Fear and Dust
Morning rolls in with the gray clouds that now perch at the apex of the volcano. I sip my coffee. Nibble my toast. Admire the bright yellow walls of my new room and say hello to the pictures of friends and family hanging from my walls, reminding me of who I am, of the me I want to be.
I run my index finger across my great slab of desk, sweeping up a stream of dust, gray like the clouds.
A phrase flashes, "I will show you fear in a handful of dust." T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
It’s not Tuesday, but Eliot still speaks, still echoes.
Fear and dust. Dust and fear sit heavy in my room, my mind.
Madeleine L’Engle comes in, pulls up a chair.
"Remember the root word of humble and human is the same: humus: earth. We are dust. We are created; it is God who made us and not we ourselves. But we were made to be co-creators with our maker." Walking on Water
We are dust. We are fear. But that is not all we are. We are also image bearers, light carriers, children of God. Co-creators.
Again the fear bubbles to the surface. I swallow it down with a swig of café negro.
It's scary to be a co-creator. It's scary to be responsible. To have the difficult conversations. To fight for truth and love.
Madeleine reminds, "The world tempts us to draw back, tempts us to believe we will not have to take this test. We are tempted to try to avoid not only our own suffering, but also that of our fellow human beings, the suffering of the world, which is part of our own suffering."
Lately I’ve drawn back. You can tell by the silence on the blog. I’ve drawn in. Drawn down.
Few things scare me more than meeting new people and speaking a foreign language. That’s pretty much all I do here, in Guatemala.
And it’s been hard. So I've gone all in and I've held back. I've tried to connect and I've thwarted connection. I've vacillated between fear and trust, bravery and dust.
Madeleine quotes Kafka, “It may be that this very holding back is the one evil you could have avoided."
Holding back my passion. Holding back my heart.
Scared to look like an idiot in a foreign culture. Scared to make a mistake. Scared to put myself out there and get nothing in return. Scared to say no to the men who pursue me for the wrong reasons because so few people are pursuing me at all.
I've always wished I was one of those people who wasn't so scared. Who could glide into a room, any room, and make friends. But that’s not me.
I’m broken and scared. A handful of dust. A fistful of fear.
But that is not all I am. I turn my eyes to the One who drives out fear. Who has given me a name and a hope and an inheritance. Who has brought me here for a reason. Who has promised to restore joy.
God, I give you the broken pieces. I give you the fear I cling to like a handful of dust and watch it fall through the cracks. Watch it spill through my fingers, dissolve into thin air.
Remove the scales of dust from eyelids so that I may see myself as you see me, as your child, your beloved. That I may see beyond the gray clouds, the gray dust, to the fullness of your light and love and to the sun I know is shining behind.
A Day Without an Elephant
Lately there’s been a little too much elephant in my life. (See this post)
Too much fear and self-doubt and guilt that has invaded my life like an unwelcome elephant.
As soon as I wrote that the question, “What if I am worth hating?” no longer dominates my life because I know the reality is that I am loved, the gnawing fear began to creep back in. Suddenly I’m aware of my every failing and my every selfish thought. How I will never be good enough.
I’m acing legalism 101, but failing life. I’m coming unraveled.
Where has this unwelcome elephant come from? Who let in him the door to my heart, my mind, my relationships, and my sanity?
I’ve heard it said that sometimes persecution is a sign that God is on the move.
As much as I’d like to think these ambushes of opposition are a sign of God’s great work through me, I can’t help but wonder if it’s not also a sign of my own neuroticism.
Neuroticism—yes it’s a real word (although we still have dibs on “neurotica,” Emily)—is “the enduring tendency to experience negative emotional states…such as anxiety, anger, guilt, and depressed mood” and explains a lot about my life.
I’ve always found a way to doubt my strengths, to fear the future, and guilt away my joy. But the thing is, I had gotten better. A lot better. I was experiencing freedom and I thought the elephant was gone for good. That is, until I started writing about it getting better.
So in this recent bout of guilt and anxiety and grace stealing, I ask myself the question: why now? Is it because God is moving more powerfully, so the opposition comes on stronger, or am I simply slipping back into my naturally neurotic ways?
The only answer I can come up with is that it’s both.
I think it’s a sign that God is moving because I think that God is always moving. And I think it’s a sign of my own neuroticism because, quite frankly, I’m always neurotic.
The greater question is “what is my response?”
Like I said before, the only antidote to this fear, this self-doubt and self-hatred that can sneak in and poison our lives like unwelcome elephants, is compassion. For ourselves. A surrender to God’s grace when we really just want to be the ones controlling our need for grace.
Whether the anxiety comes from the accuser inside or out, I can choose to love myself. I can choose to accept God’s grace and relinquish my pride.
Today at church, my pastor encouraged us to ask the Holy Spirit to show us evidence of God’s love.
I echo that request. Holy Spirit, please help me to taste touch see hear feel know that I know that I know God’s love.
Love, please give me hope for a day without an elephant.
The Unwelcome Elephant
This feeling only comes in two sizes: regular, can’t shake this vexing sensation but still able to function, and extra large, paralyzing, life-stopping, all-consuming. If you allow this unwanted guest to sneak past the bouncer of extra large you can pretty much say hello to an eternity of bumping and grinding with this guy in the nightclub of hell. When he comes looking for you in your modest skirt and smoothed hair, assuming invincibility because you don’t flaunt yourself around like a floozy, you need to stop, drop, and roll off the bus leading you down the one-way highway to the danger zone . Trust me, you do not want to let this guy anywhere near you, your hopes, your future, your children, even your dog. He will squash your dreams and eat your confidence for breakfast after he ravages your body and your sanity all through the night. He steals your identity and transforms you into a small, frightened child. His presence prickles your hair and dries your mouth. With your heart beating like a conga drum, he wraps his icy fingers around your tender throat, daring you to call out his name. But you can’t reveal his identity. Like the metaphorical, rough-skinned, plain-as-day elephant in the room, your friends know of his presence, but remain silent. The responsibility lies in you, not them. You don’t make decisions anymore; he does. Left to fend for yourself, with your ever increasing insecurity, doubt, and self-loathing, you may never make it out alive, or at least as a healthy, fully functioning adult.
The only antidote—confidence, compassion, dare I say love. Acknowledge your attacker and move on. Don’t think that you must show him compassion; don’t let your guilt trip you into giving him an inch. Have compassion on yourself instead because he won’t just take an inch—he’ll take a foot, your leg, your whole body and mind. If you do feel guilty or like you have suddenly diminished to the size of a pinhead, feel guilty that you don’t love yourself enough. Then take a deep breath, give yourself a good once over in the mirror, slam the door on that greedy little monster’s face, and go (or rather skip) on your merry way, bidding farewell to this unwelcome elephant, unencumbered and free.