“Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.
Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you.
I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.”
Isaiah 41:10
Tara is afraid of storms and is especially mindful of tornadic weather. One night, she was anxiously watching the skies from the window of her mobile home. As the storm kicked up, she debated whether to go to her mother-in-law’s house for shelter. By the time she made up her mind and got her 3-year-old daughter buckled into her car seat, the storm—and Tara’s anxiety—had really begun to set in. Her mother-in-law stayed on the phone as Tara drove through the pelting rain, but then Tara lost the signal, and the line went silent. Tara was beside herself. A full-blown panic attack was on the horizon. Her hands were shaking. She gripped the steering wheel tighter and cried. Silently, she chided herself for not having acted sooner and for giving her daughter a poor example of how to handle stress. As she struggled to maintain control of the car and her emotions, Tara heard a small voice from behind her.
“Mommy, it’s OK. Just turn your lights on, go slow, and stay calm.”
I relate to Tara’s feelings. No, I am not particularly afraid of storms, but I too know what it’s like to feel anxiety. Currently, I have five large boxes of books and an even bigger box of t-shirts in my office. Every time I look at them, I feel a sense of panic rising in my chest. There’s almost $2000 in merchandise represented there. It’s hard to justify the expense when I earned a total of about $500 on the last book I published. The boxes are a physical reminder of the challenge before me. Stacked up against the wall, they impede the view across my desk. Instead of writing or studying or praying, I find myself staring and thinking.
This will never work.
Who am I to believe anyone is interested in anything I have to say?
You’ve tried this before and failed.
Why would you take such a big risk?
The doubts, like raindrops, creep in slowly, but before long, they are falling fast and free, pounding against the windshield of my heart, blocking my view and inhibiting my progress.
The storm of doubt is loud.
The lightening illuminates my mistakes and failures.
The thunderous feelings of worry and fear demand my attention.
That night, in the midst of a storm, Tara was the adult, but her little girl had wisdom.
It’s a powerful reminder to me and you. With God, we have nothing to fear. It’s OK, daughter. Keep your eyes on the light. Go slow, and stay calm. God’s got this.