One specific juxtaposition in Scripture has captivated my attention for years. Hundreds of times in the Bible, readers see the command, “Don’t be afraid,” or “Fear not.” At the same time in Habakkuk, Romans, Galatians, and Hebrews, readers are told, “The just shall live by faith.” These imperatives might not seem incongruent to you. But as an adrenaline junkie, I bump into these opposing declarations a lot.
Ol’ Jimbo explained this more than 1,800 years before humanity first took to the skies and 1,900 years before people first left earth’s atmosphere. Comfort doesn’t just lead to atrophy in the muscles of our heart; it leads to the frailty of our souls. A life in which faith isn’t needed leads to an existence where faith becomes hypothetical instead of practical. Daily, weekly, or otherwise-regular challenges don’t just make the story of our life more interesting, they prepare us for the inevitable moments of crisis—the loss of wealth, health, reputation, or a loved one. If our faith isn’t regularly tested against the gravity that pulls our shoulders toward our feet, we slowly forget where we get the strength to stand.
I walk in this darkness with “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.” I have access to the source of all light, the genesis of all triumph, the fountain of all good things. His rivers flow in the dark. His waterfalls pound boulders whether tourists watch or not. His tides rise and fall without intervention. His purview surpasses my imagination.
Across the last four decades, that was the first time that word was applied to me (in person, anyway). That’s probably why I cocked my head a little when I heard the designation. It might explain why I’ve walked around with that moment and that sound for months now, trying to figure out what to do with it.
I just ugly cried in a public park downtown.
Don’t worry: they were happy tears. I was overcome with both gratitude and hope.
The irony of the situation was that I was asked to speak about what I’ve seen God do in odd or uncomfortable ways over the past few years of my life. Using Bob Goff’s book, Love Does, as a filter, I told my story of life change and the stories of sovereignty that affirmed my spiritual journey. I challenged the circle to respond to God’s promptings, even when they don’t understand the reason or efficacy of that obedience.
It’s funny how adrenaline and dopamine work.
Biologically, you get more of them—and with them, more of a rush—the more scared you are at the second you launch.
It’s the same with faith.
God seems to dole the reward for surrender with a greater sense of gratitude, peace, and accomplishment.
My wife and I were on a romantic getaway in a jungle hotel. We toured the Arenal rain forest with a public-university-trained nature guide explaining the eccentricities of the flora and fauna that we saw as we meandered. What struck me more than anything were all the symbiotic relationships—both plants with creatures and creatures with other creatures. In their current state, neither could survive in their current form without the other in its current form.