Fear Not

I live in a bubble. I am a white female, living comfortable middle-class in beautiful, free Canada. There is not much to threaten me; barring natural causes or freak accidents, I live a low-risk existence. Basically, there is not much I need to worry about in life.

And yet.

I struggle, often, with feelings of deep fear and anxiety. I often don't even know what exactly it is that I'm afraid of, although most of my worry is about my family. I tend towards glass-half-empty thought processes, doomsday conclusions. I call myself Eeyore and truly, it's not a joke. In many ways, I could not be more negative.

Seems ludicrous, doesn't it? To live such a plush existence, with no worry about money (not like some anyway), or where my next meal will come from, or how I'll clothe or shelter my children. I am even free to homeschool, and in many countries this is not the case. Loving husband, darling children, family and friends who love me despite my many faults. To have this life, this wonderful, wonderful life and still to feel such deep fear and anxiety? It's irrational. Really, it makes no sense at all.

Fear, sometimes, is unexplainable. It's an emotion that crushes, and causes the most terrible panic. It's been said so many times over the last week that people are afraid with this new president in power. Likewise, it's been said that they need to get over it and stop whining. But I wonder, if we really stopped to put ourselves in other people's shoes, just once, if we could maybe understand that sometimes the fear just can't be gotten over. Sometimes, it is too overwhelming. Sometimes, it's even irrational. But a lot of times it's not. And really, the bottom line is, this world is truly a dark and scary place. This last week has proved that for many.

Life is scary when you have the kindest person in power. When you have a wildcard at the top, all of a sudden life becomes a lot more uncertain. There have been many hurtful things thrown out into the nether by this man. Lots of derogatory, mean and downright frightening things that he's uttered. A sheer lack of respect for his fellow human, and especially those of a different ethnicity or religion, people with disabilities, women and homosexuals, and many others. This person is now the leader of his country, a country that prides itself on it's freedom and bravery but he holds the keys to their safety and well-being. No wonder they feel afraid.

If I was able, if I was given the chance to talk to just one frightened person, I would say this: Whether your fear is real or imagined, justified or not, whether you live in a bubble like me, or you fear for your child's safety because of their skin colour, regardless of who is in power in your country and what he might do to you or say about you, there is hope. It's what I believe with all my heart; maybe you don't and maybe you never will. But I can only share what I know and what gets me through the day. It is this: There is a God in heaven. He created you and loves you beyond all imagining. He even sent His Son to die for you. He cares about you and doesn't want you to be afraid. Jesus walked this earth Himself and He knows how dark and frightening it is. He was unjustly accused, and eventually died because the men in power hated Him. He understands the fear. But He is in control, believe it or not and one day He'll set everything to rights. If I didn't have this promise from Him and if I didn't believe He wasn't going to fix all the horrific injustice someday, I would not get up tomorrow morning. One thing though, He doesn't promise to take the hard stuff away, He only promises to walk through it with you. But I can tell you, from experience, that He is faithful to His promises.

"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10
"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28

Oh, my soul

Oh, how you worry

Oh, how you're weary, from fearing you lost control

This was the one thing, you didn't see coming

And no one would blame you, though

If you cried in private

If you tried to hide it away, so no one knows

No one will see, if you stop believing

Oh, my soul

You are not alone

There's a place where fear has to face the God you know

One more day, He will make a way

Let Him show you how, you can lay this down

'Cause you're not alone

Here and now

You can be honest

I won't try to promise that someday it all works out

'Cause this is the valley

And even now, He is breathing on your dry bones

And there will be dancing

There will be beauty where beauty was ash and stone

This much I know

Oh, my soul

You are not alone

There's a place where fear has to face the God you know

One more day, He will make a way

Let Him show you how, you can lay this down

-- by Casting Crowns

Just be kind

I like to pretend to myself that I'm a kind person. I like to believe that I'm loving and gracious. But I think I'm deluding myself. I think, in reality, I am not a very kind person. If I am on the warpath, like my mom used to say, then anyone who happens to get in my way becomes a casualty. I've yelled at cashiers. I've cursed at annoying drivers. I yell at my kids, nag my husband. I gossip and belittle others. I am not kind, as much as I think I am.

If I'm going to consider myself to be a kind person, I have to be kind to everyone. All the time.

My sister recently shared this thought and I asked her permission to share it here:

"You can perceive yourself to be whatever you want, but the habits and decisions you live out everyday make you who you are. I can think myself to be a kind person, but if I am not actively and practically finding ways to act out kindness, then I am not kind. I may think I am gracious, but when a dozen times a day, I refuse to extend grace, then I am not a gracious person. If I think I am a loving person, but selectively exclude people I don't like, then I am not a loving person. If I habitually complain, procrastinate, gossip, idle, then I am those very things, regardless of how I might view myself."

It's easy to be kind to the cheerful and helpful cashier. Not so easy to be kind to the one who is agonizingly slow.

It's easy to kindly let someone in front of me in traffic, when it's my idea. Not so easy to be kind to the stinker who cuts me off.

It's easy to be kind to my sponsor child, who is thousands of miles away and beams at me adorably from a picture on my bookmark. Not so easy to be kind to the three children right in front of me who try my patience every single moment of every single day.

It's easy to be kind to the plumber who comes and helpfully fixes my water heater. Not so easy to be kind to my husband who is getting on my last nerve and forgot to do that chore for me again.

It's easy to be kind to that sweet person at church. Not so easy to be kind to that legalistic type who has a bone to pick with everyone.

It's easy to be kind to that mom you think is slightly beneath you. It's not so easy to be kind to that one who seems superior to you. Or vice versa.

I call myself a Christian. Which is really embarrassing sometimes, because you know what? Jesus was kind to everyone. All the time. He was kind to His mother, even when she didn't understand Him. He was kind to His bumbling, sometimes stupid disciples. He was kind to the prostitute, to the adulteress, to the thief, to a rich man, to those high in politics and religion, to those on the bottom of the social ladder in society. He was kind to the sick, to the outcasts, to the ones no one wanted. He was kind to the annoying children, the hungry people, the ones yanking on His clothes to get His attention.

He was even kind to the people torturing Him. They spit on Him, whipped Him, mocked Him and unjustly tried Him and He didn't say a word. They made Him, in His weakened state, to carry His heavy wooden cross up a hill. They nailed Him to it, naked and bleeding. They fed Him vinegar when He begged for a drink of water. Jesus didn't lash out in anger, although He would have had every right to. He didn't scream back at them or give them the cold shoulder. Know what He did? He prayed. "Father, forgive them. They don't know what they're doing."

This is love. This is kindness. Unconditional, self-sacrificing, loving kindness.

Be kind; everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. -Unknown

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:32

The hard stuff

Almost two years ago, the right side of my body went numb for two months. It was the scariest time in my life to date. When you have no idea why this is happening, when you think that you could possibly have a brain tumour or neurological disease, it's terrifying. I spent most of those days in a fog. I tried not to panic but it was hard. My doctor thought maybe it could be Multiple Sclerosis (MS) and wanted me to go for an MRI.

The numbness went away and so did the urgency for an MRI. She kept me on the waiting list though, thinking it would be better just to get my brain scanned anyway. More than a year after my symptoms went away, they finally called me in for the test. (Gotta love Canadian healthcare. But I am truly thankful I didn't have to pay for it.) I endured the dread of being shoved into a dark tunnel (MRI's are no walk in the park, let me tell you) and then had to wait a month to hear anything. I knew they would find something. You can't have that kind of numbness in your body and not have some kind of issue with your brain.

They found 'lesions', or scar tissue on my brain. This meant that I'd had an attack (the numbness) and that it had healed itself (which is why the numbness went away). I was scared. My doctor set up an appointment with a neurologist but he couldn't tell me much. MS is really hard to diagnose. He needs me to go for a spinal tap so that is where I currently am in this journey. Waiting for a spinal tap and taking one day at a time.

During the two months that I was actually feeling (or not feeling, as the case may be) numbness, I did a lot of soul-searching. I cried and I prayed and I questioned God. The conclusion I came to is this: None of us are promised tomorrow. I only have today and it is a gift. Today I haven't officially been diagnosed with MS, and honestly, I may never be. Still, the what-ifs hover. But, today I can see, I can speak, I can walk, I can breathe, I am alive. Life is beyond precious. If there is anything I learned during those two months it is that I love my life. I have been abundantly blessed beyond anything that I deserve. If my future holds wheelchairs and medications, then I will be given the grace to walk through it. Because if there is one thing I know for sure, it's that God is faithful. He was with me when life felt so uncertain, He is with me now, and He will be with me always.

Life is hard, I fully believe this. Every single person is given a cross to bear. Each and every one of us will have something in our lives that makes us turn to God, of that I am certain. But everyone's cross is going to look different. I am not saying God causes hard things in our lives, but He doesn't always take them away. This world is broken, and so are we. The peace we can find though, is in knowing that there is something and Someone beyond ourselves. That there is a higher purpose, more than just the pain we experience. I've heard the analogy before of life as a tapestry. Right now, we can only see underneath the tapestry, with all the messy threads and the picture that doesn't make sense from the back. But above the tapestry, God is weaving a beautiful design and one day He will show us what He's been up to.

While I'm learning not to wallow in the negativity of life, I never want to be blind to the reality of pain. I think there is a balance to be had between being realistic about hardship, while finding a way to embrace it, or at least move through it in a positive way. For me, this means accepting what might be a possible diagnosis. Accepting, and then taking each day as it comes. I'm learning to be more mindful of what a gift each day really is.

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8 

Try to exclude the possibility of suffering which the order of nature and the existence of free-wills involve, and you find that you have excluded life itself.  -- C.S. Lewis

Racism terrifies me

I am reading The Sign of the Beaver (by Elizabeth George Speare) to my boys for Language Arts. It's about a young boy named Matt, set in pioneer days, who is left alone in his family's log cabin while his dad goes east to collect his mother and sister. While waiting for his family to return, he comes into contact with a native man and his grandson, Attean. Through a series of events, it comes to light that the older man wants Matt to teach Attean to read. Here is a snippet:

"Attean learn," he said. "White man come more and more to (our) land. White man not make treaty with pipe. White man make signs on paper, signs (we) not know. (We) put mark on paper to show him friend of white man. Then white man take land. Tell (us we) cannot hunt on land. Attean learn to read white man's signs. Attean not give away hunting grounds."

And then, while Matt is teaching Attean to read by reading to him from the book Robinson Crusoe, they come to a part where a white man rescues a native man. The native man then proceeds to kneel down to the white man in gratitude. Attean interrupts:

"NO!" he shouted. "Not so."
Matt stopped, bewildered.
"Never kneel down to a white man!" said Attean.
"But Crusoe had saved his life."
"Not kneel down," Attean repeated fiercely. "Not be slave. Better die." 

He then leaves and Matt is left with his thoughts.

He had never questioned that story. Like Robinson Crusoe, he had thought it natural and right that the wild man should be the white man's slave. Was there perhaps another possibility? The thought was new and troubling.

And that, my friends, in a nutshell, is what is wrong with our history as white people. We thought we were so superior. We misunderstood any living soul who looked differently than us, ate differently, had different customs. We thought we were the ones who had the right to take their land, to choose not to really see these beautiful people.

Down through history this has always been the case. White men being afraid of 'different' and lashing out, wreaking havoc on endless souls. It really hit home to me today, reading this book with my kids. Not only with the natives in both Canada and the US, but also with the slave trade of the blacks in the states. It's just unspeakable what people of my skin colour have done to others out of a sense of superiority. It is truly evil. An evil straight from the pit of hell.

It's so easy for us to think, "Oh that happened hundreds of years ago, but now everything is okay." Thinking like that is a shield because the alternative is terrifying. It's terrifying to imagine that people might still feel hatred towards others. But the other day it came to my attention that a popular white blogger was being harassed on Twitter because she posted a picture of her black son. The hatred that was spewing from these internet trolls, directed at her and her precious child was unbelievable to me. It didn't seem like real life. But it was.

I was reminded by my brother tonight that it also isn't just the open attack (although I wouldn't call sending tweets open; rather it's pretty cowardly to sit behind a screen and insult someone) that is horrifying, but also the underhanded, less obvious mentality that is so pervasive. He shared this quote with me: "Racism doesn't usually look like someone shouting slurs, (it) looks like people eagerly looking for a reason why a black kid deserved to die." - Lou Schumaker. It looks like cops killing children and getting let off the hook. It looks like people not caring that a mother goes to bed at night not knowing if her son will be next. It looks like a blind eye turned, a deaf ear, a cold shoulder. It looks like choosing not to know.

And I'm scared. I'm so utterly scared and horrified that we still live in a world with such hatred. I am devastated to think that maybe racism has not gone anywhere but is still alive and even thriving. There are people out there with hate in their hearts so vicious that they will attack a child with their words and their weapons. My mind cannot comprehend it. I can't begin to understand a world that tears down rather than lifts up. A system that finds fault with how someone lives rather than extending the hand of compassion.

What can I do about it though? It feels too big and overwhelming. And really, there is probably nothing we really can do. We can't change the hatefulness in so many hearts. If we want change though, it needs to begin with us. I can teach my children to love others. I can teach them the history of racism and hatred in our culture, teach them about how the white men stole the natives' land. How white men were so afraid of 'different' that they killed and hurt and destroyed. I can teach them about black history and the slave trade and abolition, about Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King Jr and making sure we don't forget these warriors. We have lots of conversations about not judging others based on appearance. I try to teach them to live by this quote, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." (This quote is attributed to Plato but it is not certain.) I teach them how Jesus said the greatest commandment is to love God and love your neighbour. I don't know if it sinks in or not. I hope it does. I hope that they can learn to see others through God's eyes, to see their beauty. I want them to see that each soul who graces this planet is deeply precious and loved by God.

It's not enough, I know it. I don't know what the answers are, really. I do believe, with all my heart, that one day God will set things to right and will bring justice to everyone who has ever been wronged. For now though, I'm hoping that at least keeping my head out of the sand and teaching my kids to do the same, might be a small start.

This moment

For me sometimes life seems like an endless stretching into the future, waiting for the next thing that might come my way. Or, on the flip side, a gut-wrenching look backward to all the times I got it wrong. Forward, backward, whatever. I seem to have a really hard time living in the moment.

There is a lot to look forward to of course. Plans must be made, dreams set in motion. There is nothing wrong with that. Life would be bleak indeed if we couldn't look forward to things. And memories can be a beautiful thing. Thinking back to times with loved ones, especially ones who are no longer with us can be one of the most precious things in life.

But what about when the future and the past encroach on the present? When my eyes are constantly looking into the distant future, waiting, waiting for that next elusive moment of happiness. Or when my eyes are constantly looking back, seeing all the regretful moments of my life. The looking ahead can become a restlessness in my soul that is unquenchable, and the looking back can become a shackle around my ankle, weighing me down.

What about just being content and happy in this moment? It is a struggle to stay focus and engaged on what is right in front of me. A struggle because of our technology filled world of course, but also just my own restless, discontented spirit gets in the way so very often. It feels so sad that I have this amazing life sitting right in front of me, and yet the urge to complain or fret is so often right at the tip of my mind (and therefore the tip of my tongue. Whatever I think, comes out of my mouth. But that is another topic altogether.) causing the joy of my present moment to be stripped away.

In this moment I have a husband who loves me. A cozy home to live in, on a beautiful property. Three spunky, gorgeous children. Health. Food. Clothing. In this moment I have more than I could ever possibly want or need. Books at my disposal. A lazyboy to put my feet up while I read. Or type. All of this, is what faces me this very moment. This moment. This moment, this very day, is all I have.

I'm not a new year's resolution kind of person, simply because I'm not one to set myself up for failure. But if I could do anything better in 2016, it would be to live in the moment. To wake up in the morning with the promise to myself that I will enjoy this one beautiful day. If I could accomplish this, then all of those beautiful days would eventually string together into one beautiful life. And this is it. This is my life. In all of it's messy beauty, this is my life.

It's so hard when the rubber meets the road though. When you wake up to children fighting and toast burning and school not going well and someone constantly needing you to play a game with them. It's hard to live in the moment when supper needs to be cooked (and who knows what to make anyway?) and an endless array of mind-numbing chores must be done. When you feel cranky and irritated and why AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO EVER DOES ANYTHING AROUND HERE and you know how it is.

But what if, what if all of those hard moments are the moments that make up a great life? What if my perspective could shift and instead of griping and complaining I could just be thankful that there is a family, a family in my home who, as long as they need fresh underwear, means that they are alive and healthy and well? I read something along those lines one time and I wish I could find it now. It was about how perspective is everything. Instead of seeing a dirty floor, see the beautiful children who tracked the dirt. Instead of sighing about grocery shopping, breathe a prayer of thankfulness that there is a grocery store stocked with food and money with which to buy it. Instead of groaning about ironing your husband's shirts (does anyone love ironing??) think of the man who faithfully gets up and goes to work every day without complaining so that you can have your beautiful life.

It is definitely a challenge for me, complainer that I am. But this is my goal for 2016: to live in the moment and be thankful for the beauty that is sitting right under my nose.

This is me

You might see me on social media and think I have it all together.

You would be wrong.

That picture I post of freshly baked cookies? You don't know that those were the six I didn't burn.

That picture I post of my smiling kids? You don't know that those smiles lasted all of thirty seconds in our day from hell.

That picture I posted of my kids having a picnic? You don't know that as soon as I posted it, I turned around and yelled at them.

That status I wrote that included a Bible verse? You don't know that I had to post it because that day, that week, I was hanging on to God's promises by a mere thread.

That status I wrote about how great my kids did on their tests? You don't know the months of cajoling and tears and fighting it got to get there.

That encouraging post I shared? You don't know how desperately my own soul needed it.

That picture I posted of us on our family vacation? You don't know that most of the week I complained and the kids fought and we all wondered why we bothered.

That post I shared about homeschooling? You don't know that every single day I second guess our decision to home-educate.

That gorgeous scenery picture of my backyard? You don't know that I have mice crawling through my walls, cobwebs in my corners, dirt in my sink.

That picture of the meal I posted? You don't know that it's the only 'real' meal I served my family all week.

You don't know that I cry, that I yell, that I complain on a regular basis. That I find parenting difficult.

I claim to have faith in God, yet I struggle with anxiety.

You don't know that my kids fight, that they say hateful things to me and their siblings.

You don't know that my husband and I, although we have a good marriage, have fought so hard to get here. There have been days of wondering, hours of tears, lots of not-understanding, years of up-and-down. Lulls, boredom, anger.

You don't know that I could possibly be diagnosed with MS this year. That I struggle to figure out why. That although I am healthy and maybe this diagnosis won't come to pass, I wonder what God is doing. I cry, I rage, I find peace. Then I cry and rage again.

I wonder if God is really with me, if anyone else ever has doubts. I wonder if He is good. I wonder if there is a reason for all of this, if He will make good on His promise to restore justice.

Any slice of wisdom that it seems like I am imparting, know that I have climbed a mountain, crawled through a valley and shed an ocean of tears to get to that place.

Any bit of encouragement that might cross my lips, is being shared because I, more than anyone, needs to be lifted out of the fog of discouragement.

I have a great life. I try so hard to be thankful, to be grateful for what I've been given. But that is only a small part of the story. I am also human and real and struggling. The person that is presented on social media is only a slice, a tiny percentage of who I am. I never want anyone to forget that. We are all in this messy, beautiful, heartbreaking, amazing life together. Let's stop the comparison game, shall we? I'll go first.