Category: Fear Page 2 of 3

This American High

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On March 7, 2022

In Eternity, Fear, Living Like a Missionary in America

When I was a girl, my most prized possession was my sticker collection. Around age 10, Mom took me to a craft boutique, and I clearly remember the moment I laid my eyes on the most perfect sticker book ever: A photo album with a pink hand-sewn cover, hearts embroidered on top. 

My Gram snuck stickers into birthday cards. I peeled every sticker off A+ quizzes. “Trading stickers” was my favorite friend activity, and I relished carefully placing each sticker in that perfect album, gazing upon their colorful, sublime wonder over and over again.

I lay in bed, worrying about fires and thieves and tidal waves, and knew confidently what item I would save first: that sticker book.

A couple of weeks ago, my parents dug out my boxes of childhood treasures from the depths of their garage and brought them to my house. Lo and behold, there was my sticker book.

I look disdainfully at the object of my childhood adoration and see it for what it really is: a book of sticky paper, now browning around the edges. Thirty-five years offer a great deal of perspective.

Last week journalist Mindy Belz tweeted, “Pentecostal leader in Moldova writes of daughter and her family vacating their apartment and moving in with him so Ukrainian refugees can live in her place.”

Would I be willing to do that?

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Does God Want Us to Fight For Our Freedom?

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On February 16, 2022

In American Worldview, Fear, Living Like a Missionary in America

Early in our marriage, Gil casually mentioned that he wasn’t sure he would have been on the side of the Patriots in the Revolutionary War.

I wondered if I had married some kind of Benedict Arnold. Movies, songs, and Christian school ingrained in me that Patriots were on God’s side – they were the good guys, the heroes. The Loyalists were filthy rotten traitors who had no right to call themselves American, let alone Christian. 

But Gil has always been one to question the status quo; it drives me crazy, but that’s part of why I fell in love with him. He explained that he is deeply grateful for American freedoms, and he is not necessarily a pacifist. He simply doesn’t know if “taxation without representation” was a biblical reason to go to war.

That’s my Gil; he always has to bring the Bible into it. I wish it was easier to ignore him. 

(If you’re wondering if I am heading into the realm of crazy talk, please, don’t deport me yet. Hang in there with me.)

I sense a pervasive worldview among Americans: God wants us to fight for our freedom. Let your memory roll through American history – the wars, the invasions, the protests, the marches. Americans believe that fighting for freedom is a God-ordained right….even a responsibility.

But is this biblical truth?  

Ironically, first-century Jews expected Jesus to be their George Washington, leading them in their own Revolutionary War. The oppression they experienced under Rome went far beyond unfair taxation. Jesus’ disciples waited with bated breath for the moment when he would call them to arms to overpower the Romans. 

Except, he never did.  

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I Could Never Do That

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On May 10, 2021

In A Life Overseas, Fear, Thoughts on Missions

This was written for A Life Overseas, so my audience was missionaries. However, I think it applies to all kinds of hard things God may be asking us to do. It’s not just missionaries who are good at making excuses!

“I could never do that,” she exclaimed. “But that’s because I have kids.”

It was fifteen years ago; I was sitting behind a table at a missions conference, the church members perusing the displays of flags and brochures. She was a young mom, about my age, and was commenting on my husband’s and my decision to move back to Tanzania, long-term. 

My internal response was to feel a bit snooty. I wanted to say, “Well, I plan on having kids there, and I’m still doing this.” But I bit my tongue.

I knew better than to judge her, because how many times had I said, “I could never do that” about all sorts of other things? Moving back to Tanzania and raising kids there didn’t feel like a big deal to me because I had been an MK in Africa. But I had told my friend in Mongolia, “I could never live there.” And what about my missionary friend who lived in a remote part of Tanzania, without running water or electricity? Hadn’t the same words slipped out of my mouth?

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The Scariest Prayer

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On April 8, 2021

In Fear

I pray for America.

I pray that this country would be a safe place, that a gunman won’t shoot up my grocery store or my kids’ school, that bad guys in here would be put behind bars and bad guys out there would keep their nuclear weapons to themselves. I pray that we would have leaders with integrity who love freedom and unborn babies and poor people. I pray that earthquakes and droughts and hurricanes will keep their distance, and that America will prosper and flourish.

And more importantly,

I pray that the gospel of Jesus Christ will take root in this land. I pray that millions will bow their knees and give praise to their Creator. I pray for revival, for regeneration, for transformation.

But what if, in order to answer the more important prayer, God must allow  

gunmen

nuclear weapons

financial collapse

natural disasters

What if these are the means of answering the more important prayer? 

So, even though it scares me, I must pray, Your will be done.

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The Invasion Robbery and the Power of Fear

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On February 26, 2021

In Fear

Gil and I had lived in Tanzania for about a year when missionary friends asked us to house-sit (and dog-sit) for a couple of nights. These friends lived in a large, two story house that they often used to host teams, so it felt like a vacation for us. 

We spent the day watching movies from their VHS collection (this was 2002!), and went to bed that night in the downstairs corner room that our hosts had set up for us. Their Schnauzer dog, Stanley, was on the second floor landing, sleeping in his crate. 

At around 5:00 the next morning, I was awakened by the distinct sound of metal scraping against metal. The kitchen door was adjacent to our bedroom, and very clearly, I could hear the iron security grate screeching open. 

My heart stopped. What I had been dreading was actually happening: We were experiencing an invasion robbery. 

We knew a number of friends who had experienced this terror. A gang of thieves entered their homes in the middle of the night, tying up the family, sometimes injuring them, while they robbed the house of its valuables. For the whole year we had lived in Tanzania, I had been terrified that this might happen to us. Now it was. 

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