Everyone Fears
Everyone fears. It's something you've undoubtedly been told. It's something I've heard all my life. Despite this, I hold on to the belief that there exist people who know no fear—Christians who have allowed perfect love to drive out all fear. I have seen particular individuals come close—people so focused on Jesus that, if they were placed in a lion's cage, they'd happily inform the spectators of where they're heading after the lion's done with them. But there's something else I believe. I believe that there are people like me: Christians who fear.
Sometimes we fear big things. At other time, it's little things. Often our fears may be just plain ridiculous! Whether it's fear of something tangible, fear of something imaginary, or a bit of both, fear slowly moves from its place of origin into new regions; it is not satisfied until it has infested as many areas of our lives as possible. Some fears achieve this more than others. A fear of spiders would result in an avoidance of dark places and insect-lovers. A fear of rejection, however, may cause you to construct walls that keep new people from coming in and, eventually, push old people out.
Let me show you how I perceive cars. Place me in the passenger seat and a car is an enjoyable form of transport. Place me in the driver's seat, however, and a car is suddenly a big and scary machine, and not something I can always control. Suddenly I'm afraid: I'm afraid I am not strong enough or wise enough to drive properly; I'm afraid I'm not attentive enough to perceive all possible hazards; but, most of all, I'm afraid my nightmares will come true: the car will roll backwards or spin in a crazy circle, and I will be powerless to protect my passengers.
It was agonizing, accumulating the 50 hours I needed to qualify for my provisional license. The first few lessons ended with me drenched in sweat and my back glued to my seat. But the other day I finally went for the test.
I was quite nervous about it and so I asked several friends to pray for the day. Just before I went down to the RTA, I asked God to help me—that His will be done for He is in control of all things. I sought comfort in the Bible and ended up reading the first half of Ezekiel 7. My NIV had titled the chapter, “The End Has Come” and that in itself made me wonder if my end (and that of the testing officer's) had come. Needless to say, there wasn't much solace to be found there. Not at first glance, anyway. Listen to verses 4-7:
I will not look on you with pity or spare you ... This is what the Sovereign Lord says: Disaster! An unheard-of disaster is coming. The end has come! The end has come! It has roused itself against you. It has come! Doom has come upon you—you who dwell in the land. The time has come, the day is near; there is panic, not joy, upon the mountains.
I wondered if it would have been more helpful to have read something else. Despite praying and reading the Bible, I couldn't shake off the jitters. I went down to the RTA and got into the car with the testing officer. And ... well ... I failed the test within the first minute!
How? When leaving the RTA, I looked both ways and started to enter the main road. My testing officer exclaimed, I braked and nothing happened. However, I had just been about to enter a two-way street with cars coming in both directions. I had looked but I hadn't seen. My eyes had noted the cars but the message hadn't been relayed to my brain centre, and my brain had issued a “go” without being informed. That's what fear does—it disconnects your brain from the rest of your body. Unfortunately, even though I knew I'd failed, and my officer obviously knew it, by law, I had to complete the rest of the exam. It's a horrible feeling going through the motions, knowing for certain you've failed.
We got back, she told me what I knew, and I went home to sulk. Stubbornly, I pulled out my Bible and returned to Ezekiel 7. There had to be some ray of sunshine in there! I couldn't seem to find it, though, and became more frustrated. It wasn't until hours later, when I was thinking about having to take the driving test again, that it hit me.
I had a second chance. Not just to re-take my test, but for something infinitely bigger. I had been given a second chance at life. That was something that the people in Ezekiel had been denied. No matter what I failed at, I was spared from death—ultimate death—a death I deserved, just like the people in Ezekiel. I had failed to live up to God's standards. I deserved God's wrath and judgment, but Jesus took these things upon himself in my place.
There are countless things I can mess up in this lifetime—huge blunders I can, and may well, make. But no matter what I “fail” at, or whether I get a second chance or not, it's all insignificant in comparison to failing to find Jesus. I know I didn't do anything to deserve to know him—I know I didn't do anything to deserve to be saved from the ultimate “fail”—hell—but I know that I have been graciously blessed. I have my “pass” to heaven and it's been paid for by Jesus. In blood.
It might be strange to think of getting to heaven or hell as a pass-fail system, but there's nothing more important to pass than God's test, or more disastrous to fail. The difference is that passing and failing is not possible in our own strength. I cannot ever perfectly drive the vehicle that is my mortal body so as to please him; I can never attain the license of eternal life on my own. But Jesus is right there next to me, helping me to steer straight, stay in the right lane, pointing out the hazards and keeping me from harming others. Because of Jesus, there's a place in heaven for me right now.
Relying only on my own strength, I will never get past all the little things and big things I fear in this life. Relying on God, however, I will. Not “I may” but “I will”. I'm not going to lie to you; at this moment in time, I can't tell you that I fear absolutely nothing. But one day, I will.
Marina Ayoub
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