Do Not Be Afraid

A friend and I were recently talking about fear.  She is a couple of years younger than me, but she was reflecting on the fact that it seems as if she is getting more fearful as she ages.  Not doubting God or losing faith, but simply worrying over what might happen -- in this case to one of her children.  I commiserated with her -- I know these feelings of fear all too well.

But the more I thought about it, it seems there are two sides of the coin for me.  On the one hand, as I have gotten older, I do notice myself batting worry over "what could happen".  As my friend and I were talking, we attributed that to the fact that the older we get, the more we have seen.  The more loss and heartache we have experienced.  Like many people, when I was young, I felt invincible - the world was wide open, and I thankfully hadn't experienced too much loss or tragedy.  But as we all get older, we start to experience those challenges personally and see and feel those in our loved ones' lives as well.  So, maybe the fear comes due to simply an awareness of what could happen that we didn't fully have when we were younger.  

But on the other hand, with age I have noticed comes a deeper peace in God's good will for us.  Might bad things happen?  Yes.  But is He with us throughout the journey? Yes.  Many times as I have gotten older, I have asked God for the desires of my heart, but with a greater understanding of His will.  I pray now, as I always have, that God's will be done in my life and the lives of those around me.  As we all know, that can be a challenging prayer to pray.  God's will might not look like my will at all.  The things I think I want so badly might not be good for me (or my loved ones), and my little finite mind just can't see that.  But if we truly pray for God's will in our lives, there can be no room for fear.   He will give us just what we need.  It might not be easy or the path we would have chosen, but it is for our good nonetheless. 

This past Sunday's homily was in part about fear, and my friend and I were discussing how timely it felt to her about a concern she was having.  It felt timely to me also, but perhaps because it would be timely for me any Sunday.  In the homily, our pastor said "Fear suffocates faith.  Fear is never from the Lord.  The Lord brings you faith."  I have often quoted "Get behind me, Satan!" -- sometimes with a laugh or a smile, maybe when I am reaching for a dessert I know I shouldn't be eating or something trivial like that.  But there have been other times too, when I know that Satan truly is at work, casting doubt and fear into my heart, causing me to lose focus on what I know is true.  Those moments of fear are Satan, trying his hardest to rip things apart as he always does.

So maybe with age can also come a renewed zeal in truly praying for God's will in my life.  For putting fear behind me and praying for His peace, the peace which passes all understanding.  In my quiet moments of prayer and reflection, I can hear Jesus say "Do not be afraid.  Peace be with you."

Fear is not from God.  God gives us peace.

. . .for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.

2 Timothy 1:7

On the End of an Era

Twenty-one years ago this month, I got a packet in the mail.  I was absolutely thrilled to receive it - our almost three-year-old daughter was going to start preschool in the fall at our Lutheran school.  I was equal parts excited and shocked that my little baby was old enough for school.  It felt like a moment - her preschool enrollment was to begin our family's journey in the Lutheran elementary school years.  

Fast forward.  Tomorrow is re-enrollment day again.  But this year, I won't take my form to the office, enrolling 1,2,3,4, or 5 kiddos in our school  Tomorrow will be a regular day for me.

It's a bit surreal to know that next year I will walk in the doors for work by myself.  I won't have anyone tagging along, helping me take down chairs, waiting for me to get done after school, or popping down to my classroom midday for a hug or a visit with my littles.  It feels like the end of an era.

Let's pretend I'm a swiftie - we'll call it our Lutheran School Era (I never said I was a creative swiftie!).

 In this era, we've:

• gone to 11+ Christmas/Mother's Day/Thanksgiving programs per child (though many overlapped between kids), so maybe roughly 35, but who's counting?
• listened to/helped with more memory work passages than I can try to count, all of these moments being good for my own faith as I memorized Bible verses and sections of the catechism 
• participated in 21 National Lutheran Schools' Weeks, complete with special dress days, which are not my strong suit, but luckily Daddy is creative
• thanked God for our children's teachers, for our church and school, and for the steadfast mission they have always had to give their students Jesus 
• cried through 21 Blessing Chapels, and thus far 4 graduations, soon-to-be five (I fear some ugly crying might show up)
• helped our children work through countless struggles, hopefully teaching them valuable skills along the way
• attended about a zillion volleyball, soccer, basketball, and games, and many eternal track meets, washing stinky uniforms many nights
• watched the kids participate in spelling bees, geography bees, math competitions, music concerts, and talent shows
• prayed, and prayed and prayed

Lots of things in the list above will carry on into high school  - we still have two kids at home after all.  But this May will be the end of a very long era in our house, and it stings just a bit.  I'm excited for my youngest daughter to join her big brother in high school, but I also long for those little-kid days with part of my heart.  The height of our Lutheran School Era was craaazy - there was so much to help the kids keep track of in those days.  But I look back on it all so fondly.  

I'm grateful for everything that has brought us to this point. Our Lutheran School Era is finally an adult - a full-fledged 21-year-old.  It's time for our next era now, and we're ready for it. 

Silent Night

Silent Night.

Flickering candles.

Beautiful harmonies.

Cherished faces.

Family. 

A newborn Baby.

Love.

Those phrases sum up the end of worship last week on Christmas Eve.  As the church reverently lit their candles and passed the flame down each pew, the organist softly playing the beginning strains of Silent Night, I looked down at my hands, holding a lone candle. 

And suddenly my hands seemed to change before my eyes. . .instead of hands showing their 50 years, I saw young hands holding the candle.  And the candle didn't have a fancy plastic holder, it had a flimsy paper one that sometimes dripped hot wax onto my fingers.  

I recalled my childhood Christmases, earnestly holding the candle my parents entrusted me with.  I remembered singing in the aisle with the school choir members, and later with the adult choir.  I thought of our early years of marriage in differing states and our last 25 years at Trinity, juggling wiggly children with their own lit candles that I cautiously let them hold onto, their faces rapt with joy. 

And I realized, with a great amount of reverence, that every Christmas Eve of my life (except for two due to sick children), I was in church, holding a candle, singing Silent Night, surrounded by family.  Very quickly, the beauty of that realization hit me, and my eyes welled up.   For 50 years, I have been blessed to celebrate Christ's birth in this way - quietly, reverently, beautifully, and with family.

So many things change in life, and change is not my fave.  I prefer continuity and constancy and sure bets and steadfastness.  

But this.  This moment, though each year looks a little different, remains at its core the same.  The family surrounding me has changed over the years - some people are sainted with Jesus, some are far away, and some have been born to us.  The church family is different as the years pass too. But every year, I stand with my candle in my hand and my family filling the sanctuary with me.

What a gift.  To have had parents who raised me in the church, week in and week out, including so many Christmas Eves (and mornings!), to have married a man who values the faith and dedicates his life to it, and to have children who hold their faith dear and are themselves so deeply affected by the birth of their Savior.  

As I stood there, last week, with my candle in my hand, singing by heart the song I've sung on December 24th every year of my life, I looked around at the faces both in my pew and in the rest of the church, and I thanked God for His generosity to us.  That He sent His son, in such a lowly way, to save all of us.  That He gifted us all with each other - brothers and sisters in Christ - to encourage one another on our walk.  

That one silent night, so long ago, changed everything.  And because of that silent night, we have everything.