When fear has a hold of me

My eyes are heavy again today.  Last night was rough, for no other reason than the simple fact Bo's sleep alarm went off 5 different times. That alarm, which pierces the drums of your ears, is capable of also being a dagger that pierces your heart.  Each time the alarm was set off, I woke up from a dead slumber, confused and terrified. "NO!  Not again, not this time" my mind screamed.  Bo ended up sleeping next to me in his bassinet and with each alarm sound, my arm darting out and reaching quickly for his chest. Up.  Down.   He was breathing every time, however, just a lot lighter. 

Sigh. I roll over.

False alarm.  But not a false fear.

Wow, it all comes back.

The images. 
The thoughts. 
The day. 
The pain. 

And the fear.

And knowing how divine the timing was last time I found Bo, I don't hesitate to rush to his aide.  But  this instance with the unfriendly accompaniment of a searing pain. 

The "what if" pain.

The questions begin and my heart is still racing.  Thanks, Jesus, he's okay.  But I'm tired and as I my hand rests on my little Boaz Graham's chest I see again what I saw nearly two weeks ago....

And I discern the fear that wishes to entrap me is near.  It's prowling and I hear its roars.  It circles my mind and tries to take residence in my heart.  I can feel the seeds of fear trying to plant themselves in my DNA of my soul.   Trying to find a place that it can nurture and grow. A heart that has recently experienced such searing pain and a mind that has seen life gone seems to be a fertile place for those horrors to germinate.  A heart that still is tenderly enduring the fact the love of my life, my high school sweetheart, has cancer. 

 

I hear its sneers, "Go ahead and rest.  See what happens when you aren't looking".

 Out of sheer exhaustion, I am able to fall back asleep every time. And this morning, Galen asks me how I slept.

 

"Not well."  Reaching for the medicine cabinet.  My head is throbbing.  It's a "lack of sleep" headache.  I have had one too many of those lately.   Galen reaches around, not saying anything more, and just hugs me. 

He knows. 

We make it to church this morning, but not after the usual running around, eating breakfast on the way, putting deodorant on IN the van, yelling at each other for not being prepared, stressed about this next week, wondering when we'll have time for this and for that. And we drop the boys off to their respective places of care and walk into our space of worship.  Got our seats, put down our Bibles and the leaders come out full force this morning with their worship playlist.

They came ready to usher in God's presence. A God who is ready to battle my fears.

It's a tune I quickly recognize and time evaporates and my soul quiets. My eyes fill with salted water.  I feel the room darken, yet my burden lighten and I am swept away to a restful place.

"Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name"

I can't even utter the words without streams of tears flowing from my eyes.  

"The sun comes up, it's a new day dawning
It's time to sing Your song again
Whatever may pass, and whatever lies before me
Let me be singing when the evening comes"

 I raise my hands in agreement.  It's a new day, God, give me the peace to sing your song again.

"You're rich in love, and You're slow to anger
Your name is great, and Your heart is kind
For all Your goodness I will keep on singing
Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find"

As the song plays on, and I sing from memory,  I think about the time when we lost our first baby to a miscarriage.  And I remember being unexpectedly pregnant with Benaiah a year later. I recall being so afraid that my fear stole my joy and took the breath out of me.  Fear had me contained in a corner.  I refused to exude joy for the fear of experiencing that painful loss, again.  Out of desperation, I told God He could have me, but all I could give Him was my clinched fists.  That's all I had to offer.  I was angry.  I was hurt.  My heart was so sensitive to pain. I didn't want to face my fear, but as life was already growing in me, I had to.  And I as I gave God what I had, I felt Him say, "okay, I can work with this".

And I smile.  Because as vividly as I remember that day of surrender, I also recall the day Benaiah was born and I cried.  I wept.  Restoration had come to my heart.   It was closure for me.  It was peace.

That was a day my faith grew and it is a day that I bank on to get through the high waters of today.  The waves called cancer and uncertainty.

Fear is meant to rob you.  To steal your joy.  And I ponder how many times have I given fear the opportunity to do it?  To take my joy? How many times do I continue to feed my fears?  How many times do I continue to walk down the what if road?  How often I choose to sit and dine with thoughts that include losing my husband all too soon?  As long as I continue to feed my fears, they will always remain in my life.

I remember John 10:10, a verse that has been so readily on my mind this year, " The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." And as long as your fear keeps you paralyzed, it doesn't have to make your greatest trepidation come true.  And that's the purpose of fear.  To make you believe that life cannot be better.  To rob you of peace.  To constantly cause you to worry.   To never let you rest.  To try and back you in a corner and make you surrender your joy.  To suffocate you and to take your life. 

All these thoughts come to the forefront of my mind at the same moment these emotions are pouring over my lips and I can barely sing the words of this song.  I am so overcome with emotion and truth.  I felt I was literally crying out my fears before God. Not in a verbal way, but in a spiritual sense that only God can understand. And in the midst of worshipping, God steadied my heart. I felt the reinforcements in my heart go up.

"And I have come to give you life to the full"... And at this moment, I feel full.  I didn't ask for it.  But I am engulfed in it.  And it's no longer the fear that is taking me hostage, but it is the peace that is choking out my fear, my worries, and my anxieties.  Yes, my fear is depleting in the presence of my Almighty God and I feel tranquility.  Peace.  I can breathe.  I can feel the thief return my joy to me.  This stillness is forcing my fears to relinquish it's hold on me.  I can feel God plucking those seeds of terror right out of my heart.

My burden is lifting.

And I feel free.  

And I am reminded my Jesus is absolutely worth trusting.

And in the presence of Jesus, my fears don't stand a chance.

 

Amen.

 

I quit.

It's cumbersome sometimes.  It's 10:57 at night and I'm beyond exhausted.  It's been a tough week.  And as I go to lay my head down, my head races and my heart is heavy.  It's become my all to familiar cue that my soul needs to wrestle. And so here I am, battling my mind and wrestling with my spirit.

 If you have talked to me in the last week, you've probably heard me say the words, "I quit.  I quit .....2014."  And it's mostly said in jest, but there's more truth behind those words that I'd like to admit.

 

I have not been this drained emotionally in a long time. Really if ever.  As I relive last Tuesday in my mind by re-telling the story and having my own flashbacks, I have become keenly aware of so many things.  When I found Bo as I did, I just reacted.  I didn't know I had seconds, SECONDS, to save him.  I just gave him CPR and called 911.  How I thank God for giving me the clarity of mind to use the knowledge I had already learned. It wasn't until we were in the ER and the doctors and nurses left, the lights were dimmed and Bo was already hooked up to a monitor, that I just knelt over his little 15 pound body and I sobbed.  I kissed my boy and I wept with bitter emotion and yet with a thankful heart.  I have only cried like that 3 other times in my life.  In every instance, it was always about my kids.

 

The other day, I was talking to a friend and she asked, "What was it that you asked God to make you this year?"  "A woman of faith and prayer"  I uttered. almost regretfully.

 

That request seems to haunt me now.

 

It makes me wonder the day I verbalized that earnest prayer, that deep desire, what did the heavenlies look like?  My mind is spinning.  Not that God caused all these events to happen in my life, but He certainly allowed them to come.  Was He just waiting for me to say those requests?  Whatever was unleashed the day I apparently gave permission for God to build my faith and cause me to be more on my knees and flat on my face than ever before in prayer. Did God issue an edict "Angels, it's operation woman of prayer and faith! Go!"  I mean really?

 

My baby came prematurely.
Our vehicle totaled by snapping a telephone pole in half. 
My husband has cancer.
My baby almost died.

I'm tired.

And I'm weary.
And it's only June. 

Every part of me gives up.  God I didn't really mean it.  I was just kidding. White flag is waving. I surrender.  It's too personal, Jesus.  Just, I'm done.   I can't do it.  I don't wanna keep going. I don't have it in me.  God, don't make me a woman of prayer.  God, make me a woman of comfort, and a woman who doesn't have problems.  That sounds easier right now.

And just as I have typed those words, I hear the whispers of God on my heart, "So, Kelli, let me carry you now".  And I think about how we came home late Wednesday night from the hospital and it was time to put our little Boaz to bed.  We laid him in his bassinet and I wept.  This is the place I saw my son lifeless.  This is the place I saw what I cannot unsee. 

 

And so Galen and I prayed.  "Lord, you are the Prince of Peace and we pray believing you want us to live in peace and not have an ungodly fear; we pray that you would restore that peace to our home.  You are not a god of chaos, but a God of order.  We ask that you come into our home, ridding it of all fear.  Lord we take our thoughts captive, we confine our fears and we submit them to you and Lord and we choose to make them obedient to Your will. "

 

I remember this prayer and my faith is strengthened and my spirit is resolved.  I was able to sleep in perfect peace that night and every night since.

My God is not a genie.  He is so much bigger than that.  He doesn't promise we won't have hardships.  He doesn't promise to change our circumstances. But He promises never to leave us, nor forsake us. He says when we are weary and burdened, he will give us rest.  He promises to make beautiful things out of our ashes. I need those guarantees.  And I have seen God, over and over and over again, make good on these promises.

This year, I have walked through what I consider to be the valley of the shadow of death. I have faced some of my greatest fears. It is dark, it is scary, and it's unpredictable. And I'm not even sure that it's over, but...

He carries me.  Jesus, it is He who sustains me.  He holds me.  He comforts me.  He is my Rock.  He is my Peace.  He is my firm foundation when the waves come crashing down. And they have and they still are.  But He is everything to me.   And Jesus, absolutely, 100% is worth believing and trusting in. And I won't stop now.

And my spirit is choosing to proclaim and request again what I did earlier this year, battle scars and all, eyes filled to the brim with tears, Lord, make me a woman of faith and make me a woman of prayer.   I just want my life to bring you honor, God. 

Can I really say God is good?

I've got a good husband.  After Bo and I arrived at the hospital and we got settled, he brought the computer for me.  He said after today he thought I may need to write and to process my thoughts.  He was right.  He knows me well.

 

Today was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. And words CAN describe how horrifying it was.

 

But I don't even know how to reason or really what to say about what happened.  Hundreds of emotions are engulfing me and only being silenced as I watch my son's chest carefully rise and fall. I'm sitting here in a hospital bed, my face resting on his crib rails,  looking at my infant son who is hooked up to all sorts of monitors. Checking to make sure he doesn't miss his next breath.

 

And I feel numb.  And it feels surreal.  How did I get here?

 

And I don't just mean physically, I mean emotionally.

 

May 5th I went back to school.  I had always planned on going back so I could work at least 120 days and then get another year of experience.  A month with two kids under two while managing my husband's new cancer diagnosis was going to be challenging, but I determined, not impossible.

 

Well, it was tough, but I continued to press on thinking just about having a restful, uneventful and relaxing summer. It's *almost* funny to say that out loud now. Honestly, while at school I felt I was going from one hour to the next. Nothing went wrong, and school was fine, it was just an adjustment.  I just needed to get done with school so I could find my rhythm again.  I needed to "uncomplicate" my life so I could find time to do devotions again.  If I could just make it to summer break, then life could have some harmonious tunes yet again.

 

And two weeks after school is out and I'm still waiting for life to slow down.  And I just want life to get back to normal.  But really?  What is normal for me?  This year, 2014, has been all but typical.

 

Premature baby.

Totaled vehicle.

Cancer diagnosis.

 

I know I put Bo down for his nap and when I came in to check on him, he turned his face downward.  But other than that I don't know how to reason what happened.  I spent most of the day today, just crying.  I teared up as he began to breathe again in those critical moments.  I cried as the EMT's arrived at my house and I sobbed while we waited in the emergency room.  My puffy eyes are proof of the torment and RELIEF  my soul went through yesterday.  But after all these tears, I just don't know how to put into words any sort of reasoning.

 

It's hard for me to say tonight at this moment that God is good.  And it's not because He's not. 

 

I feel like I cheapen God when I say it.

 

He spared my son's life, He guided me to Bo's room at just the right time, He helped me breathe a breath of life into my son's seemingly lifeless body.  And for that I have a gratitude so deep.    But in the meantime, my insides were paralyzed with a fear that only a parent can feel.  As I found Bo, blue, limp and his eyes were glazed over, I felt my heart come outside of my body and dissolve in front of me.  I screamed, "no, no, no, no, no, Lord Jesus, please, no! If you didn't take him in our car accident, why would you take him now?!"

 

And I know my God is good.  But I can't make sense of any of this.  Saying it feels that my belief in His goodness is contingent on my son living.    I also feel it does a great deal of hurt to those who I know who have lost children.  For those few moments of pain I felt when Bo didn't breathe, I can only imagine the immense and intense pain these parents felt days, weeks, months and years after the death of their child.  What about the kids who haven't been spared? Is God still good then?  It's unfair for me to answer that question.  And so I won't. Maybe it makes me seem less "Christian" to even ask.

 

And quite frankly, maybe that's not what He's asking me to do or say right now. More than anything this reminds how close to Jesus I need to be.  I need Him when life is good. And I need Him when life hits me.  And this year, life has taken a few heavy swings at my family. What a terrible reminder that I need to be in the Word daily.  I need to be in prayer daily.   Maybe right now all I need to say is thank you Lord.  I don't understand why You spared my son, why You nudged me to check on him, but I am so thankful to You did.  My words fail me.  There are no words good enough to express my gratitude, Lord, and so I can only shed tears of thankfulness and forever be grateful.