From Fear to Fearless

By Claire Ryan

Fear. It is the driving force behind almost every irrational action. Its suffocating grip chokes the joy, the peace, and the life right out of you. A never-ending lying voice laughs in your face, making a mockery of who you claim to be. Fear causes you to believe the lies: you aren’t qualified; you can’t do it; you will, undoubtedly, irrevocably, and unequivocally fail. These lies are constant. If you aren’t careful, you begin to believe them. Pretty soon, you haven’t the slightest idea what’s true and what isn’t. Fear is a scary thing.

In May 2017, I graduated from Welch College with a degree in English Secondary Education. The summer was busy. I hardly had time to think between the hours spent driving to church camps. When the reality of teaching did come to mind, I would push it aside or squelch it, pretend “adulting” was not something I had to learn. I would go about my day as a naïve, responsibility-free woman. Then August hit, and things got real. On August 6, I began my first day teaching at Cheatham County Central High School in Middle Tennessee. Today, I began the first day of the second week of my first year teaching.

I am terrified. Daily.

My darkest moments are the evenings, just before I go to sleep. The devil uses those times to attack me, to feed me the lies that I’m not good enough. He knows my insecurities, my weaknesses, and it is his nightly routine to throw them in my face. They hit with a resounding slap I still hear when I open my eyes in the morning. The fear rises within me. That suffocating grip I mentioned earlier? Its wiry hands are knotted tightly around my throat. I fight against it, holding back my tears. But eventually, I can no longer breathe, and what escapes my lips is a strangled gasp, a desperate cry for help in the midst of darkness.

Daily, I am terrified.

In my bedroom at my grandparents’ house where I currently live, the window sits directly behind my bed where I lay my head at night. I have blinds, but no curtain blocks out the sunlight in the mornings. And, the sunlight always comes. Each morning starts anew, the night before having been an uphill battle on a slope ridden with potholes and mud. But the light streaming in does its job to rouse me from my weary, fear-induced stupor, and I trudge half-blindly to the bathroom to begin the day.

The day passes. Alone in my room at school, I often wonder what I had possibly been thinking. Me? A teacher? I shake my head, and those little whispers and lies creep in again. I get home later that afternoon, tired, but relieved I have another day behind me. Only 170 more days to go! Before I know it, night is upon me, and I begrudgingly make my way to the bedroom, knowing what awaits me.

Fear. It is a continuous, daily, uphill battle.

I believe the Lord chooses to speak to us in various forms, even today. Obviously, He speaks through His Word, sharper than any double-edged sword. He speaks in song as we worship, using His Spirit to convict and transform us. He sends people and mentors, long or short-term, into our lives to help mold and shape us more closely into His image. And I believe He sends dreams.

The evening after my first day of school, I sat around the table with my grandparents, my aunt, and a few cousins. We enjoyed pizza and fellowship. I say enjoyed, but in all reality, I spent a majority of the time simply trying my best not to cry. You see, at that moment I was allowing fear to control me. That night, I fell asleep quickly and slept hard. It isn’t abnormal for me to have dreams.

I dream quite often and usually remember them vividly the next morning. This night was no different:

I was downstairs beside the kitchen table. Pawpaw was seated at the table, his Bible before him. He beckoned me over with a wave, “Claire, take a seat here.” I swallowed and quickly sat down. Even in a dream, Pawpaw demands respect. I didn’t hesitate to obey in the slightest. He turned the Bible in my direction, pointing to a particular passage. The exact passage escapes my memory, but I remember what it alluded to. The Christian life is not one of comfort; that is not what we are called to. We all face fearful and dreadful times, but the Lord knows all, and we are in His capable hands. As I sat in my chair beside Pawpaw, I read the Scripture through blurry eyes. Pawpaw rapped the table with his knuckle, like he always does when calling for attention, “Look here, Claire.” He pointed to his eyes, which I met with rapt scrutiny. “It’s not about you,” he said.

His voice was firm, but loving, and immediately, I woke up.

It’s not about me.

The other day, a wise man pulled me aside and wrapped me in a hug. I leaned heavily into the protective embrace of my earthly father. “Second Chronicles 20:15,” he whispered. “This is what the LORD says to you: Do not be afraid or discouraged because of this vast army. For the battle is not yours, but God’s.”

These are the words Jahaziel spoke to Jehoshephat when an army from Edom was approaching. But these same words can be applied to us today. I face my fair share of vast armies. Granted, they may not be wielding swords or shouting songs of war, but in my mind they are large enough to cause me to tremble. One of these armies is fear.

My dad was reminding me this battle is not mine to fight but the Lord’s. Not only that, I can trust God with everything, because He already won the battle. Does this mean all my fear immediately disappears? No. But it means when fear comes, as I know it will, I have a weapon to fight it. I have the Lord, the Victor of all my battles. Isaiah 43:1b reminds us not to fear because He has redeemed us, called us by name, and we are His.

I am His.

When I try to make this life about me, I find myself in the deepest pits of fear. I look around and see myself surrounded by armies. But when I wake up each morning with the Light Himself pouring through the blinds; when I allow Him to guide me with each step, through every facet of my day; and when I choose to let Him fight my battles, He is also with me in the evenings, when the darkness closes around me. When the devil pokes and prods at my weaknesses, when I feel strangled and heavy-laden and lonesome, I make my way to my bedroom, lay down my head, and draw strength from the protective embrace of my heavenly Father. I rest with the God of all Peace and Comfort as my pillow.

Fearless.

About the Writer: A 2017 graduate of Welch College, Claire Ryan is a first-year teacher at Cheatham County Central High School in Ashland City, Tennessee.