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Topic: Start (01/16/06)
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TITLE: One Fierce Foe | Previous Challenge Entry
By Lerrina Collins
01/21/06 -
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I'd said these words so many times. I'd had those teachers, too. Ones who specialize in ‘pat' answers. Who proclaim loudly, "You can. It's all a matter of attitude."
What do they know?
Disaster had struck, then kept striking. I feared to raise my head. Feared the next blow. An awful task master, fear. It was the acrid smell of my sweat. The acid burning in my throat. It had cut me off at the knees, then come alongside to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. It had caught me in a net. . .
Of my own making!
Work stained fingers raked through my husband's sandy hair as he asked, "Why don't you just try?" As his patience took a beating, the caring in his eyes wore thin. "You're blowing everything out of proportion. If you would just try, you could handle this."
"It's purely an issue of mind over matter."
We'd been through this scenario a dozen times. "I am trying!" I said, defeat etching deep lines in my face. "You have no idea how much I WANT to be free. I'd give anything to sleep, to eat . . .
"To live again!"
We were divergent organisms, living in different worlds. His logical and free from fear. Mine emotional and out of control. He had the answers in his head, I needed an answer with some heart.
Back in my bed of twisted sheets and knotted blankets, foreboding consumed me. When would the next shoe drop? Exhaustion dogged my days. Fear haunted my nights. I wanted to send them packing. But I couldn't. I just couldn't. Fear controlled me. I couldn't remember . .
Where to start?
The phone rang. "Hello," I said, fear choking my voice.
"Sis, are you all right?" she asked.
Someone who knew! Someone who'd walked their own road of ‘Why?'? Tears streaming down my face, I poured my hurt and anger through the line. Emotionally drained I paused, then asked, "How do I tell my gut to keep the food I gag down my throat? How do I sleep at night? How do I learn to live again when I don't even want to?"
"You can't. He's right. It does begin with your mind. You aren't struggling with fear. You're struggling with trust. There's a big difference, you know. The more you fight, the stronger its hold."
"Fear is like a hook."
"Trust," she said, her voice gentle on frayed nerves, "is like a chair. A place of rest. A place to let go. Either you believe God is good, or you don't. If you believe He is good, you rest in Him. I know you feel betrayed by life, but you have to make a choice."
"Are you ready to quit fighting?"
Gently she'd asked the question I didn't want to hear. I paused a long minute. Patiently she waited. "Yes," I finally whispered. "Yes, I am."
"It's time to accept His will as the ‘best'. Go to your Father. He loves you, you know."
"I don't know if I trust Him. I'm not SURE He's good," I admitted, afraid to acknowledge this, even to her.
"Oh, yes, you do," she replied, no sign of judgement in her voice. "God's goodness and grace are the foundation you've been standing on as you shook your fist in His face. You've been hurt deeply, but in your heart of hearts . . .
"You know."
Another long silence, pregnant with emotion, then she said, "Set your mind on trusting. Your body will follow. Take a step - of faith. Rest in Him. Give faith time to work. It will. I guarantee it!" Her sincere love and the conviction of her words hit me square between the eyes. "Remember, you enable it."
"Fear has no power."
I hung up the phone and fell to my knees. The sobs broke hard and long as I poured out my heart to my heavenly Father. He knew I didn't trust Him. The pain had been too great. But, like Peter of old, where else could I go? I had to accept. I had to let go. Finally, I opened trembling hands and gave my life back . . .
Into His control.
I wasn't ‘cured' that night. Or the next day. Or the next. But, every time I tugged at fear, I stopped - then chose to rest in my Father's arms. One morning I awoke, rested and amazed. I had slept the night. Was it gone? No. But, fear no longer reigned supreme. A start?
It was a start!
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There were a few places where, because of paragraphing or lack of it, I lost track of the speakers. But this is a very minor fix in a powerful story. Good job!