(Part 2 of 3)
Previously, I shared about how I was freed from a lifetime of nightmares by praising Jesus. Instead of trying to take control of the fear. Instead of trying to be brave.
But, even without the nightmares, I was still limping along, carrying fear on my back like it was a wounded friend that needed me.
I constantly worried about what terrible things might happen to me and my family. I feared the evil that was in the world and I wasted most of my thoughts throughout the day dwelling on things that I had no control over. I was filled with anxiety about what people were thinking and about what I needed to get done and about what I couldn’t keep up with. I Googled health symptoms all the time. I couldn’t read the news or stand near windows at night. I created scenarios in my mind of awful things that might happen. I kept my ears open, listening for frightening sounds. I yanked back the shower curtain every time I went into the bathroom, certain that someone was hiding behind it (I’m not sure what I thought I was going to do if someone was actually there…).
In February of 2012, I was reminded of something that seemed so simple, but it changed everything.
See, I met Jesus when I was a little girl. I learned that God was love, and I also learned that there was a gulf between me and God that I could never cross on my own. No matter how good I was. No matter what I did. I learned that God was perfect and that I was a broken, selfish, missing-the-mark sinner. I couldn’t ever reach Him because of my sin, and the price I would have to pay because of my sin was death—eternal separation from Him. I learned that God loved me and the whole world so much that He wanted to rescue us from our sin and the death that we deserved. He sent His only Son, Jesus, to live a perfect life and then suffer and die for my sin and the sin of the world. He rose back to life to show that He had defeated sin and death. And I believed it. I asked Him to forgive my sins and to be the leader of my life, and I knew that because He was my rescue, I would get to spend eternity with Him in heaven. I knew that I didn’t do anything to earn it, but He loved me and wanted me anyway. I knew that His promises for me were love and hope and joy and peace. I knew that He was working out all things for good. I knew that I could trust Him through everything and that nothing could separate me from His love.
Somehow, though, I didn’t live like I really believed all of that. I wanted to feel safe. I wanted to be in control of my life. I thought that I was being responsible by being afraid. I thought I was being extra cautious. I wasn’t taking unnecessary risks. I was ready in case something bad happened. My thoughts were on my fear, not on who God is. I didn’t live with hope in the beautiful nothing-can-take-it-away-from-me-no-matter-what eternity He had secured for me. My trust was in my fear, and I was wasting so much of my life in it.
Then, one day, I sat with my sister, grasping for help. She reminded me of forgiveness. It all started with forgiveness. Jesus saved me from myself when He forgave me of my going-my-own-way. My life began when God offered me the forgiveness that would give me a new life in Him. My life started when I acknowledged that I needed to be forgiven and gave myself to Jesus.
I was helpless without him. Dead, even. I couldn’t save myself.
Now, here I was, decades later, buried beneath murky layers of this darkness that I just couldn’t shake. Acting like I should somehow be able to calculate my own way out. I had forgotten about forgiveness. It was forgiveness that was holding me back. It was forgiveness that could break through the fear.
I had taken Jesus’ forgiveness for granted. I needed to ask for forgiveness again: for trusting in fear instead of trusting in Him. I confessed that I had been living for an idea of safety instead of living for God to be glorified, no matter what that looked like. And He forgave me. I confessed that I had spent my focus on fear instead of on worshipping God. And He forgave me. I forgave the people in my life who had unknowingly or knowingly helped me learn how to be afraid. I forgave people who I had never held anything against in my mind or in my heart—people who I deeply love and admire—because, I realized that day, they had been influences in the layers of fear that I developed. I needed to forgive them. And I did it all out loud.
I’ve heard, many times, the phrase, “the devil got inside my head.” And here’s the truth: the Bible says that it is God who searches the minds and hearts of people (1 Chronicles 28:9). The enemy, Satan, can whisper in our ears, but he can’t hear inside our heads. So, when we confess and forgive out loud, instead of just in the quiet of our hearts, the enemy hears it, and he knows that, whatever it is, we have surrendered it to God. He knows that he doesn’t have that hold on us anymore.
In the very moment that I confessed that I had trusted fear instead of God and He forgave me, in the very moment that I forgave the people who had influenced me in my fear, God broke through with His power and love and I felt physical peace and freedom come over me. I felt God’s mercy and His healing. I knew He had delivered me. He freed me from the fear that had chased after me for so long.
I was finally able to believe God’s word when He says, “So do not fear, for I am with you,” (Isaiah 41:10). I was finally able to say and mean, “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life, of whom shall I be afraid?” (Psalm 27:1).
I went home and stood by a window, in the dark, and just stared at the stars. Marveling at how beautiful they were. Amazed that I had gone so long without being able to look out into the night. In awe of my loving, healing, forgiving God. And I haven’t been the same since.
As I began to step out in glorious freedom from fear, I began to study it—to study what God really says about fear in the Bible. For so much of my life, I was living in the wrong kind of fear. The terrible, suffocating, thought-consuming, life-wasting kind. I’ve learned that is a right kind of fear. A good kind of fear. Fear that's worth living in…
(Continued in “How Living in Fear Robs Us of Life: Part 3”).
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