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How to Let Go of the Fear?

It’s been over a week since I called 911 to report my children missing. Previous What If? blog shows the ending.

My kids quickly put the river rafting trip behind them. Not I. Here’s the rest of the story….

How can I explain, without sounding neurotic, how my stomach tightened into a knot after I dropped them off at the river that day? Or the second-guessing panic that drove me to the regional park, hoping to watch my children float by in their raft.

While I waited in the empty parking lot, a young couple sat in the shade, watching their son ride his bike. Safety helmet on his head, training wheels removed from his bike for the first time. It was a milestone in his life.

I applauded his success and told the parents. “Wait till your son is driving a car!”

Glanced at my watch, remembering the last words to my teenage son.

“Keep your life vest on!”

A mom’s measly attempt to control a favorable outcome.

BUT I’M NOT IN CONTROL. My teenage son is past the age I can sit in the shade, watching his every move.

And I don’t know how to let go…of the fear.

Waiting dredged up morbid thoughts. I returned to my campsite and lounged by the lake. Whenever a fearful thought popped into my head…BAM! I hammered it down like those alligator heads in an arcade game.

And then I prayed. Captured the fearful what ifs creeping up my neck, each nagging thought, my lack of control, and “cast all my anxiety on Him because He cares for me.” (1Peter 5:7)

You know it all, Father. You’re the sovereign God.  You love my children, and you know “the days that were ordained for them, when as yet there was not one of them.” (Psalm 139:16)

“You will not fail them nor forsake them.” (Deuteronomy 31:6) No matter what happens. I choose to trust you even in this.

Hawks circled overhead, weeds rustled in the warm breeze. The knot in my gut loosened as my “mind dwelled on whatever is excellent and praiseworthy.” (Philippians 4:8)

For three hours, I “sat in the shadow of the Almighty.” (Psalm 91:1)

Not knowing I’d dial 911 before the sun set.

But by then, my prayers, and God’s promises, had prepared my heart.

Like the boy who rode his bike without training wheels, I was confident and better able to let go of the fear.

And carry on……..

Because I knew I was not alone.

And neither were they.

What if?

“What color bathing suit was your son wearing?”

 The Sheriff’s voice on the other end of my cell phone is calm, matter of fact. He can’t see my wrinkled brow as I struggle to recall the photo I’d taken of my son four hours earlier.

He was standing ankle deep in the river wearing a red life vest and…

“Black knee-length swim trunks.”

“How much does he weigh?”

Am I really having this conversation? I’ve never dialed 911 to report a missing person, or in this case, persons. My teenage son went river rafting with my grown daughter and her boyfriend.

And now I’m standing on a tall embankment, with my husband, staring down at the river’s swift current. Thankfully, the water is shallow, but the boulders on the riverbed would have slowed their progress; made the trip challenging.

What if the raft deflated? What if someone’s injured? What if they’re stranded on a riverbank?

“I wouldn’t bother you Sheriff, but they should have been here an hour ago. And the sun is setting!”

My voice is steady, but there are high-pitched voices in my head: What if they got separated from each other? What if their raft was carried further down river?

Warm skin tingles as dusk settles over the mountains, ushering in a cool breeze. What if they have to spend the night outdoors?

“Stay by your phone,” he says. “I’m calling search and rescue.”

His words conjure horrific news reports. I tell myself, Don’t go there!

My husband and I drive a short distance along a gravel road that parallels the river. We stop, searching the horizon for signs of life.

Within minutes, my heart jumps. “A beige raft!”

“How many people?”

“I only see two.”

I wave my arms like sheets in the wind until my daughter waves back with her paddle.

“Three, I see three people!”

 My husband hurries down the dirt path to the river’s edge while I notify the Sheriff. “We found them!”

Three exhausted, dripping wet, shivering bodies walk into my eager embrace. They reassure us, “We weren’t in danger.” But relief is written on their somber faces.

A half hour later, back at camp, night is dark as coal. Tears stream down my cheeks as I praise God for protecting our children, and sparing us from the multitude of what ifs that could have happened. But didn’t.

  “Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22, 23)

Thoughts Gone Wild

Early morning. Hit the pavement. Walking fast. Blue skies overhead, but I only notice the black asphalt beneath my feet.

Forty-five minutes gives me time to ponder; allows my mind to wander down dark paths.

Concerns creep into the forefront. First one. Then another. Until my anxious thoughts flow like the Dow Jones ticker tape.

Overwhelmed, I decide to pray. Take those heart concerns to the Lord. Dump them in His capable hands. “Casting all your anxiety upon Him, because He cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:6)

No sooner do I pray for that something…that someone ….when my mind drops anchor into troubled waters. And I camp there.

Instead of casting my cares on Jesus and resting in still waters, my thoughts go wild.

I begin to sink. Can’t solve the problem. Can’t imagine that God will either. Takes my breathe away.

So I come up for air, and pray for the next thing. But that next thing is like stirring up a hornet’s nest. Fears, what if’s, hurts circle in my head like hornets. Dive bomb and sting my thin skin. Until I taste the bitter bile rising in my throat.

Oddly enough, as I walk and fret, Chris Tomlin is praising God on my I pod. I hear the melody and his voice. But I’m not listening to the words. My mind is elsewhere.

Occasionally, a random lyric from different songs infiltrate my conscience. Catches my attention.

Song lyric: “Your grace is enough for me.”

Is it? Then why don’t I receive His grace and stop beating myself up?

Song lyric: “Only you can satisfy..Your strength is a tower the righteous run into.”

Really? Am I allowing God to satisfy my heart? Or searching for something else? Relying on His strength? Or mine?

Song lyric: “Here comes the King, all bow down.“

Am I submitting to God’s authority? Or paying lip service and having my own way?

Too many thoughts. Too much SELF standing between me and Jesus.

So I claim 2 Corinthians 10:5, “…Taking every thought captive to the obedience of Christ.”

Takes intentional will power, but I capture the thoughts and leave them at the Cross of Jesus.

As I’m walking up the driveway, I finally notice the blue skies. And Chris Tomlin’s lyrics in the next song shrinks all my troubles in view of….

How Great is our God

What is your favorite praise song?

More like a Sheep Dog

Black and white Border Collie stands at attention, wagging his long-haired tail. He leans forward, aching to round up the flock of sheep. Master herdsman gently says, “Stay.”

Collie sits back on his haunches. Panting, his pink tongue hangs from his mouth, saliva dripping on the hot dusty ground. He is not happy about the command to wait, but he’s obedient. He’s a sheep dog.

Master whistles. Collie lunges towards the sheep, circles behind them, cuts off the sheep that went astray. Without growling, Collie steers the sheep towards the corral.

“Hold,” says the Master, but Collie presses them forward. Another whistle followed by the words, “Listen, listen, now hold!”

Collie crouches behind the sheep. He seems to be cowering. But he’s giving them “the eye.” Staring at the sheep, he tries to intimidate them into doing what he wants. Stay until the Master opens the gate.

“Reminds me of mom’s eyes.” my son remarks.

I laugh. “Yes, moms are famous for using the eye to make our kids obey.”

People at the County Fairgrounds clap when the Sheep Dog demonstration is over, but I’m deep in thought.

“We are His people, and the sheep of His pasture.” (Psalm 100:3).

Bible verses compare me to a sheep: those food-oriented creatures that congregate in groups, following the herd mentality, and easily stressed. Okay, I can see similarities. Like them, I cling to the good Shepherd and trust him for my welfare. But after today….

I’d rather be like a sheep dog.

I’d live to please my Master. Watch Him. Listen for His voice. Obey His commands.

 If I were more like a sheep dog, I could run, run, run and not get tired.

Then I could “run with endurance the race that is set before me, fixing my eyes on Jesus.” (Heb. 12:1)

If I were more like a sheep dog, I’d need a job to be entertained.

I can relate. Agenda-oriented is my middle name. Show me Lord, how to follow

“the God of peace, who brought up from the dead the great Shepherd of the sheep …even Jesus our Lord, to equip me in every good thing to do His will, working in me that which is pleasing in His sight…” (Hebrews 13:20)

If I were more like a sheep dog, I’d hear these words,

“Well done, good and faithful servant! …Come and share your Master’s happiness!”(Matthew 25:21).

Share the Harvest

Waking, I kick off the heavy bed sheets. Husband asks, “Are you going to walk before it gets too hot?”

A breeze from the ceiling fan caresses my face. I’d rather NOT walk: too tired, too lazy, too much to do….

Lame excuses. Until four days ago, I exercised most every day this summer and reaped the physical benefits. Can’t forsake this habit now! 

My stiff body groans as I hobble from the bed. But my mind is determined which leads to the first step out the door.

Summer heat smacks me in the face. I glance at my watch: 7:30 a.m. With each sluggish step, my legs protest, but soon I’m in a rhythm. Never mind the sweat.

 A deer crosses the road with her speckled fawn. She pauses to study me. Realizing I’m not a threat, she nuzzles the fawn’s ear and grazes on the brown field grass.

Further on my walk, a neighbor greets me. We’ve never met though I’ve passed his home a hundred times. His hands are full of round, lemon yellow cucumbers. “Would you like some fresh vegetables? We’re leaving town.”

I return home, arms laden with the ripe harvest from someone else’s labor. “Look at the bounty I would have missed if I’d stayed in bed,” I tell my husband. “I wonder if they’re Christians.”

How often have I walked this road? How many neighbors have I met? How do I interact with the ones I know?

Breakfast is sliced cucumbers. Dinner will include round green squash. Perhaps I should bake Squash bread for our new neighbor.

I flip through squash recipes, but my mind lingers on the choices I make first thing each day. Walk? Read my Bible or pray?

The same excuses attempt to derail me, sabotage my day. Some days, excuses win. I lose.

But on those mornings I give God the first fruits of my day:I truly win.

I reap a harvest of blessings and bear the fruits of His Spirit. But to what end?

“”Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields,” says Jesus, “that they are white for harvest. Already he who reaps is receiving wages, and is gathering fruit for life eternal; that he who sows and he who reaps may rejoice together” (John 4:35-37).

 The mission fields are ripe. Hoarding the Good News isn’t an option.

Like sharing the harvest of a summer garden, when we share God’s love with others, everybody wins.