Irrational Fears

One of the most incredible, mind-blowing parts of the Christian experience is getting to be utterly invincible. It's fantastic. Honestly. If you've ever been down the Christian path you know what I'm talking about. See Romans 8: We know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. If God is for us, who can be against us? In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Sweet.

So what do I do when, a couple weeks ago, I'm cruising through the South American countryside in a little minivan and I'm suddenly absolutely terrified for my life? Now, I should explain that this terror was not ordinary terror. It was post-traumatic stress from an experience with a driver a couple years ago who was too drunk to even realize when we hit another parked car. We're talking hard-core, irrational, psychological, "I'm gonna die today" terror.

The thing is, a year ago, I wouldn't have been phased, PST or not. To live would be Christ, to die would be gain, and the choice would have zero to do with me. Every possible outcome would be the best outcome, because God would work it to my good. I wouldn't have even thought twice about the situation.

But I did think twice. Nothing had changed; the odds of my dying or living or anything in between were exactly the same, and I was just as powerless over my destiny in that minivan as ever, right? Yet suddenly, where powerlessness was once my number one ally, I looked it straight in the face and recognized an enemy I could not cope with. I started shaking, the fear washing over me in waves as my own impotency tortured my thoughts. I realized I needed a new perspective, fast, or the minivan would soon have a hysterical breakdown on its hands. Thus I started to re-evaluate my options.

First up was death. From the other side, this option won't matter much, so why is it so daunting from this side? Maybe…maybe we're just afraid we haven't done enough. Maybe our fear of death is fear of our own regrets. Considering this, I stumbled upon a very thrilling realization:

I have done enough.

To say that I've lived a rich life would be a massive understatement. A god could not have designed it any better, and I would not have chosen to live it any other way. I've seen so many things, loved so many people, enjoyed so many experiences, learned so many fascinating things—it's been a good life. Standing at my own funeral, I know I'd be happy with the people there and the memories I left behind. I've done enough. I felt my terror abide slightly.

Encouraged, I continued to less drastic negative outcomes. Someone else in our van could die; I could be injured, trapped, robbed, mutilated, paralyzed, lose my mind, etc etc. My old perspective would say, bring it, God will give me strength and peace to come out laughing at anything just like He always has before. Now what was I supposed to trust in? I've spent so much of my life gladly hearing how weak and useless I am without God.

The answer ended up sustaining me for the next four days of my trip, as I pushed my body beyond its limits hour after hour, climb after climb. The key, I found, was in telling myself this: Forget the irrational fears. Bring it on, world. I am strong. I have the peace to make it. I've handled life's curves before, and I'll handle them again. I got this.

A few months ago, I honestly never would have believed that such a perspective could be nearly as fulfilling as knowing that Jesus had my back unconditionally. But amazingly—it is fulfilling. It really, truly is.

I love me. I have done enough. I will keep doing enough while it is in my power, and it will continue to rock, not because God decided it will but because I've decided it will.