Please do not feed the fears

I don’t pray enough.

No, I’m serious. For someone who talks about her faith so much, you would think I’d be on a Holy Spirit IV. (And you know, I guess technically I do. He’s in there somewhere, even when I’m not paying attention.)

But it’s embarrassing how many days go by, how many conversations I have about spiritual stuff, talking all ABOUT God. But not TO Him.

Days, I tell you. It’s embarrassing.

Well, yesterday I went to a one-day retreat. Part of it was getting alone with God and processing what we had learned.

I had been waiting for that part all day. Because I was starving.

I found a quiet spot and began pouring out my heart, listening intently, feeling like I was in a tight embrace with a loved one after a long absence.

I remembered Aslan comforting Susan after giving into her doubt and let them be God’s words falling on me.

You have listened to your fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you. Forget them. Are you brave again?

(Sigh.) Braver, I guess. But Lord, there are these places where I’m not brave.

And of course, He already knew. I informed Him that they were wars I could no longer fight. They were too hard, too costly. The time between battles was fraught with anxiety. And that anxiety had taken its toll.

So God, I’m going to let go of these areas. I’ve done all I can.

Have you now? (Knowing smile.)

Well, I’ve tried everything I can think of. Seriously, I’m out of ideas.

You’re out of ideas. Oh no, whatever shall we do? (Playfully.)

Lord! I’ve been praying about them forever! You haven’t given me any other plan!

Maybe because I’m still working the first one.

You can’t be serious. Lord, they hurt me. All of those situations, the thousands and thousands of tears shed, the headaches, the teeth grinding, the upset stomach. Lord, You couldn’t possibly want me to keep fighting. They make me so anxious, so upset. I just can’t worry about them anymore. You can’t want that for me.

There was a heavy silence. I waited, terrified of the answer.

Then, as gently and lovingly as He could, God dropped a truth bomb on my heart.

My dear child, if you are worried and anxious and scared, sweet girl, that’s on you.

I gasped. He waited a moment to let that sink in. And boy, did I need it. Then He continued.

No, I would never want fear and worry for you. I have specifically commanded against them, as you well know. If your heart and mind are shredded by worry, then stop worrying; don’t stop fighting.

The light came on and all of a sudden, I knew EXACTLY what He meant. All the verses in the Bible that say to not be afraid, to not worry, to not be anxious about anything. They were choices.

I had been choosing them. All this time, I had been a willing participant in my own captivity and torture. I had bought the lie that I was powerless against the dictatorship of my feelings.

Then God reminded me something I had heard someone say probably a decade ago:

Feed what you want to live. Starve what you want to die.

The stress and worry had consumed me. And I was feeding the bitterness by rehashing all the painful exchanges, all of the heartbreaking circumstances, over and over and over. Just pouring sugar on the tumors that continued to grow and spread at frightening speed.

And what was starving? My soul.

All of the sustenance had been going to my pain. And there was nothing left to feed what I needed to live. No wonder I felt so dead inside.

Suddenly Philippians 4:6-7 made total and perfect sense.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

I can’t even begin to count how many times I have read those verses, how many times I have quoted those verses. It’s one of the few scriptures I know by heart. Well, one of the few I had memorized. Apparently, I DIDN’T know it by heart.

Don’t worry. Pray instead. You can’t do both. They cannot coexist. And if you choose prayer, then you’ll have a peace that makes absolutely no sense given your present circumstances.

Feed what you want to live. Starve what you want to die.

If I want my fear and anxiety to go away, I need to starve them out. Take that nourishing attention and pour it into prayer, giving it all to God who is the only One who can do anything about it anyway.

I felt so stupid. And so free.

I recently heard Beth Moore say, “Because He has the authority, I can have the audacity!”

My fears began to subside. And I marveled at the simplicity of making the other choice.

Now I’m not going to pretend any of us can control what pops into our head. Feelings and thoughts appear and disappear at will. Fearful, angry, painful things will no doubt continue to enter my mind until I breathe my last breath.

But I don’t have to make them comfortable. The yoga chick at the Y says to “just let them float away, like a cloud in the breeze.” And if they keep fighting for airtime, starve them out.

If I’m tempted to throw them a bone, just indulge them for a minute, I hope I catch myself. Snatch that attention back and “cast my cares upon Him” like a fisherman casts a net in the sea.

I will inevitably bring in a fresh catch of unexplainable, otherworldly peace.

Peace.

When was the last time I truly let myself feel peaceful? I’m surprised I even remembered how it felt. And yet there it was, securing the territory, setting up guards at every corner

I COULD keep fighting. Because I was no longer fighting alone.

Frederick Buechner said it like this:

Of the Seven Deadly Sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back – in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you.

Waiter, I believe I’d like to change my order. I’m tired of the anger. I believe I’ll try the prayer with a side of peace.

And would you ask the Chef to hurry, please?

I’m starving.