Those
early days of Bible study were nerve-racking for me. I sat in a circle of women who had been
serious about God for a long time, some since their teens, some even during
early childhood. I felt grossly
ill-equipped to talk about God; I didn’t want to share that just a few years
back I was making jokes about God and questioning his presence in my life. I didn’t deserve to be in this group. Mostly, I stayed quiet and listened.
We
talked about our fears. My fears at that
time centered on the loss of my children, of something happening to them that I
couldn’t control. I feared abduction,
disease, house fire, injury. I had
nightmares about leaving my kids in the grocery store. I would wake up in the middle of the night to
see if they were still there and hold my hand under their noses to make sure they were
breathing.
As
the years went by, my relationship with God grew and I
spent more time learning about his gift of Jesus Christ and how I could stay
close to him every day. I learned to
pray about everything. I opened up in
Bible study about what I thought about God and how he helps me. My understanding of his gift deepened. We still talked about our fears. I started to regularly cast my fears to God
so he could take care of them for me. My
fear of an unknown tragedy befalling my children still lingered, but it did not
paralyze me.
All
over the world, tragedies happen. Too
often, they happen to children. Some are
abused; others perish in fires; still others are lost to disease. And then some are shot and killed. I find that my fears about these things
happening to my children resurface with each event that I hear about, some stronger
than others. I give the fears to God
anew. I pray for victims and their
families. I pray for people who commit crimes
against children.
It
is easier for me to do this, I suppose; I am not a vengeful person. I have experienced tragedy in my life, and I
know it does no good to dwell on what could have been prevented, nor hate people
for what they do. I know that hate only
serves to tear me down and tempts me to take the role of judge, a role which I
am not qualified to take. Certainly people
do terrible things, myself included.
It
is also easier for me to pray for people who commit crimes against children
because I have not lost my child to one of their crimes. They are not abused. They
were not abducted. They go back and
forth to school safely each day. My
children sleep safely in their beds at night.
It
scares me to think this. My fear tells
me that those fears, the ones that I have so openly given to God, are exactly where
the evil in this world will threaten me and attempt to break me down. The superstitious part of me, the one that still
takes up space in my mind where God should be, tells me to hurry up and cover
those fears with prayers.
But
I am slowly learning that along with everything else in my life, my children
are not mine. They are God’s, just as I
am his. My trust that he has his hand in
our lives and our larger world comforts me more than the fears have ever scared
me. His everlasting love, the love that
never fails, has surrounded me, and surrounds my children.
In
a world of so much fear and tragedy, I am comforted by the fact that he is so
good.
Fear not, for I am with you; Be not
dismayed, for I am your God. I will
strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right
hand. Isaiah 41:10 (NKJV)
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