poster child for fear
by bam
be not afraid is the instructive. it comes in a hymn we belt from our pews, and in one form or another it’s spelled out in sacred text in most every religion. i’ve belted the words to the hymn with voice cracking, and tears running down my cheeks. i’ve belted out those words as if in singing them loudly i could muscle up to the task.
to be not afraid, we’ve been told, is to be certain of faith. what then of us wafflers? the ones with wobbly knees?
i sometimes think i’m the poster child for fear. and the fear i’ve felt in this whole last year is a whole new subterranean trembling. it’s one that wakes you in the night. and one that sends you and your worries catapulting off into nevernever land. all it takes is a headache that won’t go away. or a pang in the side that’s not from cold ice cream.
sometimes i think it’s only fair that i find myself in the company of fear so very often these days. it’s an unerasable fact of my life that not quite a year ago i awoke from a surgery and heard the doctor say, “i was so surprised, it was cancer.” and then, as if needing proof there on my gurney, i reached down to where the holes were, five of them––front, back, and side––the slits from which they pulled out a good chunk of my lung.
surprises like that are a bit hard to shake.
so now, for two long weeks, a curious constellation of queasies has been pinned to me like a shadow, and i am pretty much wide-eyed afraid. last night my doctor sent me for blood tests. a whole slew of them. i almost thought they’d grab a jug off the shelf and start to fill it.
for someone who doesn’t like talking about my medical woes, i am wading in a bit too deep here. but i am someone who takes to heart the knowledge that i’m not the only scaredy cat in the litter. and sometimes i think it’s the right thing to do to put voice to the truth that there are times when we aren’t so brave. there are times when we wish we could hide under the covers, or under the bed, and wait for the bogeyman’s footsteps to turn and go away.
does it mean i’m faithless because i’m afraid? i don’t think so. i think it means i’ve been keeping watch long enough to know that stories don’t always end with happy endings. and God can love you to pieces, but not write the story quite the way you’d plot it out. i mean, i’ve been to funerals of souls so breathtakingly good, you sit there gasping at the hole now left in their absence. at how the world without those particular angels living, breathing, and wafting among us is a far sorrier place. at how you can’t quite fathom a world without their showing us day after day just how magnificent the human species can be.
turns out the words to the song, “be not afraid,” were written by a jesuit priest-in-training who was deeply afraid when he wrote it. he was quaking with fear. the fear of not knowing what lay ahead. would he be any good at this priestly existence? where in the world would it lead him? was he hours away from the biggest mistake of his lifetime? well, father dufford was his name, and, on the cusp of his ordination, he was sent off to pray all by his lonesome. and that’s when he opened the nearest book to his elbow, which happened to be a Bible. flipping through chapter and verse, he turned to the story of the Annunciation, when the angel gabriel is said to have come to the Blessed Virgin Mary––an unmarried teen, you recall––to tell her she was “with child,” and gabriel said to her “do not be afraid.”
father dufford had his first line.
a few weeks later, as father D tells the tale, a friend of his told him she was being sent to ghana to do missionary work. and that made him really want to finish his hymn before she left. but hymn writing is not always easy. and despite his determination, he could only come up with a second line: “i go before you always.”
it would be a whole year before he got to the last line: “and i will give you rest.”
it’s a hymn that since 1975 has poured into the brokenness that defines so much of history, both the intimate personal history we know to be our very own, and the collective history of us as a people who’ve been crushed and shattered and brittled by so, so much.
it’s a hymn sister helen prejean, the great saint of death rows upon rows, often sings to those inmates she walks to death’s door––the last words they hear before their last breath. it’s the hymn bill clinton chose for his first inauguration at the morning prayer service. father dufford says that he’s gotten notes from people who lull themselves to sleep humming it on those nights when sleep won’t otherwise come.
when father dufford’s own father died some years later, he added one last verse:
And when the earth has turned beneath you and your voice is seldom heard,
When the flood of gifts that blessed your life has long since ebbed away,
When your mind is thick and hope is thin and dark is all around,
I will stand beside you till the dawn.
maybe i should remember all the words.
and on the subject of fear and holding hands in the face of fear, here is this excerpt from naomi shihab nye’s “EVERY DAY AS A WIDE FIELD, EVERY PAGE,” a poem in which she puts word to the one sure thing i know that takes away my fears: when i picture ones i love huddled right beside me, squeezing my hand; when i remember that all of us together can keep our knees from buckling. isn’t that why we’re here? given that the world these days has plenty to knock us off our rockers, it’s a blessed thing to picture wide-eyed tender-hearted folk all around the globe, looking up into the night, holding hands in a virtual steadying circle. here’s naomi’s take on that, a thought that came to her watching fireflies blink in the dark of night….
We didn’t have to be in the same room —
the great modern magic.
Everywhere together now.
Even scared together now
from all points of the globe
which lessened it somehow.
Hopeful together too, exchanging
winks in the dark, the little lights blinking.
When your hope shrinks
you might feel the hope of
someone far away lifting you up.
Hope is the thing …
when i am afraid, i look to the stories and the strength of ordinary folk whose hurdles are daunting, and yet who lope forward with grace. i seize on the kindness of strangers, the lady at the immediate care check-in desk, the schedulers on the hospital phone, the sweet woman who tied on the tourniquet and borrowed those many tubes of blood. in the past year, i’ve bumbled into a troupe of brave souls whose fearlessness takes my breath away. some of their roads are far bumpier than mine, and yet they press on, shedding their light on all who are blessed enough to take a few steps beside them. maybe the gift of being afraid is that it makes you reach beyond your own trembling walls. it makes you take a deep breath and step into the darkness. and in time, you find your bearings, and you look down and realize you’re stronger and braver than you ever imagined.
where do you turn when you are afraid?
p.s. in poking around just now, looking for a photo that wasn’t hokey, i stumbled on this bit of intrigue: apparently the words, “do not be afraid,” appear in the bible 365 times. (i love the folks who count these things…) so, apparently, that’s a reminder a day. except for in leap year. which is this year. which is six days from now. so we’ll have to remind ourselves: do not be afraid.
Love Naomi Shihab Nye’s nod to Emily Dickinson. Not nearly as much as I love you, dear “poster child for fear.”
Cheryl
❤️❤️❤️ and I, you. ❤️
Thank you for bravely sharing the necessary words.
Thank you for reading and being right here. I only tread into these murky waters cuz fear is hard to talk about, and too often we try not to let on. But this ol’ table is where we can bring what we might not bring elsewhere.
It takes a brave heart to share fear, and yours is one of the bravest I know…always reaching out, always helping and caring — from desperately ill children, to raising your darling boys through all kinds of life challenges, to a pidgeon man on the street…Your heart is not only one of the bravest, but one of the biggest. All we chairs are holding fast to you, body, spirit, and soul. Love you, Moonbeam.
Love YOU, moonbeam. Did you see that shining glowing orb last night? Oh my. As if the heavens were reaching out to us all, the trembling flocks down here on the little blue marble….
I did! It was spectacular. Full tomorrow night, I think. 🌙
When your hope shrinks
you might feel the hope of
– all of us chairs – lifting you up.
And maybe you have stumbled upon the inspiration for your next book – a reflection a day on each of those 365 Bible mentions of “do not be afraid”?
Bless you. And thank you. Xox
Many hugs to you as you continue this unplanned journey. I do hope it helps you to share your fears with us. You are loved from near and far. I was struck by your line: I seize upon the kindness of strangers. There are many good people in the world. 🙏🏻
Denise
there are sooo soo many. and ever since my little odyssey began i have made it my mission to circle back to those of life-force kindness and empathy to tell them the hugeness of what they might see as a small kindness. but every drop matters.
Thinking of you, Barb and sending all the heartfelt wishes that the days ahead are easier.
thank you dear mary. it’s just a bump, i am sure. and it’s just that right now the bumps tend to feel magnified….
Fear is the key to opening yourself to GOD. That presence is always and forever. We need not look further. We are tuned to the Almighty now and in everlasting. Open, open open!
amen.
I just this morning read a fistful of quotes on hope, in the Christian Wiman book with which you are quite familiar, ‘Zero at the Bone.’ Hold this one: “Hope is a condition of the soul, not a response to the circumstances in which you find yourself.” May your fear be calmed by the love and hope of those surrounding you, and may your soul be well conditioned with healing hope. Yes, as penned by Naomi Shihab Nye “Hope is the thing.”
ohhhhh, love that chris wiman who knows a thing or two about finding the needle of hope in a haystack. it’s like a passing cloud: some days it’s there and thick, some days poof it evaporates. sending love to the mountain high girl. xoxox
Do not be afraid…your chair tribe has circled you with love and light. We are here for you.
Thank you for trusting us to be part of your journey. I agree that there’s a book in the 365 references. Go for it sweet friend.
Love that circle of light, and leaning into it. All shall be well, as dear Julian of Norwich said on repeat.
Do not be afraid! We are all here, holding your hand across cyberspace, sending our light and love your way. I hope you are able to feel the many layers of love and hope that surround you. Take good care of yourself!
❤️❤️❤️
I’m adding my small voice and my whole heart to this beautiful chorus of love and support, dearest B…
Your voice is a whisper in my ear. ❤️
In the diaphanous web that is my mind, I just read this in a 1964 essay of James Baldwin, one titled “Nothing Personal,” and it feels as if it belongs in a thread about holding each other in the face of fear:
“This is why one must say Yes to life and embrace it wherever it is found—and it is found in terrible places; nevertheless, there it is; and if the father can say, Yes, Lord, the child can learn that most difficult of words, Amen. For nothing is fixed, forever and forever and forever, it is not fixed; the earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock. Generations do not cease to be born, and we are responsible to them because we are the only witnesses they have. The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.“
Oh dear Barbara! Your words touch me so deep, I’ve known fear all my life, but to see, read it, so eloquently in another’s words, makes me want to drive to Chicago and hold your hand and hug you!!! I’ll remember this song, that I’ve always loved, now because of your words! I may learn how to hum it to myself, tho I don’t consider myself a good singer or hummer!!!
I too fear cancer for different reasons and many other things!!
I heard and read Dr Isaac Eliaz’s book on Modified Citrus Pectin, Pectasol, is the product I think, and how it fights cancer. I take it myself, because…. Check him out, with your medical and science background, you’ll understand better than I do! Blessings to you forever and a day!!!
bless you, dear lou. we’ll have to settle for virtual hugs, but my vivid imagination makes it so easy for me to feel you right here by my side on the snowy morn i just awoke to. xoxoxo i am so so sorry cancer is one of your fears. it’s a plague, i swear…..
Oh, Barbara, this was unbelievably profound. Brought tears to my eyes. I
❤️❤️
Dear Bam…my heart goes out to you. I am fearful right now in wondering what to say here- in wanting only to provide some big beautiful comfort to your trembling soul, I find you always sincere as the sun- which has come up here, blazing thank goodness as it chases away a brrrr clear full-moon night.
When I am afraid in the sense of having little clarity to the issue at hand, when my heart is so heavy- when everything seems to ebb for far too long in a perpetual state of bewilderment…I go to the woods. When all seems lost -I get lost. A perch in the sun, a prayer on the mount for all my friends and loved ones then…only then do I remember them and you, forgetting my ungrateful notions, recalling the need for love in direct and dire situations. Walking back, towards the clearing- determination cloaks my every thought, no longer rattled- my steps seem surer in my surrendering to a sounder state of mind. I have faith in the prayers I left there, faith in the hearer…a purer faith I cannot find but there, in the woods- where promises aren’t plenty but assurances are. I pray for you Bam. and yours mightily.
Bless your heart for not sparing the scary, it is your story, your interview with life…I know no better correspondent in finding inspiration and beauty in the face of profound doubt.
oh, dear darling…..(sigh here. big sigh.) i love that: “interview with life.” hmmm. i think i am going about something like that, though i’ve never thought of it that way till now (have you noticed your habit of making me think all new things, things that stick with me forever???). i do not like at all tiptoeing into anything specific or medical and so i was only using that to catapult into the universal part: the truth that so many of us are afraid at so many levels. and yet (irony here:) we are afraid to talk about it, so we all go on humming our “be not afraid” tunes while deep down we are quaking and shaking.
anyway, i love, too, your “when i am lost, i set out to get lost.” in the woods. i think i wrote almost that very thing in my musings on the sacred wonder in woods, one of the chapters in my last book, the book of nature.
praying any droplet of good news has come your way as your suffering has gone on far far too long. sending love. xoxox
Well, I am right with you as a dedicated and accomplished knee wobbler and if I can keep myself from buckling and face planting I feel like I’m handling things pretty well.
So, where do I turn when fear seizes up my breathing, makes my heart race and causes my body to shake and wobble? I try to name whatever is causing the fear to take up residence or to claim my conscienceless. Then I look for someone who I trust- that sweet dear man that has been by my side for over 50 years – to share what is causing me such distress. I breath with it and pray it into the hands and heart that never trembles and whose knees never wobble or buckle. I try to remind myself that the Holy One has a plan and that her plan will be done even if it isn’t necessarily my plan. I admit, that last one is sometimes really hard to do in a panic! She is always there though to receive all that is in my heart.
You too have shared with us, your readers what seems to work for you. We are here for you too and hope we can be part of those trusted souls to share in this journey and to give support and comfort when and where it is needed. Thank you for trusting us.
In keeping with your reference to hymns that help us soar and to be brave, I have one to share with you. It was written by Shelley Jackson Denham, a member of First UU Church of Cincinnati and Heritage UU Church in Cincinnati. She was the author of numerous hymns and songs which appear in the UUA”s “Singing the Living Tradition” hymn book. This is hymn #55 and is entitled, “Dark of Winter”. I have heard it as an instrumental and as a sung hymn on YouTube. It will make your voice soar, your heart ta-thump with joy and your tears flow. Well, at least it did for me which is why I wanted to share it with you.
Dark of Winter
Dark of winter, soft and still, your quiet calm surrounds me. Let my thoughts go where they will; ease my mind profoundly. And then my soul will sing a song, a blessed song of love eternal. Gentle darkness, soft and still, bring your quiet to me.
Darkness, soothe my weary eyes, that I may see more clearly. When my heart with sorrow cries, comfort and caress me. And then my soul may hear a voice, a still small voice of love eternal. Darkness, when my fears arise, let your peace flow through me.
Blessings to you.
>
ohhhhh! this is such a lovely lovely reply. and it soothed me just reading it. i think it helps sooo immensely to know we are not the only ones who sometimes feel afraid. why does it feel that way so often? maybe someone told me i was a baby when i was little cuz i worried even then. and maybe that’s why on top of worry there is some degree of shame. i’m just a baby!
the song is gorgeous. and i might go look it up. thank you so so so much for coming by, for that simple act alone, finding you here, is so heart-filling. xoxoxo
Dearest, dearest bam, for the many years you have shared your wobbles at this table, every friend here has identified with you and sent love and support in one way or another. And perhaps gained a bit more personal bravery by your example of bravely confiding and naming those fears. Sharing a scary medical diagnosis lets friends know you trust them, and it gives them the opportunity to support you. I hope by now you’ve gotten reassuring results from all those blood tests. (When neither of us weighs near enough to be a blood donor, why do doctors ask us for a boxful of vials of the red stuff? At least without providing orange juice and Oreos afterward?) You ARE braver than you think.
And you are kinder than you could possibly imagine❤️❤️