I’ve been asked to speak at a women’s conference later this summer. The theme of the weekend is fear. As I’ve been thinking and praying about this topic I can’t help but wonder if many of you can relate.

My struggles with fear (those that have spilled over into adulthood) began, as I remember, at the age of ten. My father resigned from his band directing position in Roswell, wanting a change of scenery, and accepted a position in Cedar City, Utah. But our family’s house did not sell that summer and I stayed with my mom and sisters in Roswell while my dad and twin brother moved to begin the new school year. I remember asking my mom repeatedly if they were going to divorce. I didn’t understand the financial reasons behind the long-distance arrangement I only knew the very real fear that my family was crumbling.

The following year my dad’s health began to deteriorate. A fear that he would die grew with every breathing treatment and hospitalization. I remember very consciously thinking when I left for college that I needed to remain close to home and prepare for a middle-of-the-night phone call from my mom.

As a twenty-five year old bride, I wrestled with the fear that I was not enough. I had been profoundly hurt when my first marriage ended after two years. I was six months pregnant with our oldest, Bailey, when my husband left and I questioned, for a very long time, if I was truly loveable. Franklin never gave me reason to doubt his commitment and yet the fear of rejection continues to require, on my worst days, kid-gloves from Franklin.

In June of 2001, at 21 weeks of what we believed to be a healthy pregnancy, I was ordered to 24/7 bed-rest. We had lost our first pregnancy nine months earlier and I am not exaggerating in the least when I say that I worried every minute of the following 16 weeks that we would lose Emma.

I was 33 weeks pregnant and preparing for yet another day of bed-rest the morning of September 11, 2001. I watched the initial broadcasts of that morning’s terror and was glued as the video of the planes flying into the twin towers replayed over and again. I watched little else for four weeks and allowed yet another fear to set camp in my mind. What kind of world were we bringing this baby into?

Exactly four years later we gave birth to our third child. I had refused narcotics for his cesarean, wanting to hold and nurse him as soon as possible and as I laid alone in the recovery room I was very mindful of how much time passed. Where was Franklin? And where was our baby?

Franklin finally explained that Caden was having difficulty breathing. Early the next morning he was flown to the NICU in Lubbock and when we arrived we were told that he had, in layman’s terms, ruptured both lungs at birth. I held Caden twice his first ten days. Franklin did not hold him, giving me his turn.

The small holes at the base of each lung would heal over the next 2 weeks and Caden would be released with a clean bill of health but the panic of those fourteen days was replaced by a deeply rooted fear that we would lose him.
Right around Caden’s first birthday my mom called to tell me she had called the ambulance and the EMTs were transporting Caden to the hospital. He had had a seizure and my mom, just four months after my father’s death, was beside herself. We found ourselves in Albuquerque the next morning for an EEG.

Caden outgrew the breath-holding episodes that triggered seizures at about 36 months, but every seizure caused me to face, again and again, that ugly fear.

I don’t know what kind of church you attend, or even if you attend a church, but at my church we love on one another. We share our concerns and pray in agreement with our brothers and sisters in Christ. We glorify God, The Creator of all, our provider who calls us to a personal relationship with Himself through the blood of His son Jesus Christ. We call on the name of Jesus and plead the blood of Jesus over our lives, that chains would be loosed. And we’re not afraid to speak the Truth.

I will forever be grateful for my dear friend Suzi who patiently prayed with me many times. And then she drew a line in the sand and essentially said, you’re the one who’s holding onto these fears. You’re refusing to accept the authority that is yours in this situation and you’re calling our God, who is a covenant God, a liar. Don’t you trust Him? Don’t you believe that He is working His will in your life and that no matter what comes your way He will remain faithful and He will be your stronghold?

Do you hold onto the past, to fears, to bitterness? Do you find it difficult to let go and trust with a child-like faith that you were created by The Creator who loves you? Do you find it hard to trust that He has a plan and a purpose for your life beyond the plans you can devise? Our God is a covenant God. He is faithful and He will draw close to you when you draw close to Him. He will meet you, in whatever your condition, to re-create and strengthen. When I finally let go and gave my cares to Him He exchanged my fears for a confidence in His grace and goodness. He truly is my comfort.