Don’t Let it Sense Your Fear

Robbie and I had gotten an early start on our hike. We’d been climbing for more than an hour–without spotting even one other person–when we came upon a “Bear Alert” sign.

Don’t let it sense your fear.

That’s what you’re supposed to do (or not do?) if you meet up with a bear. That, and speak softly. To the bear.

That sounded about right to me. In fact, the “no fear” advice is the same thing I heard as a child, back when I was frightened of dogs. We didn’t grow up with pups (unless you count Duke, the black Lab we had until it ate my mom’s diamond watch), and I wasn’t sure how to behave around them. The fact that Mom had been wearing the watch when it disappeared loomed large in my mind, and when a strange dog came bounding up on the playground one day, I balked.

“It’s okay,” someone said. “It won’t hurt you. Just don’t let it sense your fear.”

It worked; the dog left me alone. And that day, something clicked in my mind. Letting something scary–be it a stray dog, a health concern, a bully, whatever–know you’re afraid never helps. All it does is bolster the threat’s position, while weakening yours.

Or, as Robbie might put it, “It lets the camel get his nose under the tent.”

Yeah.

Speaking of Robbie…

He was less enthused by the bear sign than I. I was standing there, blathering on about how if we DID see a bear, he should run, since he is faster than I am and our kids would want one parent to survive. I figured I could stick around–speaking softly–and at least buy him some time.

But my man wasn’t having it. Given the total lack of human activity and the fact that we were in a place we’d never ventured before (and probably also the fact that, being a gentleman, Robbie knew he wouldn’t just leave me chatting it up with a bear), he suggested we might want to turn back.

“Turn back?” I replied, incredulous. “We are almost at the summit!”

“We are the only people on this trail,” Robbie said. “We need to be smart.”

I scoffed. “The bears are not up here,” I said. “It’s breakfast time. They are down near the town, rummaging through people’s trash cans.”

Robbie stared at me. “Since when did you become a bear expert?”

He had me there.

And, since I am not, technically, an expert on wildlife of any kind (my favorite cocktail napkin is the one that says “Why yes. If drinking on the porch counts, then I AM outdoorsy!), I decided to read the fine print.

If a bear stands upright or moves closer to you, it may be trying to detect smells in the air.

Okay…

Once it identifies you, it may leave the area or try to intimidate you by charging to within a few feet before it withdraws.

Alrighty then. We had options. The bear might walk away…or it could charge.

Which is 100% just like real life.

I mean, we face dangers and threats all the time. And sometimes, like a disinterested bear, our fears just sort of pack up and leave: The test comes back negative. The money is there. That thing’s not a spider, it’s lint.

Sometimes, though, we find ourselves taking a charge. And sometimes, the charge is a biggie: It turns out to be cancer. He wants a divorce. It’s 2:00 a.m., and we know that this call won’t be good.

Stuff like that hurts. And when it happens, we can’t help it; we’re scared. We don’t know how to respond. Does the “don’t show fear” advice really work?

Actually…yes.

Scripture talks a lot about fear. In fact, “Do not be afraid” is the most oft-repeated command in the Bible. It crops up 70 times in the NIV (which is way more than, say, “Love your neighbor” or “Do unto others” or even basic stuff like “Don’t steal”). And that 70 times? That doesn’t even count related phrases like “do not fear” or “fear not.”

Clearly, God doesn’t want his kids to be scared.

But instead of just telling us to keep a stiff upper lip (“Don’t be afraid!”), God almost always links his command to a promise. Consider just these few examples:

In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. (John 16:33)

Don’t be afraid of them; the Lord your God himself will fight for you. (Deuteronomy 3:22)

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. (Joshua 1:9)

And this one, which I think is my favorite:

So 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. (Isaiah 41:10)

What these promises (and plenty more) tell us is that yes, life will come at us hard. It might hurt. And sometimes we’ll be tempted to give in to fear. But instead of letting that emotion take over our hearts (and mess with our physical and emotional health, which all sorts of new research shows that it does), God wants us to know that he’s on it.

I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will fight for you. I will be with you.

Bottom line? God is for us.

And we are never alone.

Which is something that I told myself, over and over, that day on the hike. Yes, Robbie gave in to my begging, and we went all the way to the top. (He drew the line, though, when I suggested we sing, or that maybe we could pray for our kids. I think his exact quote might have been: “Let’s get out of bear country first.”)

(I love that man.)

So can I just close with two things?

The first is gratitude to my husband, who always keeps his head on a swivel so I don’t have to.

And the second is gratitude to our Lord, who says that he will NEVER leave us, and that the Spirit he gives us is is not one of timidity; rather, it is filled with power and love.

❤️

Heavenly Father,

You knew we’d be scared. Thank you for not leaving us to deal with our fears on our own. Help us to remember that perfect love–YOUR perfect love–drives out fear, and that because of your presence, we can have peace. (1 John 4:18, John 14:27)

Amen

 

 

 

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Anadiplosis and the Hike to Hope

Last week, I told you about Mark Forsyth’s book, The Elements of Eloquencein which he maintains that Shakespeare’s brilliance was rooted more in his ability to use literary tricks and techniques than in any sort of innate genius. One such technique is anadiplosis.

Anadiplosis won’t pass your computer’s spell check (I tried), and I doubt it’s something you’ll want to break out at a cocktail party, but it’s a good trick to know, particularly if you want to sound logical, progressive, or just well-balanced. Anadiplosis happens when you take the last word of a sentence or phrase and then use it to begin the next one:  A man takes a drink. The drink takes a drink. The drink takes the man.

Or consider this example, from Paul:

Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. (Romans 5:3-4)

I wasn’t thinking about anadiplosis when I went hiking recently. I was, however, thinking about suffering. I’m not much of a woods-and-squirrels girl, and I hadn’t intended to hike Sewanee’s 20-mile Perimeter Trail (or any part of it) when I started. My plan was to walk to a nearby overlook and…look over.

Which I did:

But then I noticed a trail map, conveniently posted next to the overlook. I had some time and I figured I could do a little bit of the trail. Like a mile, maybe. I could always come back later for the other 19.

Not being an experienced hiker (not being any sort of hiker), I didn’t bother to read the fine print. I saw the jagged emblem that meant “Difficult”…but how difficult could “Difficult” be? It was only a mile, for crying out loud. I’d be in and out in 15 minutes.

At first, I was captivated. To my left was a giant rock face. To my right was a 50-foot drop, just daunting enough to make you pay attention.

Everything was quiet (unless you count the sound of scurrying, which I tried not to). Peaceful. I felt like I was alone in the world.

Which, after about ten minutes, started to be less fun.

Nobody knew where I was, I hadn’t brought along any hiker stuff like water, and I didn’t need my Garden Club membership to help me identify the horticulture that grew, with unmitigated vigor, all over the trail:

I was just starting to think about mountain lions (I knew they’d found the bones of a prehistoric saber-toothed tiger nearby; might he or she have left any grandchildren?) when I rounded a bend and saw this:

A hole in the trail. Through a rock. Which was high.

Going up seemed out of the question. The opening was a good 15 feet above the trail (closer to 30, if you count the dirt part), and it was pretty much straight up, with no hand- or foot-holds I could detect. (You would think someone might put in a rope.)

I tried going around, but there was no trail to the right. Just a sheer, poison-ivy-coated drop into nothing but treetops.

And I thought about turning back. But honestly? That felt like quitting. Plus, I knew other moms who had done this part of the hike. (Or so they said.)

To put my predicament in perspective, I’ve marked up the photo for you. The red arrow is where I needed to get. The red person is me. And I look a lot taller (and more athletic) in the drawing than I am in real life:

And here’s the thing. I am not afraid of heights, but I am not big on falling. And I had no idea what was on the other side of the hole. Was it an even steeper drop?

I started to turn around. But then this thought came:

Suffering produces perseverance. 

Seriously. Out of nowhere. I didn’t know about anadiplosis, but I did know that verse and where it went. I knew that if I started at suffering and got through the whole thing (not to mention the hole thing), I’d wind up at hope.

I decided that since I had already experienced some pain (and on a happy note, the very real presence of snakes and mosquitoes took my mind off of the unseen lions and tigers), I could go ahead and move into the perseverance phase. Which felt good, since it meant that I had accomplished something. Or God had, in me. And if he would grant me the courage I needed to climb up to the hole, I was ready to count that as character.

I sent a text to Robbie (which I didn’t think would go through) and a prayer to God (which I was pretty sure would), wanting them both to know where I was, in case things went bad. And then I started climbing.

I made it. (Obviously.) And when I crawled out of the hole on the other side of the rock, I had three rewards.

The first was a nice, flat path:

The second was beautiful waterfall:

And the third was the end of that part of the trail, which literally dumps you out at the foot of the cross:

Talk about hope!

I can’t remember when my heart felt so full, or so grateful. And, I realized, I would not have appreciated the cross (or the hope it delivered) had I not spent that time on the trail. Walking through fear – and coming to the place where my own strength wasn’t enough, where my only two options were to turn back or go forward with a God I couldn’t see instead of a rope that I could – is what brought me to hope.

All of which is to say…

If you are in a season of suffering (even if it’s just a mile’s worth of scary stuff), keep going. Don’t turn back. Just put one foot in front of the other because that’s what kindles perseverance, a “steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose…especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.”

And remember, you’re not alone. Count on God to strengthen your character. He gave me courage; he will supply what you lack. He will lead you to hope.

I wish I had a clever way to use anadiplosis to wrap up this post, but I don’t. All I can do is repeat what Paul said – that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope – and then point to the conclusion Paul draws: And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

I don’t know what the literary term is for that last sentence; if I ever meet Mr. Forsyth, I’ll ask him. For now, though, maybe we can just call it a “happy ending.”

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Guest Post: Don’t Look Back

If you’re a regular on this site, you know that my daughter Virginia just graduated from the University of Virginia, where I like to think that she sometimes studied. She starts her “real job” in New York City next month, but in the meantime, knowing that I am writing like a crazy person to meet the publisher’s deadline for Praying the Scriptures for Your Adult Children, she offered to write a few blogs on my behalf. This one hit home. Pray for me, cuz I don’t really love the thought of all my kids growing up, and I’m having a hard time not looking back.

Here’s Virginia (and yes, that’s her in the pic):

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NeedToBreathe has a song called “Won’t Turn Back” where they sing about having faith like a soldier and the strength to stay put in hard circumstances. It is a great song to encourage you when you know you face an upcoming battle or mountain, but what about in the day-to-day life?

Having just graduated from the best school in the world, I constantly find myself looking backwards. It is so easy to get lost in a daydream about spending the afternoons at vineyards or waking up with my six best friends in the same house every morning, all of them up for any adventure. But here’s the thing about looking back: When I spend excess time thinking about Charlottesville, I constantly miss what is happening right in front of me. I miss what God is doing now.

There is a story in the Bible where Moses delivers the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt. But as soon as they are out, they miss it and want to go back. They miss the food, water, and life of the past, even though they were slaves. To appease and bless them, God sends bread called “manna” out of the sky for them to eat. God provides them with endless manna, meat, and clean water. He gives them more than they could ever ask for on their journey to freedom. But instead of being grateful and satisfied, the Israelites keep complaining. Every little bump in the road causes them to look back and, as a result, they miss the blessings that are right in front of them.

Transitions are constant in life. Whether it is an old school, an old job, an old city or just an old life in general, we all have things we miss. And like the ancient Israelites, we can sometimes idealize whatever we left behind and long to return to our old “easy” way of life.

But we do not have time for that. I’d pray that God would help us to not dwell on the past but rather, to look toward the future with hope and excitement, praising him for what he is doing in the present. With eyes in the front of our heads, humans are designed to look forwards, not backwards.

There is the manna of God’s provision everywhere in our lives; we just have to face forward to see it.

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland. (Isaiah 43:18-19)

  

 

 

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