To introduce today’s lesson on the journey to #bebrave, I must go back several years.
I was much younger.
Our kiddos were little.
We were living in Kenya, at Rift Valley Academy, and to the best of our know-how, raising a family and trying to keep in line 30 high school dorm boys (along with a kazillion other little duties that came with the boarding-school-territory).
Every day was an experiment in learning how to “do life.”
We’d lived on campus for several years, when tragedy struck.
It hit close to home and close to the heart.
Fast. Unexpected. Hard.
Not more than a mile from our home, dear friends were stopped by thieves and robbed. In the midst of fighting them off, she was killed. Her husband survived, but she didn’t.
Some of you, who’ve known us a long time, have heard me share my side of this story:
* The huge giant of fear that pounded relentlessly at my door, as soon as my husband left home and flew back to the US with the family.
* The terror that gripped my heart when I found out that the men, who’d been arrested and charged with this atrocious act, had been released from jail on a bribe.
On top of Bay being away, our mission station was basically emptied, except for our little family. It was, after all, the month when our students went home for vacation with their parents, and all the other missionaries left for a season of rest, or to help serve in other areas of ministry.
I felt very alone, vulnerable, and unprotected.
The “what ifs” crowded my thinking and any reasonable thought couldn’t find it’s way through the door.
Fear crippled, paralyzed, and ensnared me for a good season…and, the one and only solution that made sense to me was this: If only Bay was home.
But, he would be away for a good two weeks, plus.
And…honestly….what could He have done?
In the midst of it all, I knew I needed to dig into God’s Word and find His perspective for me, or I may not survive those two weeks.
I knew my faith needed “shoring up.”
Hard seasons have come and gone throughout my life.
This was truly one of the hardest.
BUT GOD.
Even in the hard of that time, I found Him faithful.
On one of the hardest days, I walked to our mailbox.
That morning, even the thought of food caused my stomach to curl up and rebel.
Believe me, this is not me! Normally, under stress I go straight to food for comfort.
There was one small package in my box.
The envelope bore no name – not a “To” or a “From” anywhere to be seen.
I brought it home, slit it open, to find a cassette tape inside.
Remember those? Let me jog your memory ⇣…
The label identified it as a Chuck Swindoll message.
The title: Giant Killing.
To this day, I have no idea where it came from.
Some angel knew I needed this WORD exactly.
Fear was my giant.
And, I needed some stones of truth to put inside my pocket.
The next time the giant taunted me, I needed to grab hold of one of those stones, place the rock inside the leather, and let it fly…
I needed stones of truth to cling to and fling every time one of Fear’s relatives stepped into my path.
When we’re afraid, perspective is what we need.
It can only be found in Scripture.
I grabbed my Bible and a concordance.
Looking up fear verses, and faith verses, I typed them all up on my little old Commodore computer and printed them out on that old dot-matrix (am I aging myself?)…
Every night….all through the night whenever I woke up; throughout the day…all day….WHENEVER I NEEDED the truth, I read through those verses, claiming the promises, and acting on the suggestions of things I could do.
Little by little, my #bebrave rose to the surface, and the Giant of Fear died.
Yep, perspective is everything when it comes to fear…
…and, God’s Word is powerful.
I threw the stone of truth in the enemy’s face, and it hit square center in his forehead.
Boom!
In the next blogpost, I’ll write out those verses, as resources, along with a little declaration of faith (that someone else shared with. me) as God led me forward.