When faced with fear: how protection looks more like deliverance

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“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” 

- Nelson Mandela

This week I had a night with three nightmares/dreams.  I’m not sure which.  You see, they all started out as nightmares - with people stealing all our things or entering our house by force, but every time they did I confronted them and starting telling them about their need for Jesus.  Even when in one dream where I came home and everything in my house was gone, we found the culprits to share with them about Jesus.  They all ended peacefully. 

I wish those fears were not a possible reality, but the truth is, I have had to face armed thieves emptying our car of their electrics.  And we do hear of stories of people coming home here and EVERYTHING in their house emptied out.  It may not be very often, but it happens. And I know very few missionaries here who have not had something stolen from their car, homes or person. 

But living in that reality means you have to face up to the fact that it might just happen to you.  Again.  And that doesn’t mean that God is not the Protector.  

I grew up believing that faith for protection was believing that I would never face anything fearful.  But now when I read Psalm 91 I realise God’s protection actually looks more like sure deliverance.  

I am continually learning to look at those fears straight in the face. When I feel scared I am realising that that does not need to be debilitating, and that I am not weak - I am human.  (I checked with my seemingly fearless husband - he described feelings of being ‘nervous’ rather than fear, but that is probably just because he is well trained in being courageous!)  We all fear things.  We all have paralyzing waves hit us at times, or wobbly-stomached nervousness.  

But the difference comes when we decide to face those things head on. 

I may fear another mother’s response if I go to her and apologise for my child’s behaviour. 

I may fear my teammate’s response if I go to him and apologise for my snide remark. 

I may fear going to the bathroom in the night in case I hear noises I don’t want to. (Okay, so I am still not doing well on this fear because that was how I found the thieves emptying out the car, but pray I will!) 

I may fear sharing my heart with my husband unless he is showing me he is in the mood to listen. 

I may fear allowing others to look after my children for an afternoon so I can spend an afternoon with Mark. 

But when I do choose to be brave, in spite of my fears, I find a connection that happens with others and with God.  And that is always worth it.  

And I know too, that so often fear is a signpost to oncoming deliverance because it is the enemy’s tactic to try and stop us from entering our promised land, because he knows his time is potentially short.  Sometimes, as the priest was called to remind Israel before every battle, we just need a little reminder: 

When you are about to go into battle, the priest shall come forward and address the army. He (shall say: ‘Hear, Israel: today you are going into battle against your enemies. Do not be faint-hearted or afraid; do not panic or be terrified by them. For the Lord your God is the one who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies to give you victory.’ 

- Deut 20:2-4 

Related post: Overcoming Fear 

The Sadness of Feeling the Pain of those Close

Like a light veil that covers everything:  the dishes;  the people; the clothes in the basket;  the smiles on my children’s face. 

A heavy balloon filled with water wobbling around in my stomach only temporarily dislodged by deep breaths. 

Wanting to cry because I deeply feel. 

Peace. Silence.  Holy silence.  Needing to wait. 

No answers right now.  Just waiting for time to propel us forward.  Upwards. Seeing hope, but it is so, so far off right now. 

Needing to make provisions for the journey.  Needing to make plans perhaps, but wanting to curl up in an armchair with a chocolate biscuit and a warm cosy blanket instead. A heavy rain day. 

The sadness does not belong to me but I feel it and I live it. 

I feel helpless, but fall into Your arms. 

And it reminds me of Solomon’s death.  Of Your all enveloping arms that hold me despite what is going on.  That remind me that You are faithful.  That You feel.  That You care, and that You are working, Beautiful Spirit of God.  We just have to wait.  And trust. 

And hope.  

Fighting for my baby

I started to feel like I was going into labour.  I was surprised because I did not even know I was pregnant.  A midwife led me to a bed and scanned my tummy and told me that the baby had not survived.  I did not believe her and after a few pushes, out came a smaller-than-newborn, but good-sized baby boy.  He wasn’t moving, but I knew he was not dead.  I breathed on him and he started breathing.  Precious, surprising, awe-inspiring life. I had so much certainty that that little life was going to be.  I could feel my mother instinct-faith rising up, and there was no way anyone was going to tell me otherwise.  I was fighting for that child, and although obviously premature, that baby was going to be fine, and there was no way anyone else was going to take him away from me. 

Shortly after giving birth I was handed another baby to adopt.  I looked at the baby and did not recognize it.  I could see the boy had already had the newborn vaccines as a little band-aid covered his shoulder, and he had clearly already been cared for in the nursery.  I was asked if I would accept this baby.  I said I would.  Because who else would take it?  Because I could. Because I was willing.  But I felt no connection with this baby. If someone else had shown up at that moment and offered to take the baby, I probably would not have minded.  

That was the dream I had on Thursday morning around dawn.  

And it made me reflect on the importance of the spiritual birthing process.  

How often do I want a breakthrough without the pain? How often do I want the product without the process? 

But it is the pain of the process, the fighting, the endurance that grows our faith, gives us perspective and makes us take responsibility for the breakthrough.  The adopted baby I was offered, I knew I could love.  Logically, practically I could do it.  But I didn’t have the same feelings of ownership and responsibility for that child.  I wasn’t willing to fight for him like I was for the one I had birthed.  Even though I did not even know about him before I birthed him, and even though I was first told about him when he was supposedly already dead, I refused to let go.  I refused to accept anything but life from that body.  That baby had been given to me and I was going to take full responsibility for him.  In the dream I knew that if God had given me that child, he was going to live. 

If we don’t go through a birthing process for our breakthroughs, then maybe we are less willing to fight in prayer for them when things look bleak.  If we have no assurance that God has given us responsibility for a gift, talent, breakthrough, change in direction, etc, then when the enemy comes against us, how willing are we to fight? How much more quickly does doubt about God’s will come? How much more quickly are we willing to let things go? If the adopted baby had started looking unhealthy, I would honestly probably had felt relief a lot more quickly, not having taken on the responsibility in my heart for that child. 

And so that lead me to look at the areas where there are growing pains, birthing pains going on at the moment in my life: an overflowing, overwhelming house; my personal struggles for joy and gratitude; struggles in our team with sickness; our bank balance struggling to provide for the extra costs a growing household requires. What if we used those difficulties to alert us to that breakthrough is coming? What if we took hold of those struggles by the collar and looked at them straight and began thanking God for the life that is coming?  That we began to allow those birthing cries to be lifted up to God and call out to Him for things to come into alignment.  If we begin to trust that those pains are not indigestion but birthing pains.  That the baby is not dead, despite what others may say, but that our belief, our holding fast to the promise God has given us, will be rewarded and that the more intense the pain, the nearer the breakthrough. 

So I am asking God to show me His perspective this week.  I am asking Him to tell me about the babies we are birthing, the gifts He is releasing, the transitions He is orchestrating, the shifts that are happening, the areas where the enemy is getting nervous and acting out and kicking and screaming because he knows his time is short.  If only we will hold on.  Persevere.  Pray.  Hold on fast to Him.  If only we will stand on the Rock and trust that what He promised will be.  

So where are the struggles in your life this week? Be encouraged.  Breakthrough is coming.  If you will only hold on.  And cry out to Him. 

I waited patiently for the Lord;
    he turned to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
    out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
    and gave me a firm place to stand.

He put a new song in my mouth,
    a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear the Lord
    and put their trust in him.

- Psalm 40

Dear suffering one

Dear suffering one,

Oh, the privilege that God has lavished upon you to enter into His heart.
  

To feel deeply of His pain, to share more wholly in His distress – the breakdown of His creation – to understand part of the depth of God – to know a side of Him that many do not wish or allow themselves to experience.

Remember those times you called out to God that you would know Him more, know Him deeper? 
Will you recognize Him in this storm – His heart that breaks too and His heart that loves so much that is it bleeding more than yours? 
Will you allow yourself to dwell with Him in this and to be, to be patiently with Him? 
Will you allow His earth-shattering grief and pain to linger in your heart, until it mingles with yours? Until a union occurs and you know another side of Him? 

Not that God needs your comfort, nor your pity, but that He trusts you, His son, His daughter, to see that His love is vulnerable too – there are no guarantees that it will be returned to Him. (And nor does He demand it.)

And in His pain, He does not cease to love, because He is love and He will continue to offer out His hand, vulnerable, and ask you to take it. 

Yourself.
 

And then to others.

 Vulnerable love.  Love that costs. 


'I want to know Christ – yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings' 
- Philippians 3:10