Fearless: Imagine Your Life Without Fear Part 4

MATTHEW 9:2 NASB Fear of Disappointing G.o.d n.o.ble Doss dropped the ball. One ball. One pa.s.s. One mistake. In 1941 he let one fall. And it's haunted him ever since. "I cost us a national champions.h.i.+p," he says.

The University of Texas football team was ranked number one in the nation. Hoping for an undefeated season and a berth in the Rose Bowl, they played conference rival Baylor University. With a 70 lead in the third quarter, the Longhorn quarterback launched a deep pa.s.s to a wide-open Doss.

"The only thing I had between me and the goal," he recalls, "was twenty yards of gra.s.s."

The throw was on target. Longhorn fans rose to their feet. The sure-handed Doss spotted the ball and reached out, but it slipped through.

Baylor rallied and tied the score with seconds to play. Texas lost their top ranking and, consequently, their chance at the Rose Bowl.

"I think about that play every day," Doss admits.

Not that he lacks other memories. Happily married for more than six decades. A father. Grandfather. He served in the navy during World War II. He appeared on the cover of Life magazine with his Texas teammates. He intercepted seventeen pa.s.ses during his collegiate career, a university record. He won two NFL t.i.tles with the Philadelphia Eagles. The Texas High School Football Hall of Fame and the Longhorn Hall of Honor include his name.

Most fans remember the plays Doss made and the pa.s.ses he caught. Doss remembers the one he missed. Once, upon meeting a new Longhorn head coach, Doss told him about the bobbled ball. It had been fifty years since the game, but he wept as he spoke.1 Memories of dropped pa.s.ses fade slowly. They stir a lonely fear, a fear that we have disappointed people, that we have let down the team, that we've come up short. A fear that, when needed, we didn't do our part, that others suffered from our fumbles and b.u.mbles. Of course, some of us would gladly swap our blunders for Doss's. If only we'd merely dropped a pa.s.s. If only we'd merely disappointed a football squad.

I converse often with a fellow who, by his own admission, wasted the first half of his life. Blessed with more talent than common sense, he made enemies and money at breakneck speed. Now he's the stuff of which sad country songs are written. Ruined marriage. Angry kids. His liver functions as if it's been soaked in vodka. (It has.) When we talk, his eyes dart back and forth like a man hearing footsteps. His past pursues him like a posse. Our conversations return to the same orbit: "Can G.o.d ever forgive me?" "He gave me a wife; I blew it. He gave me kids; I blew it." I try to tell him, "Yes, you failed, but you aren't a failure. G.o.d came for people like us." He absorbs my words the way the desert absorbs a downpour. But by the next time I see him, he needs to hear them again. The parched soil of fear needs steady rain.

I correspond with a prisoner. Actually, he does most of the corresponding. He has three to five years to reflect on his financial misdealing. Shame and worry take turns dominating the pages-shame for the mistake, worry about the consequences. He's disappointed everyone he loves. Including G.o.d. Especially G.o.d. He fears he's outsinned G.o.d's patience.

He's not unique. "G.o.d's well of grace must have a bottom to it," we reason. "A person can request forgiveness only so many times," contends our common sense. "Cash in too many mercy checks, and sooner or later one is going to bounce!" The devil loves this line of logic. If he can convince us that G.o.d's grace has limited funds, we'll draw the logical conclusion. The account is empty. G.o.d has locked the door to his throne room. Pound all you want; pray all you want. No access to G.o.d.

"No access to G.o.d" unleashes a beehive of concerns. We are orphans, unprotected and exposed. Heaven, if there is such a place, has been removed from the itinerary. Vulnerable in this life and doomed in the next. The fear of disappointing G.o.d has teeth.

But Christ has forceps. In his first reference to fear, he does some serious defanging. "Take courage, son; your sins are forgiven" (Matt. 9:2 NASB). Note how Jesus places courage and forgiven sins in the same sentence. Might bravery begin when the problem of sin is solved? Let's see.

Jesus spoke these words to a person who could not move. "A paralytic lying on a bed . . . " (v. 2 NASB). The disabled man couldn't walk the dog or jog the neighborhood. But he did have four friends, and his friends had a hunch. When they got wind that Jesus was a guest in their town, they loaded their companion on a mat and went to see the teacher. An audience with Christ might bode well for their buddy.

A standing-room-only crowd packed the residence where Jesus spoke. People sat in windows, crowded in doorways. You'd have thought G.o.d himself was making the Capernaum appearance. Being the sort of fellows who don't give up easily, the friends concocted a plan. "When they weren't able to get in because of the crowd, they removed part of the roof and lowered the paraplegic on his stretcher" (Mark 2:4 MSG).

Risky strategy. Most home owners don't like to have their roofs disa.s.sembled. Most paraplegics aren't fond of a one-way bungee drop through a ceiling cavity. And most teachers don't appreciate a spectacle in the midst of their lesson. We don't know the reaction of the home owner or the man on the mat. But we know that Jesus didn't object. Matthew all but paints a smile on his face. Christ issued a blessing before one was requested. And he issued a blessing no one expected: "Take courage, son; your sins are forgiven" (Matt. 9:2 NASB). Wouldn't we antic.i.p.ate different words? "Take courage. Your legs are healed." "Your paralysis is over." "Sign up for the Boston Marathon."

The man had limbs as st.u.r.dy as spaghetti, yet Jesus offered mercy, not muscles. What was he thinking? Simple. He was thinking about our deepest problem: sin. He was considering our deepest fear: the fear of failing G.o.d. Before Jesus healed the body (which he did), he treated the soul. "Take courage, son; your sins are forgiven."

To sin is to disregard G.o.d, ignore his teachings, deny his blessings. Sin is "G.o.d-less" living, centering life on the center letter of the word sIn. The sinner's life is me-focused, not G.o.d-focused. Wasn't this the choice of Adam and Eve?

Prior to their sin they indwelled a fearless world. One with creation, one with G.o.d, one with each other. Eden was a "one-derful" world with one command: don't touch the tree of knowledge. Adam and Eve were given a choice, and each day they chose to trust G.o.d. But then came the serpent, sowing seeds of doubt and offering a sweeter deal. "Has G.o.d indeed said . . . ," he questioned (Gen. 3:1). "You will be like G.o.d," he offered (Gen. 3:5).

Just like that, Eve was afraid. Some say she was pride filled, defiant, disobedient . . . but wasn't she first afraid? Afraid that G.o.d was holding out, that she was missing out? Afraid Eden wasn't enough? Afraid G.o.d wasn't enough? Afraid G.o.d couldn't deliver?

Suppose she and Adam had defied these fears. Refused to give soil to the serpent's seeds of doubt. "You're wrong, you reptile. Our Maker has provided for each and every need. We have no reason to doubt him. Go back to the hole from which you came." But they spoke no such words. They mishandled fear, and fear did them in.

Eve quit trusting G.o.d and took matters-and the fruit-into her own hands. "Just in case G.o.d can't do it, I will." Adam followed suit.

Adam and Eve did what fear-filled people do. They ran for their lives. "Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord G.o.d among the trees of the garden. Then the Lord G.o.d called to Adam and said to him, 'Where are you?' So he said, 'I heard Your voice in the garden, and I was afraid' " (Gen. 3:810).

Fear, mismanaged, leads to sin. Sin leads to hiding. Since we've all sinned, we all hide, not in bushes, but in eighty-hour workweeks, temper tantrums, and religious busyness. We avoid contact with G.o.d.

We are convinced that G.o.d must hate our evil tendencies. We sure do. We don't like the things we do and say. We despise our l.u.s.tful thoughts, harsh judgments, and selfish deeds. If our sin nauseates us, how much more must it revolt a holy G.o.d! We draw a practical conclu-sion: G.o.d is irreparably ticked off at us. So what are we to do except duck into the bushes at the sound of his voice?

The prophet Isaiah says that sin has left us as lost and confused as stray sheep. "All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned, every one, to his own way" (Isa. 53:6). If the prophet had known my dog, he might have written, "All we like Molly have gone astray . . . "

For such a sweet dog, she has a stubborn, defiant streak. Once her nose gets wind of a neighbor's grilling steak or uncovered trash, no amount of commands can control her. You don't want to know how many times this minister has chased his dog down the street, tossing un-minister-like warnings at his pet. She "sins," living as if her master doesn't exist. She is known to wander.

Last week we thought she'd wandered away for good. We posted her picture on bulletin boards, drove through the neighborhood, calling her name. Finally, after a day of futility, I went to the animal shelter. I described Molly to the animal shelter director. She wished me luck and pointed toward a barrack-shaped building whose door bore the sign Stray Dogs.

Warning to softhearted dog lovers: don't go there! I've not seen such sadness since they shut down the drive-in movie theater in my hometown. Cage after cage of longing, frightened eyes. Big, round ones. Narrow, dark ones. Some peered from beneath the thick eyebrows of a c.o.c.ker spaniel. Others from the bald-as-a-rock head of a Chihuahua. Different breeds but same plight. Lost as blind geese with no clue how to get home.

Two terriers, according to a note on the gate, were found on a remote highway. Someone found an aging poodle in an alley. I thought I'd found her when I spotted a golden retriever with salty hair. But it wasn't Molly. It was a he with eyes so brown and lonely they nearly landed him a place in my backseat.

I didn't find Molly at the shelter.

I did have a crazy urge at the shelter, however. I wanted to announce Jesus' declaration: "Be of good cheer. You are lost no more!" I wanted to take the strays home with me, to unlock door after door and fill my car with barking, tail-wagging dogigals. I didn't do it. As much as I wanted to save the dogs, I wanted to stay married even more.

But I did have the urge, and the urge helps me understand why Jesus made forgiveness his first fearless announcement. Yes, we have disappointed G.o.d. But, no, G.o.d has not abandoned us.

[We are] delivered . . . from the power of darkness and conveyed . . . into the kingdom of the Son. (Col. 1:13) He who believes in Him is not condemned. ( John 3:18) Everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day. ( John 6:40 NIV) These things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of G.o.d, that you may know that you have eternal life. (1 John 5:13) Jesus loves us too much to leave us in doubt about his grace. His "perfect love expels all fear" (1 John 4:18 NLT). If G.o.d loved with an imperfect love, we would have high cause to worry. Imperfect love keeps a list of sins and consults it often. G.o.d keeps no list of our wrongs. His love casts out fear because he casts out our sin!

Tether your heart to this promise, and tighten the knot. Remember the words of John's epistle: "If our heart condemns us, G.o.d is greater than our heart, and knows all things" (1 John 3:20). When you feel unforgiven, evict the feelings. Emotions don't get a vote. Go back to Scripture. G.o.d's Word holds rank over self-criticism and self-doubt.

As Paul told t.i.tus, "G.o.d's readiness to give and forgive is now public. Salvation's available for everyone! . . . Tell them all this. Build up their courage" (t.i.tus 2:11, 15 MSG). Do you know G.o.d's grace? Then you can love boldly, live robustly. You can swing from trapeze to trapeze; his safety net will break your fall.

Nothing fosters courage like a clear grasp of grace.

And nothing fosters fear like an ignorance of mercy. May I speak candidly? If you haven't accepted G.o.d's forgiveness, you are doomed to fear. Nothing can deliver you from the gnawing realization that you have disregarded your Maker and disobeyed his instruction. No pill, pep talk, psychiatrist, or possession can set the sinner's heart at ease. You may deaden the fear, but you can't remove it. Only G.o.d's grace can.

Have you accepted the forgiveness of Christ? If not, do so. "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness" (1 John 1:9). Your prayer can be as simple as this: Dear Father, I need forgiveness. I admit that I have turned away from you. Please forgive me. I place my soul in your hands and my trust in your grace. Through Jesus I pray, amen.

Having received G.o.d's forgiveness, live forgiven! Jesus has healed your legs, so walk. Jesus has opened the cage of the kennel, so step out. When Jesus sets you free, you are free indeed.

But you may need to silence some roosters. Booker T. Was.h.i.+ngton relates a helpful story of the day his mother did so. Every morning of his young life, he, along with all the plantation slaves, was awakened by the crow of a rooster. Long before daybreak the unwelcome noise would fill the sod shanties, reminding Was.h.i.+ngton and his fellow workers to crawl out of bed and leave for the cotton fields. The rooster's crow came to symbolize their dictated life of long days and backbreaking labor.

But then came the Emanc.i.p.ation Proclamation. Abraham Lincoln p.r.o.nounced freedom for slaves. The first morning afterward, young Booker was awakened by the rooster again. Only this time his mother was chasing it around the barnyard with an ax. The Was.h.i.+ngton family fried and ate their alarm clock for lunch. Their first act of freedom was to silence the reminder of slavery.

Any roosters stealing your sleep? You might need to sharpen the blade. The great news of the gospel is, yes, his grace is real, and so is our freedom.2 By the way, the case of the missing Molly? She turned up in a neighbor's backyard. Turns out she wasn't as far from home as we all feared. Neither are you.

CHAPTER 4.

Woe, Be Gone I tell you not to worry about everyday life - whether you have enough.

MATTHEW 6:25 NLT Fear of Running Out W orry stands in the airport security line and removes her bracelet. She's already placed her shoes in a rubberized bin and liquids in the plastic bag and has removed the boarding pa.s.s from her purse. Her stomach tightens as she awaits her turn to step through the body scanner that will identify her as weaponless. Worry wonders about the fungus on the floor, the skill of the screeners, and what happened to the day when a traveler could walk straight to the gate and catch the flight. She hates the thought but permits it anyway. Any day now our luck is going to run out. She looks beyond the X-ray machine to the TSA agent, who runs a wand around the body of a grandmother. Worry starts to feel sorry for her, then decides not to. Terrorists grow old too. She worries that the grandmother is on her flight.

Worry sits on the back row of the English as a Second Language cla.s.s. He'd prefer the front row, but by the time he caught the city bus and endured the evening traffic, the best seats were taken. His hands still smell of diner dishwater where Worry worked since six this morning. Within twelve hours he'll be at the sink again, but for now he does his best to make sense of verbs, adverbs, and nouns. Everyone else seems to get it. He doesn't. He never diagrammed a sentence in Spanish; how will he ever do it in English? Yet with no English how will he ever do more than wash plates? Worry has more questions than answers, more work than energy, and thinks often about giving up.

Worry thinks her son should wear a scarf. Today's temperature won't warm beyond freezing, and she knows he will spend the better part of his lunch hour kicking a soccer ball over the frozen gra.s.s. She knows better than to tell him to wear it. Thirteen-year-olds don't wear scarves. But her thirteen-year-old is p.r.o.ne to throat infections and earaches, so she shoves a wrap into his backpack next to the algebra homework that kept them both up past bedtime last night. Worry reminds him to review the a.s.signment, gives him a kiss, and watches him run out the door to board the awaiting bus. She looks up at the gray sky and asks G.o.d if he ever air-drops relief packages to weary moms. "You have one needing some strength down here."

Worry awoke at 4:30 a.m. today, struggling with this chapter. It needs to be finished by 5:00 p.m. I pulled the pillow over my head and tried in vain to return to the blissful netherworld of sleep that knows nothing of deadlines or completion dates. But it was too late. The starter's pistol had fired. An Olympic squad of synapses was racing in my brain, stirring a wake of adrenaline. So Worry climbed out of bed, dressed, and slipped out of the house into the silent streets and drove to the office. I grumbled, first about the crowded calendar, next about my poor time management. Worry unlocked the door, turned on the computer, stared at the pa.s.sage on the monitor, and smiled at the first verse: Jesus' definition of worry.

That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life-whether you have enough. (Matt. 6:25 NLT) Whether you have enough. Shortfalls and depletions inhabit our trails. Not enough time, luck, credit, wisdom, intelligence. We are running out of everything, it seems, and so we worry. But worry doesn't work.

Look at the birds. They don't plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren't you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? (vv. 2627 NLT) Fret won't fill a bird's belly with food or a flower's petal with color. Birds and flowers seem to get along just fine, and they don't take antacids. What's more, you can dedicate a decade of anxious thoughts to the brevity of life and not extend it by one minute. Worry accomplishes nothing.

Suppose I had responded differently to the uninvited wake-up call. Rather than tackle the task, suppose I had curled up in a fetal position and bemoaned my pathetic state. "The publisher expects too much! Every year another book. Every book complete with chapters. Why, not even Jesus could bear up under such stress. I'll never meet the deadline. When I don't, the editorial staff will hate me and revoke my contract. Bookstores will learn of my missed deadline and will burn Lucado books in their parking lots. My wife will be humiliated, my children ostracized. I think I'll have Jack Daniel's for breakfast."

See what happened? Legitimate concern morphed into toxic panic. I crossed a boundary line into the state of fret. No longer antic.i.p.ating or preparing, I took up members.h.i.+p in the fraternity of Woe-Be-Me. Christ cautions us against this. Look at how one translation renders his words: "Therefore I tell you, stop being perpetually uneasy (anxious and worried) about your life" (Matt. 6:25 AMP).

Jesus doesn't condemn legitimate concern for responsibilities but rather the continuous mind-set that dismisses G.o.d's presence. Destructive anxiety subtracts G.o.d from the future, faces uncertainties with no faith, tallies up the challenges of the day without entering G.o.d into the equation. Worry is the darkroom where negatives become glossy prints.

A friend saw an example of perpetual uneasiness in his six-year-old daughter. In her hurry to dress for school, she tied her shoelaces in a knot. She plopped down at the base of the stairs and lasered her thoughts on the tangled mess. The school bus was coming, and the minutes were ticking, and she gave no thought to the fact that her father was standing nearby, willing to help upon request. Her little hands began to shake, and tears began to drop. Finally, in an expression of total frustration, she dropped her forehead to her knees and sobbed.

That's a child-sized portrait of destructive worry. A knot fixation to the point of anger and exasperation, oblivious to the presence of our Father, who stands nearby. My friend finally took it upon himself to come to his daughter's aid.

Why didn't she request her father's help to start with? We could ask the same question of the disciples. They were one request away from help.

Jesus had taken them on a retreat. His heart was heavied by the news of the murder of John the Baptist, so he told his disciples, "Come aside by yourselves to a deserted place and rest a while" (Mark 6:31).

But then came the hungry crowd. Droves of people-fifteen, maybe twenty, thousand individuals-followed them. A mult.i.tude of misery and sickness who brought nothing but needs. Jesus treated the people with kindness. The disciples didn't share his compa.s.sion."That evening the disciples came to him and said, 'This is a remote place, and it's already getting late. Send the crowds away so they can go to the villages and buy food for themselves' " (Matt. 14:15 NLT).

Whoops, somebody was a bit testy. The followers typically prefaced their comments with the respectful Lord. Not this time. Anxiety makes tyrants out of us. They issued a command, not a request: "Send them home so they can buy food for themselves." Do they think we have the keys to Fort Knox? The disciples didn't have the resources for such a mob.

Their disrespect didn't perturb Jesus; he simply issued them an a.s.signment: "They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat" (v. 16). I'm imagining a few shoulder shrugs and rolled eyes, the disciples huddling and tallying their supplies. Peter likely led the discussion with a bark: "Let's count the bread: one, two, three, four, five. I have five loaves. Andrew, you check me on this." He does: "One, two, three, four, five . . . "

Peter set aside the bread and inquired about the fish. Same routine, lower number. "Fish? Let me see. One, two, three . . . Change that. I counted one fish twice. Looks like the grand total of fish is two!"

The aggregate was declared. "We have here only five loaves and two fish" (v. 17). The descriptor only stands out. As if to say, "Our resources are hopelessly puny. There is nothing left but this wimpy lunch." The fuel needle was on empty; the clock was on the last hour; the pantry was down to crumbs. Philip added a personal audit: "Eight months' wages would not buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!" ( John 6:7 NIV). The exclamation point was an exasperation point. "Your a.s.signment is too great!"

How do you suppose Jesus felt about the basket inventory? Any chance he might have wanted them to include the rest of the possibilities? Involve all the options? Do you think he was hoping someone might count to eight?

"Well, let's see. We have five loaves, two fish, and . . . Jesus!" Jesus Christ. The same Jesus who told us: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. (Luke 11:9 NIV) If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. ( John 15:7 NIV) Whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. (Mark 11:24 NIV) Standing next to the disciples was the solution to their problems . . . but they didn't go to him. They stopped their count at seven and worried.

What about you? Are you counting to seven, or to eight?

Here are eight worry-stoppers to expand your tally: 1. Pray, first. Don't pace up and down the floors of the waiting room; pray for a successful surgery. Don't bemoan the collapse of an investment; ask G.o.d to help you. Don't join the chorus of co-workers who complain about your boss; invite them to bow their heads with you and pray for him. Inoculate yourself inwardly to face your fears outwardly. "Casting the whole of your care [all your anxieties, all your worries, all your concerns, once and for all] on Him . . . " (1 Peter 5:7 AMP).

2. Easy, now. Slow down. "Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him" (Ps. 37:7). Imitate the mother of Jesus at the wedding in Cana. The reception was out of wine, a huge social no-no in the days of Jesus. Mary could have blamed the host for poor planning or the guests for overdrinking, but she didn't catastrophize. No therapy sessions or counseling. Instead, she took the shortage straight to Jesus. "When they ran out of wine, the mother of Jesus said to Him, 'They have no wine' " ( John 2:3). See how quickly you can do the same. a.s.sess the problem. Take it to Jesus and state it clearly.

3. Act on it. Become a worry-slapper. Treat frets like mosquitoes. Do you procrastinate when a bloodsucking bug lights on your skin? "I'll take care of it in a moment." Of course you don't! You give the critter the slap it deserves. Be equally decisive with anxiety. The moment a concern surfaces, deal with it. Don't dwell on it. Head off worries before they get the best of you. Don't waste an hour wondering what your boss thinks; ask her. Before you diagnose that mole as cancer, have it examined. Instead of a.s.suming you'll never get out of debt, consult an expert. Be a doer, not a stewer.

4. Compile a worry list. Over a period of days record your anxious thoughts. Maintain a list of all the things that trouble you. Then review them. How many of them turned into a reality? You worried that the house would burn down. Did it? That your job would be outsourced. Was it?

5. Evaluate your worry categories. Your list will highlight themes of worry. You'll detect recurring areas of preoccupation that may become obsessions: what people think of you, finances, global calamities, your appearance or performance. Pray specifically about them.

6. Focus on today. G.o.d meets daily needs daily. Not weekly or annually. He will give you what you need when it is needed. "Let us therefore boldly approach the throne of our gracious G.o.d, where we may receive mercy and in his grace find timely help" (Heb. 4:16 NEB). An ancient hymn expresses the heart this patient waiting creates.

Not so in haste, my heart!

Have faith in G.o.d, and wait;

Although He linger long,

He never comes too late.

He never comes too late;

He knoweth what is best;

Vex not thyself in vain;

Until He cometh, rest.

Until He cometh, rest,