A Letter to Fear

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Dear Fear,

I know you’ve got good reason to be here and I know why you’re shouting so loud. The case you’ve presented, the argument you’ve made, it’s valid. The circumstances are definitely messy. It looks bad. And no, I don’t have any ideas or solutions on how to fix it. Yes, I feel the pain deeply. There is so much pain. No, this isn’t what I’d hoped for or how I wanted things to turn out. Yes, I dreamed of better. No, I don’t understand.

But let me stop you there. Understanding doesn’t guarantee resolution—this much I’ve learned. I’ve got no guarantees either way. Comprehension isn’t the solution. 

And yes, maybe I could purge my life of the threats of betrayal, disappointment and violation through disconnect and isolation. But loneliness and self-reliance come with their own set of pains. I cannot buy this romanticized version of self-protect you’ve disguised as self-care.

The problem, fear, is that the picture you’ve painted is too narrow, too focused on certain elements without considering others. Yes, the circumstances you’re focused on suck. Yes, I’ve been angry, I’ve cried, I’ve been overwhelmed and I’ve felt defeated. But this journey has also had times of joy, excitement, hope and peace. I have a treasure-trove of rich and happy memories. I can admit that the pain sometimes obfuscates my ability to see and remember all that, but it’s still there. I know it is, I’ve lived it.

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The biggest factor you’re omitting, though, is the influence of God in all this. Yes, I know He doesn’t control people and that He can’t make anyone change. But He can and does take care of me. No matter what the past or present or future holds, He is with me and willing to help me in whatever way I need it. 

I recognize that the pain I feel fuels your voice. You’re desperate. You are willing to do anything it takes to make the pain stop. However, the goal cannot be a pain-free life because that’s not even a real thing. The goal is a love-filled life. My highest aim is love—the 1 Corinthians 13 kind of love. That kind of love is incredibly risky, because it’s not self-serving, and basically guarantees attachment pain. But God promises grace and power and courage and partnership with me in loving like this. He also promises to heal every wound (even the self-inflicted ones.) I will still have to feel the wound, yes, and walk-through the healing of it. But healing is promised.

So, fear, I’ve heard your argument and felt the pieces of it that are true. But I can also see the holes—the places you’re missing some keys facts. Specifically, that there is no such thing as a pain-free life. With that in mind, I think I’ll choose a life of genuine love (with pain) rather than a life of pain without love.

You can keep your self-protect, with your hiding and running and walls and isolation. I’m going to keep risking, keep letting people in, keep letting myself be seen and known and invest in connection with others. I am going to choose gentleness and remain a safe place, even for those who wound me. I will continue to believe the best in and for others.

I refuse to take failure as defeat.

I will not give up.

Fear, it’s time to be quiet. I’ve made my choice.