Fear is something all human beings are acquainted with. We know its ugly face far better than we should. It would control everything we do if we would let it, and often we come dangerously close. It bends our thoughts into a twisted knot, a cyclic fallacy, so that we fear even it. We dread its control, and yet in that very dread we give it more control. It is subtle and conniving, an expert at wielding lies and distorting truth, a master of the emotions.
“You’re a coward,” it says. “You’ll never make it to the kingdom of God, because you’ve given yourself to me. There is no escape. And are you sure you even want to escape? I don’t think you do. It’s too late for you; you’re hardened now.”
Its voice is loud and clamorous. It appears overpowering. When we try to drown it, it seems that we can never quite think loud enough. When we think we have silenced it, the whisper still lurks stubbornly in the back of our minds.
“You’re afraid. You have no love, only fear.”
But there is another Voice, and just the other day He reminded me of something — something I dare say many of us in this Divine story have forgotten:
“You are trying to fight, in spite of the lies that wish to paralyze you. You are trying to come to me, in spite of the assault of fear that wishes to drive you deep into yourself. You are trying to hold on, in spite of the dark temptation that beckons you to let go and succumb to your depravity. You recognize it for what it is: a lie. And you are asking Me to help you stand against it, in defiance of the feelings that try to tell you I will not. That doesn’t sound like cowardice to Me.”