Fear of God

    Dylan was afraid of everything. Refusing to go to church because of his fear of the Holy Ghost was not a surprise. He had no clue who or what this spirit was and wanted nothing to do with it. Because of his fears, his mom had to stay home with him as he was too young to be left by himself. Dylan acted surprised that I was unafraid of this ghost because all he knew of ghosts was that they tried to scare and hurt people.

     Although many of us do not fear the idea of "The Holy Ghost," we do fear God and spirituality.  Some of us are afraid because we don't want our lives to change and most of the time a relationship with God will change us.  What if I don't want to be what God expects of me?  I kind of like drinking or cussing or whatever we think God says I'm not allowed to do. 

   Others may fear going to church because our knowledge of God relates to that of an angry and punishing God.  Maybe Dylan had the right idea when we consider an abusive God.  What I knew of God before MCC Lubbock was that God and many Christians considered me an abomination because of my sexuality.  Who wouldn't be afraid of a god who thought that way about you?

     Of course now I understand that God is my heavenly parent and loves me unconditionally.  God is not out to "catch" me being bad like Santa Claus.  God doesn't want me to be or do good because of fear.  I'm not going to earn my way into God's graces.  God's grace is free to me.
    When I consider how frozen by fear Dylan is, I feel bad for him.  He's allowing fear to keep him away from God's love.  I pray that someday he learns that the Spirit of God is nothing to fear.

The Big Sweepstakes

My grandma believed with every fiber of her body that she would win Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstake.  She bought magazines of every topic and cost.  Sometimes she even ordered the same magazine twice.  Grandma filed everything she got from them and kept detailed records. She often told me that people from Publisher's Clearinghouse had called to tell her that if she only bought a few more magazines she would definitely win. And she KNEW that someday she would win the Big Sweepstakes.  They would come and with that huge check, Grandma's worries would be over.

My grandma was a woman of faith. She believed strongly that God was evident in her life. But at some point in the last few years of her life, the worries of keeping her head financially above water became too much. As she supported herself and my uncle's household, Grandma knew she didn't have enough money and hoped that the Big Sweepstakes would give her the money she needed to take care of everyone.

Like my grandma, many of us look to chance or luck in the hope that our fortune will change.  Sometimes fear, financial worries, doubt make us forget that putting our faith in the world isn't going to get us very far.  We get so bogged down in our problems we forget that God is in charge.

The money from the sweepstake was not going to solve Grandma's concerns just as worldly goods aren't going to make us happy.  So many times when a problem comes up, I react with a gut reaction.  I desperately look to find the easy answers.  Finally when I can't find a solution, I remember to turn to God. God always give answers although not necessarily in the ways that I prefer.  Most of the time the answer is not the Big Sweepstakes.

Sharing the Faith

My class project on evangelism had not gone the way I expected. In fact it would be more accurate to say that I really didn't feel have a project. AND I was flying to Boston for my class where I was expected to have a project. At the airport I said a small prayer to God. I asked that I be given an opportunity to talk about faith with someone along my journey.

On the final leg of my flight, I turned off my Kindle when the flight attendant announced that all electronic devices had to be put away. The man next to me said, “So... how do you like your Kindle?” For a few minutes we talked about the merits of electronic readers as opposed to the traditional paper book. Our conversation continued from there.

Back and forth we asked questions of each other and expressed our experiences with work, life and eventually faith. Although my seatmate didn't categorize himself as Christian, he was concerned that his friends who were Christians didn't seem to do anything with their faith. He talked about how he was disappointed that they didn't feel the need to do any more than sit in a pew on Sunday. As we talked, I heard how he thought believing would bring more changes in their lives. Ultimately the man wondered what good was God if a person wasn't changed by the relationship.

Taking the opening he gave me, I described how lonely and isolated I had felt before I began cultivating my relationship with God. I shared my relief in knowing that I was not alone and that God understood everything that I felt. Although the man did not suddenly embrace God and Christ, we had a conversation that was an opportunity for both of us to share our stories.

At the end of the flight, I knew that I not only had a project, but also rejuvenated faith that God answers prayers. I learned that part of sharing faith is not trying to force the issue, like trying to make a project happen. But rather it is about having conversations with individuals.

Monster Outside the Closet Door

Many of my childhood nightmares remain fresh and clear in my mind. A significant one for this time of year deals with tornadoes. I run through my house being chased by a great monster. I hide in the back of my mother's closet, trying to control my gasping breath. The monster in the form of a tornado searches for me. I am by myself. No one is available. I am alone. Although I am hidden behind Mom's closet door, I am able in my dream state to see what is going on outside of the closet. I am hyperventilating as it heads toward their bathroom and thus toward their closets. The monster is going to find me....

Yesterday was the 40th anniversary of the F5 tornado that almost destroyed Lubbock and the beginning of this nightmare of mine. Every year the media inundates Lubbockites with memories of these events from 1970. The town seems to be unable to let these memories go. As much as I groan and roll my eyes during this time, I also hang onto this 40-year-old event.

In May of 1970, I was two-years-old. My family's farms were 40 miles northeast of Lubbock and we had more time to get to safety than most of the Lubbock citizens had. I remember sitting on the blue-striped mattress in my great-grandmother's dark cellar. Lantern light barely touched the surrounding area and didn't quite reach the corners. My brother, David, and I clung to each other on the cot as the adults clustered together discussing the frightening event. Granny, my great-grandmother, wanted to see what was going and kept running up the narrow staircase. Grandpa, her son, would chase after her trying to get her to come back downstairs. Finally Daddy would usher them both back downstairs. A few minutes later the whole scenario would happen again.

As was common for me in times of anxiety, I sat in silence observing all the commotion around me. Except for David, I felt like I was floating alone in the ocean. A great distance of water separated us from the safety of family and grown ups. The tornado in my young mind was a monster that was strong enough to frighten adults and therefore could crush me with its mighty fist. How could I not be terrified?

Until I reached late adolescence, I had many nightmares in addition to the tornado monster and in most of them I was alone and separated from my parents. At some point in my life, I began believing that I couldn't count on anyone other than myself. My rational self realizes that this statement is very unfair to my parents and brothers. I developed this understanding separate from them through my misconceptions. This monster outside my closet door was not solely the tornado, but was in fact my feelings of isolation and abandonment. Like so many monsters, it intimidated me into silence. "Don't tell. THEY will use your fears against you. Don't give anyone power over you. No one can help you."


Sadly these anxieties have recently bubbled to the surface. I hide from the loneliness monster by putting on a brave face. As I consider the road ahead of me, I know that I cannot continue to exist behind this closet door. I struggle with the fear that I will not have the intimacy of a life partner because I remain closed off.

So today I face my fears of being alone. I face the monster that has lived outside my closet door for 40 years and I am still afraid.

Reconnection

Recently I've been reconnecting with friends who I haven't seen in many years. Facebook has been an amazing opportunity to find people who I knew from childhood. Sometimes when I send a message or a request to someone, I don't feel very sure of myself. Does this person want to have contact with me? Are we going to relate to each other as well as we did when we were younger? A lot of concerns and fears come when I think about reuniting with old friends.

I also felt this way when I reconnected with God. In a sense God was a friend with whom I had lost contact. I had walked away from God and didn't look back until my emotional life became such a mess that I was desparate. I had pretty much said, "God, you are of no use to me. I'm leaving." As a human I know how I would react to someone treating me that way. "If that's the way you feel, good riddance. I don't need you either."

When I approached God after my planned ignoring, I waited for the disdain and aloofness that would be expected from humans. I tried to sneak into church as a casual observer. First God wasn't going to allow me to sit on the sidelines. And second God didn't react as I expected. I was welcomed much as the prodigal son in the parable. God didn't lay any guilt on me for the way I had behaved or for my absence. I was welcomed with love and understanding.

I had never understood that God wasn't like us humans. God knows that I have faults and need to grow in many areas. Instead of holding it against me, God greets me with a hospitality that I have rarely extended to those who hurt me.

I have begun to realize when I am asked to be like God that this type of hospitality may be what is expected of me. Am I willing to put aside old hurts to see the changes in people or in myself? Do I keep my grudges close to my heart where they can never be healed? Or do I try to offer grace as Jesus did for us?

Fear and Death

Dad blamed Mom for my apprehension of funerals and dead people. Because Mom was so uncomfortable with open caskets at funerals and visitations, Dad thought I had picked up Mom's views. Neither of them realized how terrifying Grandpa's death was for me or that what I was feeling was actually a phobia. I didn't really get over the anxiety or fear until I was in college and oddly enough until I was an agnostic.

Grandpa, my dad's father, died after being ill for many years. Grandma and Grandpa lived just a few miles from our house and over 15 miles away from the closest funeral home. The family decided to have the visitation at the house rather than the funeral home because so many of the people who would come to visit were from the farming community. The funeral would take place at our little community church.

When we drove into Grandma and Grandpa's driveway, I must have been horribly excited. Visits to my grandparents were always fun and usually meant whatever special treats that my brother and I wanted. We got Dr. Pepper floats and biscuits with homemade syrup. It also meant sleep-overs and domino games and as many morning cartoons as we wanted to watch.

I'm sure my parents tried to explain again that this was not a fun visit and I really didn't understand what was going on. I was seven or eight years old and the permanence of death didn't really make sense to me. When I ran in the front door, I skidded to a stop in front of the coffin with Grandpa's body in it. Suddenly death felt very real to me.

I immediately knew that Grandpa wasn't alive. He didn't quite look like the real Grandpa. I backed away and edged toward the dining room. I avoided the living room as much as I could. When I had to be in there I sat as far away from the casket as I could.

This was the beginning of my anxiety of death and dead bodies. As a child living in a small community that usually had open-casket funerals, I had many opportunities to experience this fear over and over. After this when I did go to funerals, I avoided the line that would go past the body or quickly went past without looking.

I was afraid that the people who I loved would turn into zombies and vampires and otherworldly creatures when they died. My overactive imagination started worrying that these beloved ones would become strangers who wanted to hurt me. I certainly couldn't explain these fears as a child. I knew that what I thought was irrational and that my parents would tell me that I was being silly. I understood enough to know that others didn't think about bodies the way that I did because they went to visitations and they didn't cringe away when coming near coffins.

Now that I am an adult, I can see value in the closure that comes from funerals. That release of emotions act as a means for us to be able to eventually move on. Now as I begin my path toward ministering, I am extremely thankful that I got over my phobia. My ability to provide comfort would have been greatly limited by that fear.