A Time to Fear

“The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.”  Natalie Babbitt's first line of Tuck Everlasting.

All my life I have loved these summer days she's referring to. I should have been a lizard. I relish the long hot and humid days with more hours of light to laugh, dance, and live. Summer really is my favorite time of the year, especially when I'm at my happiest place, the beach. If all of that wasn't great enough, the end of the week, the 5th to be exact, brings my birthday!

The  past three years have threatened to steal my joy of this favorite week.

Three years ago to this day, a call came. It brought news of my sweet sister in the hospital giving birth to her second son at 36 weeks. He was already with my Jesus.  I fell immediately onto the stairs where I was standing, stunned. I would somehow pick myself up off the steps, make my way to the hospital with a close group of other sisters. We would surround her, hold hands, and pray. In the dog days to follow we would bring meals, assist with funeral arrangements, and mostly cry.

Two years ago as sisters we remembered the  anniversary of that sad day.  August 4th came and brought my husband home early. I remember smiling in the kitchen when I heard his key in the front door. I loved that he was surprising me, maybe for my birthday?! I rounded the corner and knew immediately by the look on his face that was not the surprise. He would take the next few minutes and tell me some of the hardest news a loving provider will ever have to tell his wife. He'd lost his job. "Happy Birthday," we would joke through our sobs.

I so wish the run of bad summers ended there, but that wasn't God's story.

It's July 29th again. I pray and wait all afternoon for the call. My sister is at the Breast Center hearing her plan of treatment for the cancer we learned about only a few days ago. The call comes from her husband. He tells me it's worse than we thought. The treatment will most likely be a double mastectomy, and harsh chemo. I again fall to the ground. I'm out front where I've gone to escape from the noise inside. I finish the conversation, promising to call our other sisters who are also waiting by their phones, but first I throw my phone in the grass, bury my head in my hands, and weep.

Many years before this the three of us sat with our husbands and other friends as a group and studied the book of Ecclesiastes. We were young, not a gray hair on our heads. Probably too young to appreciate the truth of chapter 3:

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born
and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a
time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to
search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

The days, weeks, and months have passed again. Today is July 29th.  I don't really wish to look back, but it's impossible not to. These moments have left cracks in my soul too deep to ignore, and they leave me with a question my flesh can't help but ask. What next, God? What anvil will fall from the sky this week? My precious week of summer has become a time to fear.

This year, during this time I fear, God has placed me at my happy place, the beach.  Have I mentioned I love the beach? I am with my family. My petite four year old has taken a love to the ocean. She rides the waves with my strong husband. I watch and wonder will the sea suddenly rip her from his hands? Is that what's next? We plan to drive home late. Will we find ourselves in a ditch bloody because a driver fell asleep?  Will a call come in the middle of the night about my grandfather? It's clear the potential for another stroke is high. I hear thunder from a far off storm, will one of us be struck by lightning?

No joke. These are the thoughts that race through my mind. The ones my husband says makes him never want to see what really goes on in this head of mine.

Thankfully, my onslaught of horrible thoughts is interrupted. I recall the verse He gave me yesterday as I watched the sun faithfully rise over the ocean once again.

1 John 4:18
There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because
fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect
in love.

I breathe again. His whispers of love begin to softly soothe the aching cracks.

A whisper comes in my oldest's eyes as she runs to me wet and out of breath, exhilarated from riding the waves with her Daddy. I know that feeling. My Abba never let go.

His whisper comes from my youngest heavy in my arms who stares at the waves crashing one after another at my feet. She sighs, puts her head on my shoulder and softly sings, "Jesus, I adore thee..." Yes the act of singing has provided much comfort.

He whispers to my eyes and my soul as I watch a sunset splashed with too much color on the drive home. When we safely pull in and open the doors I am greeted by a chorus of crickets very much alive.

No where in Ecclesiastes chapter 3 does my God tell me there is a time to fear. Read it again.  It's not there. Verse 11 does cause me to pause though;

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity
in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from
beginning to end.

The first sister I mentioned is pregnant with what will be her second child since that horrific July 29th. She is nauseous and tired, but she bears something beautiful.

My husband continues to enjoy his new job, and after many months of uncertainty we are humbled beyond words at how Our Father has beautifully provided our daily bread.

My sister posts a picture of herself and her husband on a date celebrating the fact that she is alive a year later. Her words come across the screen and  interrupt as I write this. They tell of a heart forever changed. One that is left only to tell her story of how God showed up. She desires to bring hope to others, the beautiful hope that never fails.

According to Ecclesiastes there is not a time to fear.  There is however, a God who can't be fathomed. One I am to hold in reverence.  After listening to His whispers of love and seeing His beauty displayed, how can I not stand in awe of Him?

This first week of August I desperately want to hear His whispers of perfect love drive out my fear. I want to sing or write of His wonderful deeds. My eyes will often be looking to the sky. Not for falling anvils, but for his Glory.

Psalm 19:1
The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.