Category: phobic 6

Transforming Thoughts on the River

.Reading time 11 minutes.

Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me. (Psalm 42:7)

They flow, curving through Northwest Montana.

The North Fork, Middle Fork, South Fork.  Swan. Whitefish. I most appreciate these rivers in late July. August, if the smoke hasn’t settled in like a thick, wool blanket.

The hot sun bakes my shoulders. Sweat trickles down my back. My eyes blink, squinting in the sudden brightness as I step out from the dappled darkness of the trees to the rocky “beach.” Thorns and bushes scratch my legs and my feet twist, walking over flat, large stones. This place was riverbed not two months ago.

An old favorite chorus at church growing up proclaimed, “I’ve got a river of life, flowing out of me. It makes the lame to walk and the blind to see. Opens prison doors sets the captives free. I’ve got a river of life flowing out of me. Spring up a well!”

How freely does that river flow through me now? Have I somehow dammed it, leaving only a trickle?

I tuck the thought away. 

Deep, slow breath.  It smells cooler here, immediately next to the river. I smile, it always does.  My baseball hat feels like a winter stocking cap. Now sweat drips between my brows, furrowed as I squint. It is sweltering.

Still, I hesitate at the edge of the water. The rushing, constant roar of the water muffles the little voices behind me.

A step.  The initial shock of icy cold is unpleasant, 90 degree heat and all. I always have to pluck up my nerve.

Another thought surfaces:  The kids were babies.  Yesterday, wasn’t it?  We were bleary-eyed.  Arms locked in a clutching position.  Our voices gentle, babbling noises and delighted smiles.  Shhh and da-da-da-da.  Repeating words with delight – “leaf” “rock” “river!”

It carries us. 

I have been trying to grasp and hold.  Slow it.  Stop it.   Sometimes I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day.  Waking every morning to the same everything…mind-numbing, monotony.  But then it rushes by, dizzying.  When did my oldest spring up, nearly as tall as me? There are no toddlers or babies in the house anymore.

I cannot control how it flows.  We are out here in the middle, being carried forward.  We can’t go back upstream.  We can only position ourselves to navigate what’s ahead.

I realize that my feet and shins are now comfortable.  I am exactly the right temperature.  Red, brown and grey rocks are clearly visible beneath the clear water.  It’s low today.  Shallow. 

A yellow leaf floats past.

The red raft drops next to me.  Half ashore, half bobbing in the current.  Sides streaked with grey mud.  The kids shriek as they splash into the water, too.  The littlest slips on a rock, barely keeping his balance.

Jesus’ words to the woman at the well now rise to the surface of my mind, “whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst.   Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” 

We climb aboard.  One paddle per person.  He shoves the raft out from shore, holding it momentarily from drifting downstream as he swings his legs over the side.  We’re off!  Slowly following the leaf downstream.

Ahead, the water spits and churns.  “Everybody paddle!”  Our paddling is uneven, adults on one side, kids on  the other.  The raft responds, turning to the left.  For several moments we head toward the spitting, churning section sideways.  From the back, Kagan dips his oar a few times and we right.   Nose forward we now squarely face the “rapids”.

The boat jerks violently several times.  The youngest begins to cry.  He huddles in the bottom of the raft, chewing on his life vest. 

Minutes pass.  We now face only a long stretch.  We are moving swiftly, but there are no more bumps to face.  I attempt comfort.  The illusion of safety has been lost.  He is impervious to my assurances.

I think of the disciples, long ago on the sea of Galilee.  Grizzled fishermen terrified by a powerful storm. Jesus, sleeping in the boat. 

Half an hour later, our youngest child’s continued crying is now under my skin.  It feels like a splinter, uncomfortable and annoying.  It’s self-indulgent.  Sharp words rise to my tongue.  As they begin for form, I feel a nudge in my spirit. 

“You can be very like him, Becky.” 

The sharp words evaporate before I release them.

In life, I am swept in the current.  I am tossed and jostled and dropped in the rapids.   I have fastened my life preserver.  I clutch my oar. But, just like this little one, like those disciples, at times I find myself huddling in the bottom of the boat.  Eyes screwed shut against the sun and scenery, ignoring the Parent who rides with me.

At those times, terrified questions leak from me:  “what’s next?”  “Remember that trouble!?!” 

Our raft floats to the edge of the river, now caught in an eddy, gently turning.  The crying continues.  So do my thoughts.  We paddle, just one side, and the raft turns another circle.

I find my thought swirling, too.  “I’ll always be like this” “Who do I think I am?” “It’s already too late…”  Vivid embarrassment, guilt and shame from past failures color the thoughts and the circles are no longer lazy, but frenetic.  All that remains now is those feelings.

A new thought pierces the barrage.  The oar of Scripture gently slows the swirling:

“Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.”  (Philippians 1:6).  My ineptitude will not defeat God’s good work.

“The Counselor, the Holy spirit, whom  the Father [has] sent will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you.”  (John 14:26).  I will not forget.  I will hear.  I will see.  I will proclaim.

The Spirit carries us along. Jesus knows what rapids lay ahead.  Those rapids I did not anticipate yesterday?  They were no surprise to Him. He positions me to navigate.  He gives me the oar and guides my strokes. 

We paddle on one side, then the other.  Our arms burn slightly with the effort.  It’s work.  Forward  motion now. 

The boat noses back into the current, and begins again downstream.

It’s slow now, barely moving.  The littlest one’s tears have slowed, but he is still huddled there in the bottom of the raft, clenching his life vest for security.  His big brother jumps off the side of the boat with a shriek of delight.  Cool water splashes us. I laugh at his joy. 

I remember Paul’s words, “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.  And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with every-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”  (2 Cor. 3:17-18).

The youngest looks up.  His sister offers him cherry, her own teeth stained with the juice.  Conflicted for a moment, his desire for one of his favorite fruits wins out and he lets go of his vest to take it.  Soon, he is reaching for more with both hands.

He might have fun yet. I think I will, too.

You?

Sign up here for the free download, “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”

The Weapon To Use Against Fear of Scarcity

.Reading time 5 minutes.

They feast on the abundance of your house, you give them drink in your river of delights. For with you is the fountain of life. In your life we see light. Psalm 36:8-9.

Each of my three kids get the same allowance every week. For some reason, this trip to Target, only two of the three kids chose to purchase gum for themselves. Twenty minutes later during our visit to Gramma Jean, the kid who brought newly purchased gum into the apartment offered a piece to one of the other two. The third child, asked for gum as well.

“What do you have to trade?”

“Nothing.”

“Then, no.”

“What!?! That’s no fair! Mooooooom….”

“It’s MY gum. I bought it with MY money. I only have EIGHT pieces left.”

*sigh*

There were so many things about this situation that were driving me crazy. We got through it, but I was tempted to wish the kids back to school. Tomorrow, please and thank you.

Rather than let me marinade in annoyance, though the Spirit nudged me. Granted, it was later that day. Maybe that’s how long it took Him to get through. Anyway, the nudge asked, “just how well do you share when you feel there is a limit to how much there is to go around?”

See, there are some challenges at work and changes to our schedule coming this fall. Challenges and change kick up my fear response. And when I am afraid, I tend to hunker down and hoard. Hoard my money, energy, time…Withdraw. Take no chances.

In short, after the Spirit nudged, I had to admit that my kids aren’t the only ones who don’t want to share when it may be costly. To look at another child who has trouble sharing, I just need to pull out my mirror.

Anybody else? Anybody else look at life as though there’s not enough to go around when they feel scared? Not enough time, not enough resources, not enough energy? Anyone else’s bodies seem to freeze up in the face of change and cry out — too little! We must conserve!

Things are running out!

Friend, I don’t share this to shame us. Heaven’s knows, the last thing we need is guilt and shame sprinkled over fear. Instead, let’s recognize this undercurrent in our self-protective tendencies. Let’s see our hoarding for what it is. Let’s tune our ears to truly hear God’s voice. Listen to His heart, friend.

His heart richly overflows with grace and mercy. He desires us to know this love that surpasses knowledge — that [we] may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. (Ephesians 3:19).

His heart yearns to heap provision on us when we turn to Him. He is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. (Ephesians 3:21).

In His kingdom, there is already more than enough, and when we step out in faith, the more multiplies. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed own, shaken together and running over will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. (Luke 6:37-38).

May we allow the Spirit to helped us identify the subtle lies. Especially those lies that sounds so much like our own voices speaking that it’s hard to call them into the light. May we draw near to the Source of all good things. May our hearts receive, eyes see and ears hear the abundant, delightful life that is showered on us.

I created this graphic to cue us to fix our gaze on God’s abundant, generous nature when we find ourselves pulling back and hording. Click here to sign up to receive the graphic as a free download.

2019 Year of Fear

.Reading time 5 minutes.

Hi friends.  Let me introduce myself.

I’m Becky, and I’m an Enneagram 6, with a strong 5 wing. 

Mostly a phobic 6, even. For those of you who haven’t done much reading on the Enneagram, I’ll explain: this means I can be a total in-my-head, neurotic, worst-case scenario thinking, wet-blanket, basket-case.  To make matters even worse, this “typing” firmly places me in the same camp as what most “Enneagram teachers” say the vast majority of people living in the 1st-world West are.  (Meaning: I’m depressingly ordinary). 

To illustrate, let me tell you a story. 

When I was in kindergarten, the firemen put on an assembly.  In one skit, a woman dressed in a flowing, gauzy, black gown – the embodiment of smoke – touched and put to sleep all the other characters so they did not know their house was on fire and could not escape.  As the red and orange fabric “flames” approached the slumbering characters, I burst into loud, terrified tears.   At this point, the entire assembly came to a screeching halt, and the woman in the black gown took off her gauzy black hat, audibly and visibly trying reassure me that it was just all pretend. 

She got me to stop crying and coerced me in front of God and everybody there at the assembly to agree that “this” was all pretend.  And “everything” was going to be ok.  But, even at 5, I could see the very real and present possibility of a house fire.  For months, even years afterward, I periodically lay awake in the night, wondering if my parents had checked the smoke alarms, (they most certainly had not, as flippantly cavalier as they were about such things), fretting that my little sisters might be too small to reach the bedroom window if there were a fire.  Closing the bedroom door (it’s harder for smoke to invade a room).  Chanting the “sinner’s prayer” because preparations likely had not been adequately managed.

And, that’s what it was like growing up as a phobic 6.

Oddly enough, I’ve never had an anxiety attack (head scratcher, I know). 

I thought I’d put my nervous anxiety behind me around the time my third child was born.  I was in a new, less tightly-wound place and really enjoying it.  But the same sense of dread came back with a vengeance this fall.  Dread hanging over me like a thick, yellow smog. 

I pled with God to just fix me, already. 

I’m tired of this.  I’m getting rather old for this.  Blah, blah, blah.  Same sentiments, different decade.  But then, I sensed the Spirit saying, “what if this anxiety is a trial of the James 1:2 variety?”  Consider it, pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  Perseverance must finish its work in you, that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

So, rather than be embarrassed, angry and ashamed of my nerves, I’m considering it joy.  Well, asking God to help me consider it joy, anyway. 

I came across these words in a book I’m reading by Jan Johnson recently that ring true:

If I don’t like what my actions tell me about what I want, what do I want to want? // If we want to want God, our next step is to come to terms with our underlying fears.  We start where we are.  We invite God to work with us on these fears so we can begin drinking God’s living water.  God’s own Spirit, as Dallas Willard explains, ‘will keep [us] from ever again being thirsty – being driven and ruled by unsatisfied desires…Indeed, it will even become ‘rivers of living water’ flowing from the center of the believer’s life to a thirsty world (Jn 7:38).”

Jan Johnson, Abundant Simplicity

God, help me.  Help us.  Amen.