticed people who, before acting, counted all the possibilities of risk and seemed imprisoned by the potential of all that might happen. I thought their acknowledging the risk of a given situation was shameful and weak.
Believing I had found a more excellent way, I locked the door of considering any risk, refusing to look danger and fear in the face. For good measure, I placed a stoic mask firmly in place. I could trick myself and the watching world that I had conquered fear.
I mistakenly understood that the holy response to risk was to pretend that fear was nonexistent. Since the command to not fear seemed so explicit in the Bible, I wrongfully grouped fear with sin and wanted nothing to do with either one—even going so far as to pretend I was unaffected by both.
What I didn’t know was that by locking up my capacity to acknowledge any threats—much like Grover in Jon Stone’s There’s a Monster at the End of this Book—I had also walled off my capacity to soberly assess risks. In boarding up my God-given discernment and robbing my fears of voice, I inflicted damage to my nervous system, closed myself from being comforted and led by the Holy Spirit, and trapped the toxins accompanying fear in my body. I became imprisoned by the very fears I labored to deny. I was afraid of being afraid.
I wish I could tenderly tell myself in my first term, “It makes total sense that you would be afraid of this. You were created with a fear response to threat. True courage isn’t rooted in a white-knuckled lack of fear, but in being comforted and led.”
Because the thing is, I had legitimate reasons to be terrified. In fact, I would be concerned by people who didn’t express fear in my circumstances.
As I faced horrible threats, endured surveillance, ventured into turbulent communities, visited with strangers, gave birth in a foreign land, drove a minibus on hairpin turns, navigated unmapped roads, left kids with strange caregivers, went into crowds, noticed tanks and riot gear, sent kids to school, dodged diseases, kept the kids away from the windowsills, watched my husband enter hostile communities, navigated random checkpoints, and felt the darkness around me, I did it all scared.
Even staying home proved futile when pepper gas leaked inside the house, fighter jets flew through the night, and a colleague was called in for questioning. The terror that flies by night and the arrow that flies by day were undeniable.
I couldn’t escape the fear. But as I didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon, I didn’t know what to do with the fear in my mind or in my body. I longed to live my day with grace and peace. Yet, the claws of darkness robbed me of sleep.
I wondered how the people of God navigated the situations where he told them to walk into danger and just stand. How did they sleep the night before? How on earth did they stand firm? How could I rest in the shadow of the Almighty? Who would teach me?
Thankfully, I was encouraged by a friend sharing at a retreat about fear and peace. Through her talk, I envisioned steps I could take on my own.
First, I identified my fears and said them out loud.
Then, with my hand on my sternum, I asked the Holy Spirit to comfort me in my fears.
I asked the Lord for the self-control to not make my home in the land of fear.
Next, I asked for wisdom to discern what course of action was best.
With my other hand on my belly, I asked him for an abiding peace as I endured terrifying circumstances.
Finally, I asked him for courage to take the next step.
My first chance to practice arose the next day when another risk entered our life. I paused and said aloud, “Jesus, I am afraid for my husband’s safety.” And I continued with the following steps. I cried out for comfort as needed throughout the day. I found my body and my spirit steadied by the Father. With these tools, along with meditating on passages like Psalm 91, I pursued comfort, peace, and courage, making my home in the shelter of his wings. I remained in our city for a few more years, and by his grace, was able to stand.
Years later, I still find myself implementing these steps. Just last week in a sleepless night as I feared for another one dear to my heart, I uttered, “Jesus, I am afraid for him.” Placing my hand on my sternum, I invited the Holy Spirit to comfort me, to speak to me, and give me rest.
What is your relationship with fear? Have you found a practice to help you trust in the Lord when you are afraid?
