"Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will
worry about itself." - Matthew 6:34
When I was younger, my blue eyes
staring at the pastor standing on top of the wooden pedestal, I never
understood what it meant to not fear.
In my primitive understanding, I
believed it meant to not fear the devil because God is in control. "Do not
fear death, because you'd go to heaven," I thought it meant.
But, at the same time, I was
taught to fear the world. Fear alcohol because you will become enslaved; fear
weed because you'd become addicted; and fear sin because you'll go to hell.
"Fear the kids standing on
the corner smoking, because they will deceive you," my mother
taught.
There was, I learnt, good fear:
fear that kept you away from evil and fear that kept you in the light.
And so, I spent most of my
life isolating myself from that which I thought would take me off the small and
narrow road to heaven.
Isolation for the sake of
self-preservation. Because God forbid I miss going to the promised land.
The past few weeks – some of
the worst this year – I've started to question this fear I was taught.
This fear which kept me awake at
night, stressing whether I've found my calling; obsessing whether the person I've
just met might lead me astray. Perpetually afraid that I might
miss the mark, that I'm not at the right place and not walking in God's
glorious plan. That I'm not going to meet "the
one" – the person I'd spent my life with.
I've learnt that the fear that
the pastor on the wooden pedestal taught me kept me from living life. He taught me to fear making a
mistake – sinning – when imperfection is one of humanity's definable
characteristics. He taught me to fear living.
I've started to question how
much of life I've missed out living because I was too afraid of it? How many conversations with
strangers have I missed because I thought they'd make me question my
beliefs? And how many eye-opening
experiences have I not dared to live because it wasn't completely in line with
what God taught?
Surely this is not what God
intended for humanity?
Surely, He didn't imagine His
children enslaved by their own fear of what the future might hold or that they
don't have the answer?
Perhaps "do not fear"
means to not fear making a mistake? Perhaps "do not fear" means to
not worry if you're going the right way? To feel safe in confusion, when
it feels like there's no way forward and no clear direction; when right and
wrong becomes shades of grey?
Today, I've decided – to
quote the bible – to not fear about tomorrow. To not create demons out of
things I've not yet experienced. I'm adopting a new approach where
I'm allowing myself the space to make mistakes, and allowing myself the grace to
forgive myself.
I'm okay with not knowing the
answer; not knowing where I'm going. Because, at the end of the day, we simply
do not know what will happen tomorrow.
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