Fear: Advent Day 16

Psalm 23:4

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff—
they comfort me.

I wasn’t walking through the darkest valley. I was driving on the darkest road. By myself. On Highway 1, the Overseas Highway (?!?!) from Key Largo to Homestead.

Now, you have to know this about me. I am irrationally afraid of water. Some days, just driving along the Upper Iowa River on my way to Canoe Ridge makes me queasy.

Indeed, just looking at the map of the Florida Keys makes me sick to my stomach.  Too much water. Too little land.

But when my travel partner came down with a stomach bug on the day we were to go to the Keys, I had to either drive myself or not go at all.

So I went.

And I did well. I saw the Keys. Or, at least enough to satisfy my curiosity. I made it past Tavernier and decided not to push my luck. I turned around.

And I should have headed home. In the daylight.

But nothing can compare to a Key Largo sunset, right? Was I really going to let fear keep me from experiencing such a glorious sight?

No.

So I sat at my outdoor table for one, ate Key Lime pie, and watched as the sun painted the sky–each stroke of the brush more stunning than the one before.

And then I nearly died.

Not really. But it felt like it. Dear God, it felt like it. Once it was completely dark, everything changed for me. I knew the water was there, on either side of that incredibly narrow road, but I couldn’t see it. And somehow, not being able to see it made it 10 times as frightening.

I could drive into that water at any moment and not even know it. No. That’s not how it works. But that’s what my brain kept telling me. That’s what fear kept whispering in my ear.

What does fear whisper in your ear?

All I could think to do, suffocating under the relentless press of that pervasive fear, was pray.

I don’t remember the exact words I prayed. But I know that I timed them with my breathing. The prayers helped me breathe. Breathing is a good thing! Imagine that!

It seems to me it was something like this: I am safe (inhale). You are with me (exhale). I said it out loud. Like a chant. Over and over and over and over. Until the water receded and I was back on solid ground.

I don’t want to give fear a voice by naming here ALL THE THINGS that cause me to fear at any given moment, but the list is long. And some things aren’t even all that irrational. Some things are reasonable. Some things might actually happen. Some things did happen.

And fear uses those terrible things that happened to manipulate me into worrying that they might just happen again.

Fear speaks truth. (Often lies. Often exaggerates. But does at times speak truth). The things I worry about might happen. Yes, they might.

But even if they did, I would never be separated from the love of God in Christ Jesus, the one whose duty and delight is shepherding us through fear to peace, through sorrow to joy, through death to life.

Even if the worst happened, the prayer I prayed on that Overseas Highway would be no less true. I am safe. You are with me.

Come, Lord Jesus, come. Silence our fears. Comfort us with your presence. Amen.