I rather think that the giants I see might not be the same ones you see, but they are giants just the same, and I’m afraid that I have run away from the ones I’ve met more than once, instead of standing my ground bravely like I ought to have.

Most people would never guess it, but I am afraid of a lot of things. New things that take me too far out of “comfort zone” might as well be a smoke signal to  Giants 12 feet tall or more to come after me, and while they come in different shapes and forms, they all have the same name. It’s “Fear”.

Fear has kept me from doing things I’ve always wanted to do. He’s kept me from doing things I should have done, and I’ve even done some things that I wish I wouldn’t have just because I saw Fear looking at me and I thought it’d be better to do anything than face him again in a battle.

What I don’t always remember is that Fear is really just a paper giant. He is no stronger than how much I let him control me, and that is the way it is with every giant we meet in life. Giants can’t get their darts through the Shield of Faith or the Helmet of Salvation, and they don’t hold up to “all-prayer” and the Sword of the Spirit. In fact, Trust in God and Faith are two things that they themselves fear, and prayer to God makes even the greatest giants to tremble.  It’s just that with no armor for our backs, it’s a sure victory for the giants when we turn to run.

God’s word gives us battle plans straight from the Greatest General to conquer every giant we might face in this life and Fear in all his different forms is as good as dead if I study the plans and act upon them.  As He promised, “Perfect Love casts out Fear”. And those who keep their minds stayed on Him will have perfect peace, no matter what kind of Fear- or any other Giant- is staring them down.

It can be wearying, fighting of the Giant Fear all the time, but “ they that wait on the LORD shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as eagles. They shall run and not be weary. They shall walk and not faint.” “God is our refuge and strength a very present help in trouble. Therefore shall not we fear though the earth be removed...”

It isn’t a “maybe” or a “might”, it’s all “shall”, and “will”. There’s no uncertainty that there’ll be victory- as long as we trust.

I may indeed be “Much-Afraid” of many things in life. I may have crooked feet that stumble on the mountains sometimes when I try to climb, but “Who is God save our God, and who is a rock, save our Rock? He maketh my feet like hind’s feet, and setteth me upon my high places.”

It’s true. No giant’s too big, no feet too stumbling. Just take His Word for it- the One who has by His death conquered all Fear, and given us the tools for Victory over all the Giants in our lives.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

Such loss includes terminal illness, disability, divorce, rape, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental illness…if normal, natural, reversible loss is like a broken limb, then catastrophic loss is like an amputation. The results are permanent, the impact incalculable, the consequences cumulative. Each new day forces one to face some new and devastating dimension of the loss. It creates a whole new context for one’s life…

I saw a vast darkness closing in on me. I was terrified by that darkness. I wanted to keep running after the sun, though I knew that it was futile. So I lost all hope, collapsed on the ground, and fell into despair. I thought at that moment that I would live in darkness forever. I felt absolute terror in my soul.

Later my sister told me that the quickest way for anyone to reach the sun and the light of day is not to run west, chasing after the setting sun, but to head east, plunging into the darkness until one comes to the sunrise.

I discovered in that moment that I had the power to choose the direction my life would head, even if the only choice open to me, at least initially, was either to run from the loss or face it as best I could. Since I knew that darkness was inevitable and unavoidable, I decided from that point on to walk into the darkness rather than try to outrun it, to let my experience of loss take me on a journey where ever it would lead, and to allow myself to be transformed by my suffering rather than to think I could somehow avoid it. I chose to turn toward the pain, however falteringly, and to yield to the loss, though I had no idea at the time what that would mean.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

But I really didn’t care at that point. I just wanted to be at home where my sweet mother was already waiting with our dinner for that night and the tea kettle on the boil. The memory of the next day is rather blurred with pain medication, but somehow or other my husband single-handedly got us packed and ready to go to the beach for a week. (God bless him!) Thus commenced an idyllic (albeit unusual) vacation by the sea, with nothing to do but read and write in my journal and keep my foot up. It was easy to be cheerful (most of the time) with my extended family waiting on me hand and foot and precious nieces and nephews frolicking about and the absolute absence of responsibility. It was easy to laugh when we went to a dinner dance on a neighboring island one night and all I could do was sway in my husband’s arms balancing precariously on one strappy silver sandal. Or when he took me out on the beach in my sister-in-law’s baby stroller. (One woman who passed our ambling procession remarked, “That’s the third one I’ve seen today!” I wheeled around with a look of incredulity and said to Philip, “Surely she means casts!” For my leg was encased in fiberglass. “I’m positive that she’s never seen anything like this!”)

But all vacations must come to an end, and last Monday found me propped up on the sofa at home with a mountain of laundry tormenting my mind and a houseful of disgruntled pets and my sweet husband kissing me goodbye, saying, “Now, honey, I’ll be back before you know it—don’t move, okay? Just rest…” He’s got to be kidding. I’m going to go mad…

I have been so incredibly blessed—my mother has been here almost every day; dear friends have brought me meals and flowers; kind phone calls have urged me to ‘enjoy’ my forced retirement. Philip has outdone even his own dear, wonderful self in his patience and forbearance. He has gone smiling on all manner or ridiculous household errands, he’s deadheaded my flowers and watered my plants and taken full charge of our menagerie. He even finished spraying those dumb trees. He’s been a saint. And I’ve been…something else.

In everything we go through there’s an opportunity to learn something about ourselves. Some hidden strength or gifting; some deep reservoir of faith; some embarrassing deficiency. I’ve discovered what a brat I am. I don’t like being helpless. I don’t like having to ask someone for every little thing. I don’t like having my plans upset, even temporarily. I like being capable and efficient and getting things done. I love rest and refreshment, too—but I want them on my terms. And so, in this light and momentary affliction, I’ve been an impatient patient.

When I was telling Natalie about my injury she was all sweet sympathy, promising me her prayers. But when I confessed my rotten attitude, she was adorably candid. “Hmmm—I think I’ll be praying for Philip!” Just the other day my husband playfully acknowledged my sullenness by saying, “I think you need to call Natalie and have her pray for me!”

One of the graces of our Christian life is serving other people. Being the hands and feet of Jesus to those in need. Bearing a cup of cold water in His name, be it literal or figurative. There have been needs in the lives of those around me that I’ve felt both a compunction and a capacity to meet. God’s grace is always abundant in such cases, and I’ve often found myself as refreshed as (if not more than!) the recipient—simply because the power at work in such moments of grace is above and beyond both of us. It is God that works in us, both to will and to do of His good pleasure.

But there is another grace; a grace I’m largely unacquainted with in my bustling, capable little life. It’s the grace of being served; of being on the receiving end of this divine courtesy. Of allowing God to meet my needs through those whom He stirs into action; giving Him the chance to work in the lives of others the way He’s worked in mine when He has given me a task of service in the Body. Lying passive as those who love me assume my cherished responsibilities. I had absolutely no idea how much grace it would require to sit here on the sofa and read for days on end!

I believe that these two graces are intended to offset one another with great beauty in God’s ideal. That the giving and the receiving alike are to be done with humble hearts and graceful accord, like the harmony between wind and sail, or the action of a breeze upon the willing strings of an Aeolian harp.

Sheldon Vanauken, in his gorgeous masterpiece, A Severe Mercy, characterized true kindness as being willing to ask and receive as well as perceive and do.

“We, in fact, defined courtesy as ‘a cup of water in the night’. And we considered it a very great courtesy to ask for the cup as well as to fetch it.”

Being weakened—even by something as transient and annoying as a sprained ankle—can remind us as few things can how utterly needy we are before God and how much we depend upon His help for our very existence. I’m having to ask Him many times each day to help me behave like a Christian—like Christ—as I’m stuck here brooding over all the things I want to do but can’t. I’ve had to ask His forgiveness—and Philip’s—more times in the last three weeks than probably the last three months before. But, like Christ, Philip loves me and forgives me, and he brings me that cup of tea I just griped over. And Christ Himself, the very being of love and courtesy and mercy wipes the slate clean and helps me start again.

If you think of it, pray for me in the next couple of weeks, that I’d let God have His way in this little trial of mine. And while you’re at it, you might want to pray for Philip, too.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

I have sat in the House of Representatives and watched, when a bill came up for vote, as legislators walked off the floor rather than vote yes or no. Taking a stand is rarely easy. You have to identify yourself with a particular stance, there is no waffling. And you will probably offend or upset someone who doesn’t agree with you. But this country needs people who will have a little backbone. People who will take a stand for something—anything!—instead of just sitting in their easy chairs, or slipping out of the legislative chamber without saying “aye” or “nay.”

Usually there is someone else who will stand when you do. But other times, you have to stand alone—completely alone. I have a friend who joined the military at 19 years of age. He called me the first day he had leave to use a pay phone. He told me how for weeks on end, his fellow soldiers had been talking about going to a strip club the first day they had leave. They really wanted my friend to go, but he said, “No.” They told him, “You don’t smoke, you don’t drink, you’ve gotta come.” He said, “No.” They said, “Your mom won’t find out.” He said, “That doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go!”

Joshua Harris once said, “This country will not survive another generation of Christians who fit in.” We will not learn to stand alone by following the crowd; we will learn to stand alone by saying no.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.

©2010 Young Ladies Christian Fellowship. All Rights Reserved.