Friday, February 1, 2013

Five-Minute Friday: Afraid

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photo credit

In my twenties, my biggest fear was compromise, but not in the way that it sounds.  I feared living a compromised life, one that reeked of settling for less than who I believed I was capable of being.  So, I prayed lots of anguished prayers for direction and wisdom, for trust and faith and strength to carry out my purpose in this life, and then I did my best to wait.  But waiting has never been a natural gift I've possessed, and so I also did a lot of digging and planning and reaching for those faraway places of my destiny as I understood it.  For almost a decade, my faraway sights were set on Africa, and I did the dance of trust and impatience trying to help God get me there.

And then, on the crest of the wave I thought would carry me there - or at least miles further in - I fell off the board into the raging surf.  My Papa died, my lofty post-graduate school plans disintegrated, my priorities shifted like the earth's plates, and all those plans and dreams and identities disappeared deep in the ocean.  I plunged, head first, into the fears that lurked for all those years.

Compromise.  Failure.  Death of someone I loved most of all. Loss of dreams, of confidence, of a sense of direction, of who I believed I was and how I'd defined my worth for years.  Abandonment.  The end of a relationship that, at the time, I believed would lead to marriage.  

Loss of God as I knew him.  

I didn't know then, falling into my fears was grace.  That I thought I would drown in this sea of fears and sorrow - and I didn't.  That paddling out in that wild, raging ocean forced me to face what had been driving me forward, relentless and exhausted all these years, unable to stop and look at myself in the mirror as I was and call it good, the way God did.  That to stay afloat I had to strip down to the bare skin of my soul clinging to him, nothing else, and find that this was all I ever needed.

And yes, fear can cripple the soul and rob the living.  But I found, too, that tumbling into fear can expose the truth and cleanse the cobwebs and shake off the things that weigh heavy.  To free the hands from grasping at anything other than real life - because when you're paddling in the water, you need those hands open.

It's funny, now, how I'm a barista and a writer and the wife of a man I'd never imagined myself with - not in Africa, but here in Seattle - and none of these things make up who I really am.  All because of that headlong plunge into fear and the God who gripped me in the waters and whispered fierce love.

I'll never fail you.

. . . . . . . . . . . 

Linking up with Lisa-Jo for another Five-Minute Friday post. 



13 comments:

  1. this is stunning, amber.
    every young twenty-something should be forced to read this and perhaps learn to listen to their life instead of running from it with fear nipping at their heels.
    this line (no, this whole paragraph) grabbed me: "falling into my fears was grace."
    wow. wisdom, friend. beauty for those ashes, that's what you've gained.
    LOVE this post. :)

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    1. Yeah, it's a wonder, how those worst-things-of-my-life can look so different from behind. I imagine yours, too. God is the master of resurrecting beauty out of those waste heaps, and I love him, more through the years, for this grace. I'm really so humbled by your words, friend. Thank you (and glad we found each other now on the big wide world of FB ;-D)

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  2. btw, i am sharing this to fb.

    are you on there? can't seem to find you . . .

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  3. I'm so glad Kelli shared this. What a beautiful testament of how He saves us when we finally come to the end of ourselves. He is all we need--and we scarcely believe it until He is all that we have. God bless you, this was just perfect for me tonight.

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    1. Oh wow, I love how you put that: He is all we need -- and we scarcely believe it until He is all that we have. That is the sad truth - and the amazing grace of the God who dips as far down as we find ourselves. Bless you, friend. I'm so grateful this spoke to you tonight.

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  4. this is EXACTLY what I meant to say: I feared living a compromised life, one that reeked of settling for less than who I believed I was capable of being.
    I can relate to that. I'm moving beyond that point and learning to let God drive, but man it is SO. HARD.
    Thanks for sharing what coming out on the other side looks like. :) (visiting from FMF!)

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    1. Oh, how I feel your pain. It IS so.hard. Yes. And I'm still learning this. But keep pressing in to this letting go, because I can tell you, it is greater freedom than living with this driving need to "get" somewhere and "do" something. (And I suspect you already know this, but well, there it is again :-D). Thank you for the visit - and grace to you.

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  5. I love how natural your posts are! You are very honest and open. Good job! Also, it's freaky how much we have in common. Do I sound creepy? I hope not!

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    1. Nope, not creepy at all. I've found myself saying that to others I've found along the way in this blogging world :-) I'll have to check out your posts... and thanks for the kind words!

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  6. Hi dear Amber
    I was glad when I saw you smiling through your picture frame this morning! Oh, how He removes those idols from our lives until we have only Him and until only He is our anchor and our dream! Yes, dear one, it was His grace bringing you to that Job place! There where we posses nothing, He can start building us up again, but everything outside our hearts for that place only belongs to Him and only He lives there!
    Much love
    Mia

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    1. Mia, this made me smile :-) And these words - "there we possess nothing" - remind me of dear words I read years ago by A.W. Tozer, about "the blessedness of possessing nothing." Nothing but God himself. It's a painful journey arriving there, but oh, so sweet... and we have our lives to keep arriving. Blessings to you, friend.

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  7. Stunning and moving and just so full of grace. And isn't it true how we learn best about Him and His grace when we are forced out of our own comfort zone and plunged into a desperate and real need for Him...a need for His mercy and grace. Thank you for writing such beautiful, captivating and true words. I am so very glad I clicked on your "beautiful rubbish" place, so nice to "meet" you! Blessings...

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    1. Jacque, I know you know about being plunged into that desperate and real need for him. Oh, how I've marveled at the beauty of God's redemption in your own story, and of your humble courage in the telling of it, laid wide open. It's so nice "meeting" you here, too. Thank you for your sweet words, friend.

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