The fear is like a mountain, only it’s like a living mountain with arms that reach out to me in my weaker moments. I think the mountain can shrink over time. In fact, if I’m reading the Bible correctly, I think that’s what happens eventually. The fear shrinks and shrinks and then disappears. I’m not sure if that ever happens completely this side of heaven, though. In my experience, limited though it is, the mountain never goes anywhere. It’s a mountain. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t get smaller.
It’s just a matter of whether I look at it or not.
It’s a matter of whether I give it space in my thoughts or not.
It’s a matter of me saying “God is good.” And then realizing if I really believe that, then fear can have no room in my heart.
It’s a matter of saying “Do I trust God or not?” If the answer is yes, then I cannot look at that mountain. I can’t even glance that way. My only response is to stare into the face of Jesus and never look away.
Someone once asked me about the fear. I’m sorry to say that my response sounded callous. It is because I have realized that even talking about the fear gives it room in my heart sometimes. But later I revisited the conversation and said “I didn’t mean to sound callous. The fear you mentioned is heavy on my heart. But I just cannot give it room anymore.”
The fear is still there, and it’s a mountain. A mountain of fear. A scary mountain with rampaging arms and gnashing teeth.
But it’s getting easier not to look at it.
Do I trust God or not? Even with the most precious things in my life, do I trust him?
Before having children, “trusting in Jesus” was a completely abstract idea for me. I could say that I trusted Jesus, but I was never put to the test, so I’m not sure I actually did. I’m struck that in order to actually trust Jesus, I had to be left feeling completely helpless first. And if having children enter the world doesn’t do that to a parent, I don’t know what will. (I know it’s not just having children that teaches trust, that’s just how it worked for me.)
So do I trust God or not? Even with the most precious things in my life, do I trust him?
That question has become my mantra.
It never occurred to me before how much this sounded like Peter walking on water. He had to keep his eyes on Jesus or he would fall. And he did fall.
I guess I should admit that sometimes I do glance over at the mountain. That is my fall. I imperfectly keep my eyes on Jesus. But I also can see how far I’ve come.
Maybe that’s a better metaphor. Maybe I am walking and the mountain used to be looming above me, obstructing my path. But walking with Jesus in the helpless moments gave me the way around it, and I am slowly making my way towards him, away from the mountain. Maybe that’s why the mountain never shrinks, it just is easier not to look at it all the time because I have taken steps away from it. But it’s still there, and if I give it room, it can take up my whole heart again.
I guess the metaphor falls apart here.
Nevertheless, the fear is a mountain and it hasn’t gone away. But the question “Do I trust God or not?” has made all the difference. That simple, terrifying, surrendering question has made all the difference and I am a new person because of it. Because I can say that yes, I do.