The milking is finished and we’re sitting on bales of hay. The calves are greedily drinking their milk and the crunch of hay stills the barn. He’s talking and sharing hopes and when he says the words five years I stiffen. Breath snatches and I blink hard.
“I don’t want to be here in five years.”
Pain slices his face and I cringe. He looks at the line of cattle and then back at me with deep sorrow. “This is my dream,” the words echo quietly.
I’ve hurt him and I don’t know how to pull the words back. I fumble. His face falls lower. I’m grasping at straws and trying to explain my words when I don’t even know what they really mean.
Panic is spiraling and I clamp my mouth shut. We stare at cows and hay and puppy chasing a rope.
What is it, God? Why am I afraid?
“I’m afraid of just being a farm-hand,” I tell my waiting husband, “I’m scared of never having the children I dream of and spending the rest of my life milking cows.”
Truth comes and tears drip from my chin. “No,” I stop, “that’s not true. Not the real truth.”
I take shaking breaths and scrub at my face. “It doesn’t really have anything to do with the farm. We could be doing anything in life and I would be scared that in five years, we’d be at the same place. I fear that God’s plan for me is somehow less than what I need.”
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t holy. Some of it wasn’t even good.
But the fear was.
After pain comes fear. Always. When a child is buried– fear stalks the next pregnancy. When a marriage disintegrates– fear slinks through remaining relationships. When cancer appears– fear haunts at every bruise and every abnormal test. When infertility crushes dreams– fear licks at every remaining hope.
Fear is a giant that keeps armies cowering and trained warriors hiding.
And if it were just us, we would have reason to slink away to safety. But it’s not. This giant stands in mockery of the living God. The One who says, “Do not fear for I am with you.”
I pray, oh, how I pray, that I will learn to know this God the way David did. That I will choose my stones and face this giant with confidence. That I will truly understand that fear is real and is present but my God is greater than any weapon used against me.
The only thing I need in life is to bring God glory. And everything else is a mirage.
When I cling to that over everything else I find that I am whole and fear has been banished.
What about you? Is there an area that fear is keeping you sliced wide-open? I’d love to be in prayer with you– to bind together with you against the enemy. Just drop me an email (natashametzler at gmail dot com) And perhaps you will be in prayer for me as well?