Fear Is A Bastard

I go to church, in part, to be reminded not to be an apathetic jerk. Sure, the singing and praising God is nice and all, but my default mode falls toward the self-centered mark. I need a little Jesus in my week to pull me back toward a love of humanity, to get me out of my head, to give me (divine) perspective.

I leave each Sunday’s service with a little to-go nugget of knowledge. Sometimes, I walk around relatively clueless about why a certain thought keeps popping into my head when I am trying to do important things, like convince my kid that shoes are, in fact, a necessity in the grocery store. Other times, I know damn well what I am supposed to be changing, pondering, doing—but that doesn’t make the doing any easier. Because, let’s face it, we aren’t often called (by God, by the Universe, by our Higher Self… whatever) to easy tasks.

Just in case you didn’t make it to your spiritual refuge this weekend, I will share the insights offered up at my church. Because I’m a giver.

Fear causes us to live small lives, to squander what we’ve been given. Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes. Fear is what causes us to run up to the edge of the diving board and stop short, toes curled around the edge of the board, feeling the pull toward the water but hesitating nonetheless. Fear causes us to turn around slowly and make our way back the way we came, onto the safety of dry ground. Fear pushes us away from joyful bounding into cool water, keeps us from knowing the thrill of a successful leap. Fear is a bastard that robs us of joy, that shuts out love, that keeps us small and contained.

I am a mess when I let fear pick at my wounds until they bleed. Fear shuts me down, sends my brain into a cycle of doom that just won’t quit. Fear drove me to seek solace in an ice cold beer, a shot of whisky, anything to keep me from facing my own vulnerability. I drank because I feared rejection, love, connection and distance.

Fear wore out its welcome after a while. So, I took back the reigns of my life and got sober. I followed my path toward recovery. And that first year, I made real progress. And then, sometime during year two, the anxiety that I’d kept at bay with alcohol for all those years came crashing down around me. The roar of my own fear was deafening. My fear quickly robbed me of my ability to go outside the house without crippling anxiety (which, oddly, always manifested itself in a need to pee. No joke. We couldn’t be out for more than 15 minutes before we’d have to find a bathroom. Which made me feel much less anxiety ridden—for about the next 15 minutes).

Everybody gets scared. There’s no shame in that. But allowing fear to control our decisions, our actions, allowing fear to box us in, to murder our dreams, to suffocate love… that simply can’t be tolerated.

So we move forward… in faith and in love.

God expects us to live with big love, love that will take risks to change the world. 12-step programs encourage newcomers to choose a conception of God that works for them, that they understand. I am down with that. The God I grew up with was pretty angry most of the time. He looked for reasons to smite people, to take away what they held most dear as punishment for misbehavior or simply to exercise His Godly Will. Scary and not particularly trustworthy.

I understand God really differently now. God believes the best in us, because we were created in His image. The image of God resides in ME. In YOU. And God is love. Vibrant, crazy, radical love. That kind of love holds no space for fear. That love spurs us to do the impossible, to dream big, to take risks so that LOVE CAN WIN. And it can. But we have to do the work. We have to turn our backs on fear. We have to choose love.

Sometimes choosing love looks really big, like fostering a child or doggedly fighting inequality. But sometimes choosing love is marked by small yet significant acts. At the peak of my anxiety, I chose love instead of fear each time I fought back my anxiety and left the house (always with a mental map of the closest bathroom). I sent fear scurrying a little further into the shadows each time I said yes to a request to teach, to serve, to give of myself—even though fear and panic gripped me (and I made about 25 trips to the closest bathroom) until the actual moment I started engaging with others. And then love took over, relegated fear to a corner and took center stage. Love gave me faith that fear wouldn’t always hold such sway in my world. Love kept me going, reminded me that fear could not stop me—unless I let it.

Love is greater than fear. In our lives. In the world around us. Love beckons us to take that flying leap off of the diving board, to soar through the air, to taste the deliciousness of the moment. Love calls us back to life—strong, vibrant and soulful.

Published by Kendra Lee

I am smitten with Atlanta. I believe Black Lives Matter. I care deeply about housing justice, education, and transportation. I am a huge MARTA fan. I've got the most adorable second grader, an incorrigible Boxer named Delilah, and a pretty amazing husband named Simon. I've been sober for 9+ years. I heart coffee. On any given day I may write about all--or none--of those things.

3 thoughts on “Fear Is A Bastard

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