We have been living the thing.
Taking long walks with Lucy Mae, sitting out back and star gazing each night, sharing stories, and just…dreaming.
It awakens desire, this living in the now. Nothing stirs my sehnsucht like a change of season.
Strange, how this emptiness fills.
I have been thinking a lot about the fruit of my life lately.
It is no accident. He is reminding me.
Last night, Little Jeffrey asked me, “What is the thing you are most afraid of?”
It was time for the Tucking In—the time after nightly prayers when soul questions rise up to fill the quiet.
I pulled the blankets up around him and ran my hands down his bare arms.
When did he get so big?
“Hmmm,” says I. “That’s a tough one. I suppose…the thing that I am most afraid of is that something bad might happen to someone I love.”
He thought about it for a moment, but I could tell it wasn’t the answer he wanted.
“What is the thing you are most afraid of for yourself?”
It should not have surprised me; I knew where he was headed. I could see the book he had been reading open, face down on the bed beside him—the one about the Titanic. But still, I found myself groping around inside for an answer.
What was I most afraid of?
Being a bad parent?
None of these seemed to ring true in my head.
But I took too long in answering and he was moving on.
“Do you want to know what I’m most afraid of?”
I glanced at the book beside him.
I think I could guess.
“Sure, if you want to share.”
“I’m scared of being on a boat out in the middle of the ocean.”
His eyes grew large, his voice hushed with awe.
What ensued was a discussion on nautical safety and modern rescue methods.
Little man digested my reassuring facts, but I couldn’t help noticing that his eyes still seemed to be bugging out of his head.
The Titanic is, after all, a very traumatic story.
“You know what?” I say, as I scoot under the covers beside him and turn out the lamp. “I don’t think much about things I’m afraid of anymore. You know why?”
He shook his head in the dark as I enveloped him in my arms.
“Because I know that God is bigger than any fear I could ever have, and I belong to Him. Even if something bad happens, He’ll help me through it. And He’ll never leave me.”
He turned on his side and burrowed deeper into the pillow.
“He’ll never leave me.”
He said it in that same hushed tone he had voiced his fear in.
His body relaxed beside me. I gave him one last kiss and slid out from under the covers, away from the warmth of him.
I went on with the night, but his question lingered.
What am I most afraid of? For me?
I thought of this ache inside my belly—this empty place. I thought of my broken childhood.
And I knew.
I am most afraid that I won’t matter.
That the fruit of the way I choose to live the thing will spoil and rot.
Occasionally, I let this fear grip me. Will any of this matter in the end?
And it feels as if I am going down with the ship.
There is no life boat for this kind of fear.
I know where to take this.
And I do.
I go to the Captain; send out an SOS.
I’m not just singing a happy tune as the ship goes down. I’m not just coping.
I am rescued.
Only He can do that.
Because He is bigger than any fear I could ever have.
And He will never leave me.
Lay it down. Again, and again. Lay it down, Beloved.
He is bigger than whatever it is.
For a very powerful testimony on overcoming fear, visit Melanie…and please pray for her son, Andrew, while you are there.