Life As an Afterschool Special

“Is he — quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”

“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver, “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”

“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.

“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

—The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

Those lines have been running over and over in my head the past week.

In my woman’s small group and on the rumor forum we have been discussing fear of the Lord.

The bible if full of passages admonishing us to fear the Lord.

To be honest, it is so much easier for me to put God into a box and declare Him safe than to understand how He should be feared.

I don’t like the word fear.

It makes me uncomfortable.

It makes me think of manipulation and control.

It makes me want to run and hide rather than fall on my knees and worship openly and honestly.

I have lived in all consuming fear… and it is hard for me to use that word when talking about my God.

My Savior.

My lover.

My King.

I have spent so much of my life afraid. Afraid of myself. Afraid of others. Afraid of falling short. Afraid of being unloved. Afraid of love.

Most of these fears were unjustified, but they consumed me. They made it hard to think, feel, and breathe.

When I came to God, I came to Him without fears. When I was told that God accepted me as I was, I set aside the fear and ran towards God. I RAN towards a God who knew all about me, who knew all the things I kept hidden and still loved me. I ran towards the cross and the security of my salvation.

Now, almost ten years later… it is hard for me to reconcile the God who loves me with the God I should fear.

Does anyone else struggle with this?

Am I alone in this?

Maybe where I struggle is the very definition of fear…

fear

A feeling of agitation and anxiety caused by the presence or imminence of danger.

A state or condition marked by this feeling: living in fear.

A feeling of disquiet or apprehension: a fear of looking foolish.

A reason for dread or apprehension: Being alone is my greatest fear.

None of those definitions sound very pleasant. And none of them make me want to be in a relationship with the person I am supposed to fear.

This summer I went through a very hard time. I was attacked. And the more I said no, the more persistent my attacker became. I lived in fear…. so I KNOW fear. I know the kind of fear of those definitions.

When I was afraid of a man… it was consuming. Everything I did or said, everywhere I went, every one I let my life, everything revolved around that fear, and keeping myself safe…

It was constantly in my thoughts…

Last night… when I praying about fearing the Lord I realized something.

God is not constantly in my thoughts… everything I do or say is not always centered on him. I let people into my life and don’t think of Him. Everywhere I go He is not in my thoughts…

And maybe he should be.

Maybe that is the part of fearing the Lord that I am missing.

There is a final definition of the word fear.

Fear

Extreme reverence or awe, as toward a supreme power.

The more I reflect and pray about it, the more I am beginning to understand fear of the Lord in that aspect…

Reverence because he isn’t safe, and awe because he is good.

I am having a hard time writing. Not just on my blog, but in life in general.

I used to consider myself a writer of sorts… I wrote for the newspaper, I wrote letters and cards to friends and family, and I wrote for myself. I was the keeper of journals…

I had one for my thoughts and reflections. I had a prayer journal. I had a journal I wrote down verses from my one year and questions I had about God. And I had a journal I wrote poetry and stories and things that inspired me in.

I love the smell of new journals… I love the way a new journal is like a fresh start… page after page waiting to be filled. I love the scribble of dark ink on white pages… how black and white everything becomes when you can finally put down on paper the thoughts and feelings that consume you. I love having a tangible piece of my history.

And now all thoes beautiful journals are sitting by my bed, unused.

I am not sure why.

It was always important to me to have an outlet, a place to express myself. It was important for me to have a place to sort through and make sense of my own feelings. I would start writing and keep writing until things I feared seemed less scary. I would write until things that confused me made more sense. I would write until the untouchable became tangible.

I needed that in my life, and I still need that in my life. I am happier when I write.

But it is hard for me to come up with words.

So this is my attempt. I want to make grand promises about how I will update my blog and write in my journal everyday and write all of you 8 page letters… but I won’t.

But I will write… if not for you… for me.