When Fear Is at the Door

 

Fear knocked at the door. Faith answered. No one was there. – Unknown

Fear knocked at my door a lot this last decade. 

Events over which I had no control hounded me relentlessly, leaving me to feel as if I were bobbing helplessly along in a swift river toward a massive waterfall – something like Bogey and Kate in African Queen. 

Except I had the drama without the glamour. Each day I grimly pushed through the day’s challenges as I have tried to ignore the persistent pounding on my spirit’s door.

    

Some days I totally gave in to it. One week in 2012, I discovered I had a nasty infection, followed by bad reactions to each of the two different antibiotics prescribed by my doctor. One was particularly frightening. I debated whether to go to ER but settled instead on going to bed to wait out the night. My family prayed for me, released me from my share of the caregiving duties, and watched protectively as I snuggled under the comfort of my new throw (a Pier One Valentine’s gift from my dear husband) and tried to shut my eyes against the raging storm in my body.

The greater storm was the one in my spirit.

The physical pounding in my heart echoed the fear emanating from behind the door of the unknown as it rattled the doorknob and threatened to pull me into its depths.

Just then, my husband came up bearing a small container of pure, extra-virgin olive oil from the kitchen. He slipped to my side and offered to anoint me as he prayed for me. I gladly accepted. He poured a bit out and touched it to my forehead as he prayed a simple but heartfelt prayer for healing. It was nothing grandiose or commanding – just a request to his God on behalf of his beloved.

The physical storm did not immediately stop, but the spiritual one subsided as that incomprehensible peace only the Spirit can give washed over me. My husband’s intercession was the reminder I needed that God is always in control. It was his faith going to the door for me and opening it to find nothing on the other side.

The next day I felt much better and went on to recovery without incident.

That storm has been followed in the years since by others more fearsome. Each time, I am reminded our struggle is truly not a physical one, but one against the “flaming missiles of the evil one” (Eph. 6:16). In this age of lawlessness and disrespect for human life, we do not battle with the culture of death alone, but with the “spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places” (Eph. 6:12). 

For those wars in our lives, we must put on the whole armor of God and walk in complete fearlessness, never forgetting we serve a big God who is alive, well, and fully in charge.

God is real. Fear is the shadow.

Today may God strengthen and encourage you for whatever doors you face. As you surround yourself with His armor, my prayer is He will grant us all the courage to open those doors and dispel our fears. Who knows what opportunities for God’s service and glory lie behind them?

Not to fear is the armor. 

- Ulrich Zwingli

For God has not given us a spirit of fear,
but of power and of love and of a sound mind.
- 2 Timothy 1:7 NKJV

Photo courtesy Erik Thorson 2023

Leave No One Behind

It was another one of those calls.

My elderly father had just had another serious medical "event," resulting in CPR and an ambulance ride to the hospital. I needed to go be with him and my stepmother.

I opened a drawer in the early morning semi-darkness and grabbed a pair of jeans. I dressed quickly and quietly, trying not to disturb my sleeping husband. I pulled on the nearest pair of socks and my most comfortable shoes, not knowing how long I would be at the hospital.

I pretty much lived in those jeans for the next few days.

One day, during a conference with the medical team caring for Dad, I suddenly became aware that my jeans felt short. I looked down and saw red deck stain blotches on the front of the denim. Then came the moment of realization: I had pulled out a pair of old denim capris that I wore last summer for painting projects outside. As a finishing touch, the cuffs had come unrolled, hitting just above the ugly black socks that stuck out of my tennis shoes.

Nice.

The worst part is that I didn't even care. My husband and I are already caregivers for a quadriplegic son. I take care of all of the nursing needs, and my husband stays up all night, every night, to ensure that our son is safe while he sleeps on the ventilator.

I have lots of days that are fashion fails. Caregiving is our life, our normal. We have done it for over two decades and are happy to do it. But it leaves little strength or emotional energy for anything else.

And 2017 was full of anything else. Health issues with my father and stepmother dominated the summer months, along with their major move to a new home closer to family and medical care. Our daughter was hit in two separate auto incidents that were determined not to be her fault. The second one totaled her car.

Then December hit with a vengeance. 

Our son developed two infections, and it took all our strength to keep him out of the hospital. Just as he began to recover, Dad passed out in -conveniently- the doctor's office. He was revived with CPR on the floor of the examination room and taken to the hospital by ambulance. He was admitted for observation, and we began the familiar juggling act to keep everything going at home and staying by my dad and step-mom's side. Our daughter navigated caregiving, a job change, and her own health issues.

Then, as the old year closed and a new year dawned, new and darker challenges assaulted us.

Here we are, in March, still deep in trial and work and sorrow. I cling to hope, believing against the crush of circumstances that God will deliver us as He always has. But these trials have reminded me in a profound way that I will not make it without Him. This old warrior is tired.

This is the reality of caregiving. 

If you're a caregiver, you probably walk a similar path. Sometimes it's a smooth, blessing-filled journey. Other times, it's all-out war, a battlefield filled with smoke and blood and the weeping of the wounded. This is the place where fashion fails and platitudes and casual Christianity are meaningless. Here the offers of prayers are taken seriously, where a simple act of kindness can literally help save a life.

Here, nothing much matters except to see the Deliverer coming over the horizon.

If you're a caregiver today, remember that your service to your loved one and to God is a sacred sacrifice. It's not a glamorous job, but it's a vital one. If you can relate to anything I'm feeling on any particular day, remember you are not alone. In fact, we're not meant to do this alone. Send me your prayer requests, and I will pray for you.

Caregiving is an often lonely job. But collectively we are the army that surrounds and encourages those who fight for others. Let's make sure no one is left alone on the fields of faith to struggle alone. The soul of any nation rests on how it treats its most vulnerable, both those who are wounded and those who care for them.