“If I could just do it again. . . ” The decibel at which this statement resonates varies among each of us. The impact sets in at different speeds, the caliber of loss colliding with regret or sorrow or frustration or sometimes relief. You can feel this way about anything…an opportunity, a choice, a fear. Sometimes it’s a relief to find that you can’t go back. The irony of this epiphany usually reveals itself to you when you’re miles from the main event, despite the scars that have tattooed themselves to your irrepressible heart. The heart really is the most resilient muscle you possess, and it’s a wonder the elasticity persists – not only after all we put it through – but in such a way that it can fool you in believing it was never tormented with the complexities of fear or disappointment or even death.
When I was a little girl, I was afraid of a good thunderstorm. The salty surprise of a little rainstorm never bothered me. The voice that came out of it did – the thunderous yelling and shouting from the sky coupled with flashes of light, as if to answer back, in quick-bursting screams. As a child, I would leave my room to sleep on the floor of my older brother’s room. Eventually, he learned the drill and left me a pillow, blanket, and earmuffs in the floor when it stormed. The pallet of peace, I found it. The earmuffs were thick – red with black edges. I still remember how they felt, plastic and somewhat uncomfortable, but they were my favorite. This image is one of the most comforting memories I have kept during a state of fear from my childhood . . . because it happened often. I could still hear the storm through the earmuffs, but I felt brave with them in my possession. I felt that if they stood between me and my ability to receive and experience such a storm, then they were protecting me from something that could swallow me.
Sometimes it isn’t that easy. We all have our Vietnam. You enter the battlefield, intending to return with your shield and instead, you emotionally return carried in on it. Fear grips us all and giving in to it only makes it stronger. It feeds off of those who yield themselves to its consumption of their confidence. It’s a relentless dance partner, preferring only the ballads. It’s a natural state of humanity, but in the revelations that derive from experience, I finally learned how to change the music. The comfort I have found in my own journey is finally understanding what the grace of God felt like…how it looked and felt to the touch and blanketed me like the smiling friend who shows up in a crowded room full of strangers. I wanted to know what it was like to experience this, and I never knew how to encounter it. Then one day I did. God gave me a decision to make, and I certainly made one. I chose selfishness. You’re familiar with what that looks like: the better option to benefit none other but you . . . the presumptuous one, the one you make out of fear and convenience, the one you ultimately regret the minute you make it. . . and then comes the period of living with it. You know, the hard part.
Whether you are afraid of how you will make ends meet, or if your young son knows that despite your impatience last night, he is still loved, or if your husband will look past your exhaustion and still find you beautiful, or if your choices you made yesterday were the best for you, for your family, for your peace of mind — you have the promises of God in your arsenal, and He will not forsake you. Romans 8:15 reminds us that we did not receive a spirit enslaving us to fear. In all of our lives, there are defining moments, millions of them, that determine if we are having a breakdown or a breakthrough. The difference lies in your approach, in your choice, in your deliverance.
Isaiah 41:10 says, “Do not fear for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
We all need our red earmuffs at times. . . the shield we carry when a storm blows in and overwhelms in all of its might. I once told my brother during a tumultuous time, “I wish I could go back….I wish I could sleep on the floor and you hand me those earmuffs again and I could ignore this.” His response to me was, “Why? That would be awful. Then we would never know who we would become if we remained adolescent and afraid. We would never know our strengths or learn how to manipulate fear for our reuse, to make us brave despite the attack on our confidence.” I didn’t see it then, but looking back, he was right.
I’ve since found that God’s mercy far surpasses a pair of plastic earmuffs. He took on their role when I learned to trust Him, really trust Him. From the depths of the darkest despair, God pulled me out when no one else could. He spoke to me with familiarity when I no longer recognized myself. He helped me find the shield that I didn’t know I had, and He showed me how to use it to confront the fear in my heart that once negated my voice. Fear carries no weight here and is not welcome. It contributes no substance, offers no benefit, only a crack in my surface, a chip at my exterior. “I sought the Lord, and he answered me; He delivered me from all my fears.” Psalm 34:4
I pray you find your shield, your red earmuffs, your Savior. I pray you overcome your fear by placing your trust in Him, by changing the station, by finding the strength in your song.
God Bless,
Megan
Blue Withens 