I’m not Dauntless…yet


I’m beginning to understand like never before what it means to fight for something. I hate fighting. In the Divergent universe, my faction would most certainly not be Dauntless. I’m daunted constantly. I’m a coward. Difficulties give me panic attacks.  But even realizing this sad and sickening fact, I remember that I’m not the one in control.

“Blessed be the Lord my Rock, Who trains my hands for war, And my fingers for battle— .” Psalm 144:1

Last night I had a relapse. Optimism is an intoxicating drug once it hits a mind used to depression, but when that wave ebbs, the fear comes back and starts chattering again. “What do you mean, move away? Are you crazy? How are you gonna make it? What if you fail? You always fail! The prospect isn’t worth the risk. Just forget that crazy ‘new life’ scheme and find somewhere to hide until life is over.” This was the inside of my mind last night. At about 170 mph, my mind was an F-5 tornado of fear and doubt. I started-second guessing my ability to take risks. I started seeing the “what if I fail” scenarios in glossy, vivid technicolor, and I started thinking “maybe I’ve been a bit extreme with my ideas. I should calm down and see how to salvage the safety I had.”

That kind of relapse is scary. Crippling. I feel helpless again. I feel foolish for having hoped. Instead of seeing a strong, capable woman, I see a small, timid mouse who shudders at every sound. So I went back and read my last 3 blogs to figure out what the heck I was thinking! And as it turns out, “My grace is sufficient for you” is still the truth. I still have to acknowledge that I don’t have the power, but He does.

I have a very weak impulsive vain. It’s a tiny, insubstantial voice that says “just do it” when anxiety is just beginning to creep in, which it does a lot. I get anxious making phone calls. I get anxious walking into a room full of people who may not be expecting me. I get anxious leaving my apartment. I know, I’m rather neurotic. It’s bad.

I heard Tom Hiddleston say something about fear once that intrigued me:

“Fear…is like a little friend you just have to hug…and say ‘we’re doing this. You have no choice in the matter,’ and then he has a really good time. …the fear person says ‘we shouldn’t jump. We shouldn’t do it. It’s really high. You might die.’ You just have to grab him and say ‘F*** it! We’re going!’ and then jump.”

Now obviously I’m nowhere near as in control of my “little friend” as Tom seems to be, but the little voice in my head tells me to just take the step. Don’t think. Just do it. But I don’t believe I’m the one hugging the little friend and jumping. Jesus is. I credit God, because, like I said, I’m a coward, but “God has not given you a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind” (2 Tim 1:7). I may not be dauntless, but Christ is.  I have no strength to wrestle my fear into submission, but he does. And once again, I am reminded that “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me” (Gal 2:20).  I’m still afraid, but I want to move forward anyway.  God, help me. 


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