Little Wren Writes

Fear has been given a terrible reputation.

We often speak about it as though it’s something to conquer. Something to eliminate. Something faithful people eventually outgrow.

If only I had enough faith…
If only I trusted God more…
If only I prayed harder…
…then perhaps I wouldn’t be afraid anymore.

I think for a long time, I have believed that too. Spiritual maturity looks like becoming less afraid.

Then life happened.

People I loved died. Dreams unravelled. Certainties disappeared. Questions multiplied. And I discovered something I hadn’t expected. Fear wasn’t leaving. It was moving in.

At first, that felt like failure – surely people who trusted Jesus weren’t meant to feel like this? Then I started paying closer attention to Scripture. Person after person. Afraid.

Moses was afraid.
Esther was afraid.
David was afraid.
Jeremiah was afraid.
Mary was afraid.
The disciples were afraid.
Even Paul admitted to arriving somewhere “in weakness with great fear and trembling.”

The remarkable thing isn’t that they were fearless. It’s that they were faithful anyway.

That changes everything. Because perhaps fear isn’t the opposite of faith. Perhaps fear is simply part of being human.

I’ve noticed that fear has a particular way of speaking to me. It rarely shouts. It whispers.

“Stay where it’s safe.”
“Don’t risk disappointment.”
“Don’t love too deeply.”
“Don’t tell anyone how you’re really doing.”
“Don’t hope too much.”

Fear isn’t always trying to ruin our lives. Sometimes it’s honestly trying to protect us. The trouble is, fear is a terrible leader. It confuses safety with flourishing. It tells us that if we can just make our world a little smaller then perhaps nothing will hurt us.

So we stop trusting. We stop asking. We stop dreaming. We stop opening our hearts. We build lives that are wonderfully protected. And quietly imprisoned.

I’ve wondered lately if that’s why Jesus spoke so often about freedom. Not merely freedom from sin.

Freedom for life.
Freedom to love.
Freedom to forgive.
Freedom to give generously.
Freedom to tell the truth.
Freedom to become fully alive.

That kind of freedom has very little to do with circumstances. Paul wrote many of his letters from prison. Yet somehow he sounds freer than many people living outside the prison walls.

How is that possible? Perhaps freedom isn’t the absence of chains. Perhaps it’s the absence of fear ruling our hearts.

Or think about Peter. One moment he is climbing out of a boat because he cannot bear the thought of missing Jesus. The next moment he notices the wind. The waves. The danger. Fear shifts his attention. He begins to sink.

I’ve always been a little unfair to Peter. I used to read that story and think, “If only he’d had more faith.”

Now I wonder if Peter deserves far more credit than I gave him. After all he was the only one who climbed out of the boat. The others stayed where it was safe.

Peter experienced sinking…and the hands of Jesus catching him.

Sometimes we only discover God’s faithfulness because we were willing to step out in the first place.

I think as I’ve wrestled with this, I’m slowly becoming less interested I am in ‘being fearless’. Fear is an emotion. It comes and goes. Sometimes it arrives without asking permission. Sometimes it stays longer than I’d like (I know this too well). I can’t always choose whether fear visits. But I can choose whether it becomes my GPS.

Emotions make wonderful companions but terrible drivers.

Fear can ride in the passenger seat. It just doesn’t get to hold the steering wheel. Freedom isn’t waking up one morning without fear. Freedom is answering fear with a quieter voice.

The voice that says,
“Yes, this is frightening and God is still here.”

The Bible contains hundreds of variations of the phrase,
“Do not be afraid.”

I’ve often wondered why. Perhaps because God knew we would be. Notice what usually comes next.

“For I am with you.”

Not,

“There is nothing to fear.”

Not,

“Everything will work out exactly as you hope.”

Not,

“You will understand everything.”

Simply,

“I am with you.”

Apparently, God’s presence is a better answer than certainty.

I’ve been discovering that freedom often looks remarkably ordinary. Making the phone call you’ve been avoiding. Walking into church even when you feel anxious. Telling a trusted friend you’re struggling. Starting again after failure. Choosing hope after disappointment. Getting out of bed. Praying when your words feel thin.

These aren’t dramatic victories. No one applauds them.
But maybe heaven does? Because every one of them is an act of quiet freedom. A declaration that fear no longer gets the final word.

So these days, when fear knocks on my door, I’m trying not to waste quite as much energy trying to pretend it isn’t there (because ignoring does me no good).

Instead, I ask a different question.

“What would faithfulness do next?”

Not tomorrow. Not forever. Just today.

One ordinary step.
One ordinary prayer.
One ordinary act of courage.

I don’t think freedom has been about living without fear. I reckon it has always been about discovering that fear no longer has the authority to tell us who we are.

God does.

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” 
2 Timothy 1:7

Bonus song – While in the car the other night helping take some young friends home, the song ‘Be Strong and Courageous’ by Colin Buchanan played. If you haven’t heard it, you should give it a listen. It is one of my most favourite kids songs and makes me cry every time I hear it. (Also, I say it’s a kids song, but really, it’s a song for anyone to enjoy.)

Here’s the chorus and my favourite verse

Be strong and courageous
The Lord of the ages
Holds all His little ones safe by His side
Be strong and courageous
The Lord of the ages
Holds all His little ones safe

Do not fear the darkness
Do not fear the sadness
Do not fear the sickness
Jesus has conquered them all