to be brave

Hello, my name is Greta, and I am scared of everything.

Not actually, but kind of. As some people remember the first time they had their favorite food or the first time they rode a bike, many of my most vivid early memories are set in moments I realized the world was not a trusty place.

I remember learning tornadoes could destroy cities in a tornado simulator on a field trip in elementary school (whoever made that decision definitely wasn’t thinking it through). I remember learning houses could burn down, tsunamis could wash away towns, cars could collide, people could break windows to enter places they weren’t invited, airplanes crash, that sickness could steal a life, and the list goes on. From a very young age, I knew that I was not indestructible.

As I have grown, this undercurrent of fear seems to dig its heels in beside me. While the object of my fear is ever-changing, its presence has been difficult to shake. I am no stranger to shaky hands and a racing heart.

A little over three years ago I sat in a small blue office whose window faced the flight path of planes making their final approach into the Minneapolis St. Paul airport. I sat across from my wonderful counselor and watched as planes took off and landed in the distance while we talked about life, friendship, and the mess of my thought patterns. It was in that room I received a not-so-shocking diagnosis of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). I counted, checked locks, asked for reassurance, checked the locks again, washed my hands, wrestled with overly analytical thoughts, and probably checked the locks one more time (just to be safe).

Hear me loud and clear when I say that I am not a mental health professional. I do not know everything there is to know about OCD, I am coming before you now with simply my lived experience.

Through seasons of paralyzing terror of contracting one illness or another, sleeplessness in fear of the unknown of the dark, and dread of what I cannot control, I have thus far concluded that fear is an unavoidable ailment. Avoiding it entirely is, well, impractical. I am tempted to plan my life on the basis of what is least scary, how to feel the least anxiety, and where can I find the most assurance. Don’t hear me recommending you swing to the opposite extreme of seeking out anxiety inducing environments - but I think there is something to be said about learning to do things scared.

Though I have been walking with Jesus for quite a few years now, my chosen remedy to fear across many of those months was in proving to myself that the world could be trusted (I have yet to succeed). If I could juuuuuuust find some security in my circumstance, if I could just convince myself enough of the statistic, THEN the peace will come.

News flash.

The peace never came.

Of his many wondrous promises to us, Jesus lays it out clearly in John 16:33,

“In the world you will have tribulation.”

On that basis, I think we can clearly conclude what the world will offer us. Now, you likely know what follows immediately after, but I think it crucial we not brush over the next words spoken…

“But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

What does this mean for us but a peace that transcends circumstance? Not necessarily one that eradicates its presence, but surpasses it in weight, magnitude, and power. I recognize that I am leaving with a rather incomplete thought, and for that I apologize. However, I do see some value in setting before you a question, rather than handing over an answer.

What peace are we given when we have an object of trust that supersedes the world we live in?

What hope are we to walk in, knowing that this isn’t the end?

What joy is produced from the security of our sealed salvation?

“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Romans 8:38-39

Tornadoes still come. Planes still crash. Sickness still spreads. And we are not called to take courage because of an absence of fear. We move forward in courage because the promise and presence of Jesus is more comforting than our fears are terrifying.

Deeply rooted in the person of Christ the risen Lord, in the power of the Gospel, we walk through a world full of terrors in inexplicable joy, for our hope lies far beyond what eyes can see.

How then, walking in the peace of Christ, are we to live, if not brave?