peace

Why We Need Kindness Right Now

Why We Need Kindness Right Now
photo by Priscilla Du Preez

 

Sometimes as I think about this strange season we’re in, and how much longer it’s going to be I wonder how we will get through (honestly, it’s good they’re doing this in stages. We need to be eased into the reality of it). What I keep coming back to is this: we need a lot more kindness.

Why We Need Kindness

We need to be kind to ourselves, and we need to be kind to others. In stores, online, in zoom calls and on the streets (from a safe social distance, of course). Our world needs more kindness if we’re going to get through this well.

We need kindness because we’ve never done this before. And when we do something for the first time, we don’t know what we’re doing. Which means we’ll feel lost and uncomfortable and incompetent. And the last thing we need right then is to put unrealistic expectations on ourselves to know what to do and be able to keep going just as we did before. No, we need someone to be kind to us. We need someone to be patient while we learn this new season.

We need kindness because this is scary. And when things are scary we get anxious. That’s normal. Some of us are more anxious than others for a lot of really good reasons-our health is poor, or our parents are old, or we have to work in hospitals. Whatever the reason, whether it makes sense to us or not, it’s understandable. When someone is scared, it doesn’t help to tell them not to be scared. They need empathy. They need someone to listen to their fears and tell them we’re with them.

We need kindness because it’s just too much sometimes. And when it’s too much it’s not because we’re weak or we did it wrong or we stink at this. It’s too much because we weren’t made to live this way. Adrenaline is only supposed to last us so long-just enough to get away from the danger. We can’t get away from this danger. When we hit the wall (and we will) we need to be kind to ourselves about it.

We need kindness because this isn’t normal. But this is the only normal that we’re going to get for a long time, and that’s hard. Learning to live with that is discombobulating, which is a fantastic word but something none of us like to feel. We’re living with little “t” trauma all the time. A lot of us feel disregulated. Kindness helps get us back to a healthy place.

We need kindness because we’re sad. The big, obvious losses we’re incurring are easy to note, but we tend to ignore the little ones. We did a zoom call the other night with old friends from overseas, and while it was a delight, the fact that they are here in my city and I can’t see them grieved me. Those little losses are like pinhole pricks in the bucket of our life; after a while, we’re drained and we don’t know why. Kindness acknowledges the holes and says, “no wonder you’re sad.”

And all of this makes us really tired in a way that surprises us a lot. Why are we so tired? Because of all the things. Because of unexpected homeschooling, and ridiculous amounts of pivoting, coupled with less positive relational connection than even the most introverted among us need. We need to be kind to ourselves when we’re tired. Of course we’re tired.

Kindness for the Journey

So we carry all of that on us, often without realizing it. And that’s a heavy load, especially to carry for a long time. Extending kindness is like someone coming alongside us to acknowledge the impossible weight, lift the pack off, and give us permission to rest. Yes, we need to keep walking, but we need to give ourselves and others the space to sit in that grace from time to time.

Maybe you’re taking this all in stride. Maybe you’ve moved through the grief and confusion and you’re in a place of acceptance. That’s good. But others are still struggling. Or will be struggling (including those of us who are doing well today-it might hit us again tomorrow). We need kindness because even though we’re all in this together, we’re not. Each of us is experiencing it differently, for a million reasons. And when someone else hits the wall in a way we don’t understand, they need kindness. Kindness gives everyone the space to be on their own journey in responding to this.

I hope we give it to them. Because kindness grows kindness. And when we are in a practice of extending kindness to ourselves in difficult seasons, then it’s our natural response to extend it to others.

As hard as this season is, that’s my hope-that this could be a time when we grow kindness like wildflowers. May this be a time when our ability to look each other in the eyes and simply see “beloved of God” before us grows exponentially. Kindness will help us get through it.

 

Related posts:

We Need to Stop Hitting Ourselves

Grace Will Take Us Where Hustling Can’t

It’s Going to Be Okay

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Choosing Slow

Choosing Slow
Photo by Alex Blăjan on Unsplash

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know I like efficiency. (It’s the hallmark trait of an Enneagram 3).

The faster I work, the more I get done. If I get more done, I’m more likely to be seen, recognized, successful, valuable. Or so the logic goes.

And so, I move quickly.

I drive, as I like to say, like I’m trying to lose someone. Not super fast, but fast enough.

Despite never taking a typing class, I type quickly (and with terrible form I imagine, but it gets the job done).

Each week, I speed through my housework like a Tasmanian Devil.

I dare you to keep up with me at the airport. Or anywhere, for that matter. I’m short, but I’m fast.

Grocery shopping. Packing my bags. You name it-I guarantee I am mentally calculating how to get it done as fast as possible.

It’s like I’m playing a game of “whoever does more wins.” Faster feels better. It feels like winning.

I don’t do slow.

Or at least, I historically haven’t. God started me on a journey in the spring of reclaiming space in my life. Turns out it’s more than just doing less. It’s doing less at a slower pace. Living an unhurried life.

I’m learning that having less in my schedule doesn’t necessarily mean my soul is taking life at a slow pace.

As Mark Buchanan says in The Rest of God, we are meant to sabbath, “not just a day, but as an orientation, a way of seeing and knowing.” Slow is not just about time, but it’s an attitude, a way of living.

So lately, I have to ask myself, “What’s wrong with slow, Gina?” What do I gain by all this hurry?

Maybe the better question is: What do I lose?

When I make it my aim to drive as quickly as possible, my body stays in a state of tension. Slow drivers irritate me, my patience wears thin. Other people become nothing more than obstacles. My focus is on my pace, more than anything else around me, including those with me.

When I type quickly, I feel myself ramping up. The, “more is better” lie whispers in my ear.

A day of housework at top speed leaves me exhausted, depleting me of reserves I could have spent elsewhere.

When I race through airports and stores and down the sidewalk, I miss life along the way. I miss the people around me.

And all for a few extra minutes, one more task completed, another email sent.

All this speed makes my soul feel left behind. There’s no space, no rest. Getting more done, getting there sooner, doesn’t guarantee more life, more love, more anything. I’m left impatient, exhausted, and irritated.

For the sake of my soul, I’m choosing slow.

So I’m choosing to drive slower than I could. When someone in front of me is taking their time, I often change my speed to match theirs. There’s a long stretch out to our neighborhood where the speed limit is 55. Recently I found myself barely driving 50 down it. (I used to hate people like me).

I’m slowing my typing too. It’s hard to do-fast habits are hard to break. But there’s a release of tension when I intentionally do slow (bonus: I mistype things less too).

Recently, I flew to Little Rock, Arkansas. When the people in front of me walked like they had all day to get to the gate, I was tempted to swerve around them. Instead, I took a breath and kept walking with them. It was good.

As I make these choices, something unwinds in my soul. Breathing comes easier. I remember I’m not as important as I think I am. I find peace I didn’t know was there.

Now I’m looking for other places where I could do slow. When I feel the temptation to speed, I ask myself what I hope to gain from it. And what I could gain from an unhurried pace instead: patience, gentleness, grace, rest.

Where do you need to be slow?

Related posts:

Learning to Walk (at an Unhurried Pace)

Warning: Don’t Forget to Breathe

To Be Truly Still

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How to Have the Perfect Christmas

How to Have the Perfect Christmas
photo by Ben White

 

One year, I almost ordered 300 Christmas cards from, “The Carter family.”

We are not the Carter family.

Every year, I chase this elusive idea of a perfect Christmas.

In my scenario, all gifts (and I mean all) are purchased by December 15th at the very latest.

One day of baking suffices for all the places and people who require me to give them creatively arranged sugar.

No child ever asks me to help them get a gift for a classmate/outreach/teacher by tomorrow.

All the cards and gifts for friends are doled out early on, leaving plenty of time to simply enjoy the holidays, drink chai latte, and let Alexa play me Christmas carols all day.

I want beautiful family memories, traditions we all love and embrace.

I long for harmonious relationships, the Norman Rockwell family gathered around the fireplace. There is unity, love, and warmth.

But sometimes you almost order cards with someone else’s name on them.

Sometimes you try to make a gingerbread house and it nearly drives you insane.

There are more cookies to make, more gifts to buy, things are out of stock, there are too many parties, and the tree falls over of its own accord (I’m looking at you, tree of 2014).

There’s the awkwardness of unreciprocated gifts and cards, stilted conversations with family members, tiptoeing around the topics we know ruffle feathers.

There is a new empty space at the table.

There are missed flights, disappointed expectations, stressful coordination of schedules and outright painful interactions.

You start to wonder if you could just not participate in Christmas this year.

But there’s still a perfect Christmas to be found.

After all, the first Christmas was an imperfect one, but it still ended well.

I’m sure the Christmas story was not what Mary had planned.

She didn’t want to be an unwed mother, traveling during her last month of pregnancy, forced to give birth in the stench of animals, far from her family.

Joseph never wanted the stigma of his fiancé being pregnant.

He didn’t ask for the hassle of traveling to his hometown.

He wouldn’t have chosen to become a refugee in Egypt to protect his son.

But this is how God orchestrated sending his son to us. And in the end, it was all good, because we got Jesus.

The perfect Christmas is one where we find Jesus.

We do not owe the world a beautifully decorated house or a slew of Christmas gifts.

We can send them a picture that claims we are someone else, and they will still know who we are.

The tree can be lopsided. We can skip parties.

Say no to the strained relationships because they make it too hard to focus on enjoying Jesus.

Go ahead and risk what others will think if you don’t participate in sending Christmas cards or go to another party because your soul needs time to breathe instead.

Step away from the bustle and let him speak to you.

The perfect Christmas is one where we are lost in the wonder of what He has done, and our souls feel their worth.

It’s a Christmas where we search hard for Jesus, and when we find Him, we cling to Him like nothing else matters. Then, in a weary world, we can rejoice.

Let’s chase that with more energy than we chase the outward appearance of it.

So let your Christmas be imperfect to make room for Him.

Leave off one more gift to enjoy His presence.

It’s ok if the ornaments break because He’s still coming.

Step away from what is trying and rest in His peace.

Let yourself soak in the reality that you are loved more than life.

Look for Him, and you will find the perfect Christmas.

 

Related posts:

Death by Gingerbread House 

Do You Know What You’re Worth?

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Finding Balance in the Seasons

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Finding Balance in the Seasons
Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Years ago, I had a delightful life coach and mentor by the name of Dayle. She encouraged me to make a personal development plan for that season of my life. Being a planner by nature, I was excited to show her what I thought was a well-balanced plan. She took one look at it and said, “Gina, I’m exhausted just looking at this.”

“But I don’t know what I could cut out. All these things are important,” I insisted.

Dayle affirmed that yes, everything on my plan was important. But then, she suggested that maybe not all of them were equally important at this moment. That began a journey of understanding what it looks like to find balance, not in our days, but in the seasons of our lives. 

To read the rest of the story, join me at Redbud Writer’s Guild!

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What We Don’t Have to Carry

What We Don't Have to Carry
Photo by Alexa Mazzarello on Unsplash

I woke up one morning recently, and in that space between sleeping and waking I had a clear picture in my head of a room. Scattered around the room were objects that represented aspects of my life that were causing me to worry.

It was right in the middle of a crazy week. Our kids had started school and I was trying to get back into my role at work, bringing a thousand minute decisions and needful things screaming for my attention.

The night before, as I reviewed my day, I had been aware of how those worries had occupied my thoughts and energy during the day. It occurred to me how much I had been holding onto them, rather than stopping to pray and release them to God. I determined that the next day would be one of peace. Surrender would be my course of action.

But as I woke up that morning and pictured that room, my eyes found those worries lying around me. I immediately felt a heaviness in my soul as I saw myself reaching to pick them up again, throw them over my shoulders, and trudge on. But as I leaned to take hold of one of these burdens, I heard God say,

“That is not yours to carry.” 

There was in that instant a momentary sense of relief, and a reminder of my determination to stay in a place of peace this day. But in the next second, another worry popped up, whispering over my shoulder that surely I needed to carry it. As I turned in my mind to pick it up, again I heard His voice,

“That is not yours to carry.”

And then I breathed a sigh of surrender.

Sitting down that morning to pray, I thought of all those worries I was tempted to bear. I thought about this invitation from God to release my grip on them. They are good and important things that do require attention and care, but they are beyond my control. It’s best I admit that. That’s a good place to start.

So I wrote them all out one by one, writing a prayer of release for each detail. And then, I asked God to make me carefree.

I like that word-“care free.” To be free from care. Not that I stop caring what happens in our lives, but I stop being the carrier. I stop believing that without me at work, they will be forgotten and lost. I believe that the God who is stronger, wiser, bigger, and more powerful carries them for me.

That morning, a friend of mine posted 1 Peter 5:7, “Cast all your anxieties on Him because He cares for you.” I took a few minutes to read that verse in other translations, and I had to laugh when I opened The Message. It reads, “Live carefree before God; He is most careful with you.” 

Full of care for us. Fully able to carry all those burdens that threaten to weigh us down with worry. Whatever is calling for you to pick it up and bear it today, don’t. Live care-free. Let Him carry it.

Related posts:

Don’t Forget to Breathe

Doubting in the Darkness

Let Go and Let Him Hold You

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The World Is Dark, but We Know the Light

Finding Light in a Dark World
Photo by Dmitry Ratushny on Unsplash

 This has been a divisive year. Lines have been drawn and ugliness has risen to the surface in many places. Sometimes the darkness feels all too strong.

Jesus understands that kind of world.

When he entered it, the Jewish people had endured 400 years of silence from God. They lived under the oppressive rule of Rome. Soldiers walked the streets. Riots were not uncommon. Even within Judaism, there was division, as four sects fought for control. Shortly after he was born, Jesus and his family were forced to flee to a new country to avoid Herod’s massacre of children under 2. Dark times, indeed.

The Jews wanted someone to take away the darkness. They wanted a Savior, but their idea of how they would be saved and from what was misguided. Jesus didn’t come as a military or political leader. He didn’t free them from Rome. He wasn’t about conforming governments to his will. He didn’t erase dividing lines between people. He didn’t make everything easy, or pave a straight, conflict free path for us. He didn’t eradicate evil. Instead, he shone a light into it.

He was light in the darkness.

That light sets hearts free. He stepped into the darkness to make room for joy, peace, hope, mercy and grace. His light was life and love, come into the world, to transform us, rather than transforming our worlds to suit us.

We are not called to look at the darkness and be afraid. We are not meant to see it and complain and argue about what it all means. We don’t shake our heads and give up. We don’t wring our hands in despair.

We turn on the light.

We move into the world as people who know joy, peace, hope, grace, mercy, and above all, love. This is what we are about. We are about shining his light brighter and brighter. So this Christmas season, how can we remember to shine his light in the world?

We shine the light of hope. Our hope is in a person, not an outcome. We do not hope in government. We do not hope in society conforming to our standards. We hope in what he can do. We hope in what will be.

We shine the light of peace. Peace is not merely an emotion, but a state of reconciliation brought about through him. So where there is division and unrest, we speak peace. In the midst of chaos, we breathe peace.

We shine the light of joy. He gives us joy beyond circumstances, the joy of knowing him and being loved by him. That joy ought to show on our faces, in our spirits, in how we move through this world.

We shine the light of mercy and grace. Jesus came for the outcast, the downtrodden, the poor, weak and weary. We declare that the gospel is for the ragamuffin, for those who are not too proud to receive what they need. That starts with recognizing we are counted among the needy.

We shine the light of love. Most of all, the light that shines in the darkness declares that love overcomes. It overcomes the darkness in our hearts and opens the door for us to receive all that he offers us. Christmas is God’s shout of love to the world, a shout that makes the darkness flee. Let’s simmer in this reality long enough for it to show up in our actions, in our words.

Yes, the world is dark, but we know the light.

This Christmas, let’s seek ways to make the light brighter in what we say, how we treat others, how we make room for them, where we look for life. Let us be people who reflect the light to a dark world.

“for he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the son he loves.” Colossians 1:13

Related posts:

Why Christmas Reminds Me to Hope in God 

Reflections on a Christmas Morning

Feel Your Worth

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To Truly Be Still

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Learning to Be Truly Still
Photo by Anton Darius | @theSollers on Unsplash

It’s completely quiet in my house right now. For the first time in nearly 20 years, I have a week alone.

My husband took our two kids to Vermont this week to ski, and I opted to stay home, work, and take care of the dog. To me, skiing is an expensive exercise in trying not to kill yourself in cold weather.

Truth be told, my heart jumped at the possibility of time alone. I love it. My soul can breathe again. Or it could, if I would just be still.

I’ve realized, through the past few years, that there is a big difference between being alone and being quiet.

There might not be anyone around, but I can still keep my soul from settling into any sort of stillness. I write, work, clean, (just kidding, I probably don’t clean), walk the dog, watch TV, read. I do a million activities with my alone time, but the real challenge for me is to actually be still.

What Happens When We’re Still

Still enough to feel my own soul. To experience the emptiness, sadness, or anxiety I use all that activity to avoid. Still enough to reflect on my life and make more purposeful decisions. To maybe do less but do it with more meaning. Still enough to hear His voice. To let Him minister to me in all those emotions. Still enough to let Him guide my activities.

I know why I struggle to be still. It scares me. I’m afraid if I stop producing I stop having value. I like feeling I’ve made the most of every day. And yes, it is important to use every moment wisely. But what if the greatest wisdom for us in a given moment is to simply be?

When I do slow down, and allow myself the freedom to do nothing more than exist, my soul can rest. It can loosen its grip on the lie that I have to do anything to warrant praise.

In stillness, I am reminded that all my activity is no substitute for the bread of life He offers me. It cannot feed my soul like stillness can.

So yesterday was a “just be” day. I slept in. Lingered in the Word. When unexpected tears I couldn’t explain other than, “I think I just needed release” came, I let them fall.

I pushed aside the “should do” and “ought to” of my never ending to do list and determined to just enjoy a non-productive day. Took deep breaths. Napped. I pursued stillness.

Be Still and Know

Be still and know. I feel like this has been the theme of so many of my posts these last few months, but it’s a hard lesson to learn in a culture that does its best to push and push us beyond our limits, that doesn’t invite us to slow down. So I will keep saying it, to myself and others.

Consider this your invitation.

When was the last time you gave yourself permission to be still? What messages rise to the surface when you try to practice stillness? Is it the same “productivity=value” lie I am inclined to believe? Does guilt about setting aside responsibility raise? Do you fear that your carefully crafted world will fall apart in your absence? Whatever might try to hold you back, don’t forfeit the peace, joy, strength and rest God longs to give you in the midst of a busy life.

Related posts:

Why We Fear Sinking (and Why We Must Do It) guest post at On Leading Well 

Cease Striving 

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Let Go and Let Him Hold You

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Let Go and Let Him Hold You
Photo by Haley Phelps on Unsplash

These last few months have been tough. I’ve ventured in to new areas that make me uncomfortable and scared and bone-weary, resulting in a lot of anxiety, and at times, depression. Being the get ‘er done girl that I am, my gut reaction to seasons like this is, “Ok, so what do I need to DO, God?” I can’t just let go.

Give me the formula to get back to awesome. Show me what scriptures to dwell on, what truth to grasp, what prayers to pray. Show me my error and I’ll fix it. Tell me what to think and do and I’ll do it. I will make it happen.

But maybe instead of doing, we’re supposed to stop trying to save ourselves and just let go.

I was reminded last night of a poem I read years ago, back when I first started to realize what a winding road faith can be. I read it like God is speaking to me.

First Lesson
by Philip Booth

Lie back daughter, let your head
be tipped back in the cup of my hand.
Gently, and I will hold you.
Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream
and look high at the gulls.
A dead-man’s float is face down. You will dive
and swim soon enough where this tidewater
ebbs to the sea.
Daughter, believe me,
when you tire on the long thrash
to your island, lie up, and survive.
As you float now, where I held you
and let go, remember when fear
cramps your heart what I told you:
lie gently and wide to the light-year
stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.

Have you spent much time floating on water? Picture yourself like this child, trusting her father to hold her as she’s learning to swim, when she’s scared and tired. There’s something so freeing and relaxing about it if we can let go of trying to keep ourselves afloat and just let the water hold us. The father reminds his daughter to look to that which is bigger than her. It’s the definition of “Be still and know.”

Know that He is there.

Nothing is wasted. Every tear is caught, and every sigh is heard.

He knows what He’s doing with us.

The way out of our wilderness is clear to Him, and He will lead us in His timing and His ways.

The places that seem the most stagnant are often the places where He is preparing us for something we cannot see.

His love will hold us, when we let go.

Related posts:

I Don’t Need Rescuing (Except I D0) 

Get Quiet Enough to Listen

The Battle Belongs to Him 

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Keeping a Sabbath Heart

Keeping a Sabbath Heart
photo by Ales Krivec

5 days in to my sabbatical and I was zen, y’all. I was so relaxed and peaceful that one night I actually chose to cook. It’s a magical place if Gina feels enough emotional margin to invest time in something she both dislikes and is average at.

My zen-like state remained throughout the next week, and I felt like I could have tackled anything.

And then I got tackled.

First, it was the teenage boy realizing the ACT was going to be harder than he thought, resulting in two days of major angst (there’s no angst like teen angst). Then it was the attempt to pack for every contingency of a month long trip for our kids, with the accompanying anxiety of “Oh my word, we’re sending our kids to the other side of the world for a month!” Add in a few extra teenagers and a giant dog for the last days leading up to departure, and friends, my zen was GONE.

I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed with myself (well, I could, but it would be a bald faced lie). Two weeks of connecting with God and my own heart, and all I found dissipated within a few days? Sabbaticals are a wonderful, beautiful gift, but surely there’s a way to maintain the kind of peace I touched in that time beyond them, right?

The fact is, we can’t always take the time away from our schedules to be restored. And when we do, we want to be able to carry that spirit into our regular life. It is both a time and an attitude. So how do we keep the attitude?

The next two weeks, as I settled back into my time of rest, I asked God to show me what it would take for me to keep a sabbath heart regardless of the circumstances. Here’s what I walked away with:

Respect your humanity

I’m not very good at respecting my own limits, as I’ve made clear before. But to have a sabbath heart, I have to recognize my own humanity. I can add task upon task, attempting to accomplish as much as possible, and pretty soon I’m overwhelmed. I’m learning to take moments to step away and just be, even if it’s for 5 minutes. The tasks will be there when I return, but the time away reminds me that I’m not a machine. I’m human, and humans are limited and needy. Owning that keeps me at a better pace.

Set good boundaries

It’s not just ourselves pushing the pace, but often the needs and demands from the people around us. It was a strange feeling to field requests for help during my sabbatical – everything in me wanted to say “yes” to them, but the buffer of sabbatical gave me a nice pass to say “no” (and I appreciate that everyone respected that). Without the excuse of something like sabbatical, it is easy to respond to needs without considering whether we have the resources to respond well. So I’m trying to stop for a moment before committing myself – not because I don’t care, but because I want to be able to care more in the long haul.

Do what truly feeds you

It’s easy to want to get away from our responsibilities for a time, so we take easy routes like Facebook, television, getting lost on the internet. But there is a difference between escape and restoration. This sabbatical reminded me what truly feeds my soul, and it’s activities like worship, silence, scripture. Nothing wrong with those other things in moderation, but when I need a break and my time is limited, I know I’m better off grabbing something in that window that’s really nourishing.

Keep a short emotional account with yourself

You know the scene in The Incredibles, where Mr. Incredible is being shot by big black balls? They stick to him and slowly expand. At first, he ignores them and tries to keep running, but eventually they engulf him. This is how I tend to deal with emotion. Feelings take time to process, and they won’t go away on their own. Having a sabbath heart requires me to keep a short emotional account with myself so I don’t end up carrying anxiety, anger, or other emotions that can pull me down. I’m learning to stop and bring my emotions to God more quickly so that I can exchange them for peace.

Stay close to the well

A few years ago I wrote a post for my friend Judy’s blog about staying close to the well.  I reflected on how God has an abundance to offer me, but I’m not always inclined to go for what I need. Our souls are like gardens that need tending, and in times of trial and stress, we dry out more quickly. It’s easy to keep pressing on, thinking, “I’ll rest someday” which is ridiculous when you think about it – like living a few steps from a well and dying of thirst. Yes, it takes time to go to the well, but it has what we need. When I’m busier, sometimes I literally have to write in my schedule time with God or it will get sucked up by more pressing issues.

So these are the lessons I’m trying remember and practice as I’m back in the real world. I can’t say I wouldn’t have loved living in that sabbath place all the time, but hopefully until the next time this will help me keep a restful attitude.

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When Fear Is a Dictator

When Fear Is a Dictator

Confession: I have been afraid to write.

This is problematic, as I am obviously a blogger. I also have a mostly written book I sincerely hope to finish and have published.

This fear has been growing throughout the last year. It gnaws at me when I see my computer out of the corner of my eye. It pokes at me when I see other people tweeting links to wonderful posts others have written. It shuts down my thoughts. It keeps my fingers still.

It’s a fear that it won’t be enough. People won’t like what I write. It won’t draw the audience I hope it will. It will sit out there in the open like a sad, unpicked girl at a dance, while the other posts are grabbed by the hand and thrown from partner to partner.

Oh how I hate this fear. I hate the grip it has on my soul. I hate the way fear turns my eyes from God and onto me. I hate that it is a little dictator, barking at me to stay silent, to give up, to step out of the arena because if I can’t be as great as I hope I could be, then I should quit. It says it just isn’t worth it.

I’ve had enough of my little dictator.

I recently took a sabbatical from work, a time when I thought I would write more. Instead, I found God calling me first to wrestle this fear to the ground and give it a good dose of truth. It’s time to take these thoughts captive and make them obedient to Christ.

The truth is that my fear means my eyes are far too much on me. Fear makes me focus on finding my own glory, not His. Fear tells me to hustle for my worth. It demands I build a kingdom for myself, and at the same time tells me I’ll never be able to do it.

Fear loves to dictate the what, the how, the when, the how much, of our lives. It tells us to shut up. It demands that we stop trying. It tells us to shrink back and hang in the shadows of the brave places God calls us to live.

Fear whispers to us, as we stand on the edge of faith, of all that could go wrong. It takes our eyes off God and turns them to the what if’s, and maybe’s, and you’d better not’s, and what will people think’s.

It silences our voices and eventually our hearts.

So this morning I am turning my eyes back to Him.

I read today in Minding Your Emotions, “We handle fear by going from self-made to God-made, from self-important to God-honoring, from self-satisfied to God-soaked, from self-preoccupied to God-dazzled.”

There it is – I go from me to Him. I tell fear the truth that this is God’s kingdom, not mine. I tell it that I don’t have to make a kingdom for myself because this is the place where I’m already valued and free. I tell it that I’m going to step out in faith anyway because it’s not about my glory after all – it’s about His.

He strips fear of its power over us.

I’m asking Him to not let fear be my dictator, but to let His Spirit be my guide.

How is fear your dictator?

Related:

He Makes Me Brave 

Do It Scared 

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