“Donnie, you are so filled with fear. I hurt for you.”
That’s a summary of what my therapist said to me during a session back in August of 2015. I’ve already written a lot about what I was processing during that season of my life, so no need to rehash all of that. As I shared in a post back in March, that same therapist challenged me to let go of some new and different, yet equally false, fears that had recently crept into my heart.
In the spirit of open-confession on this blog, I can admit that I’m now facing some new fears. These fears are financial. While it seems that the worst of these fears won’t come true, some lesser fears are, in fact, becoming a reality. This is causing me to make some serious changes in my life. Though the changes are painful, I think the long-term results are going to be a net-positive.
As my therapist could attest, fear is a constant battle I face; the battle to separate wild, outlandish fears from possible scenarios that could happen should circumstances not improve. As fear is a constant struggle, a sermon I heard a few months ago hit home in a perspective-altering way.
Here’s a link to the message.
This is a paraphrase, but the following is a basic summary of Isaac’s message.
“Fear is a terrible predictor of the future. We make an initial assumption that ‘A’ is true. And if ‘A’ is true, then clearly ‘B’ must be true. Following that line of logic, then, we proceed from ‘B’ to ‘C’ and down the line of events which, inevitably, ends with death. We go from fearing that ‘A’ is actually true to predicting our own demise. What fear fails to consider, though is the possibility of God intervening somewhere in that chain of possible scenarios. Fear is a horrible predictor of future events.”
Later in the sermon, he’s discussing Jesus walking with the disciples on the Road to Emmaus, which is post-suffering and post-resurrection. Jesus tells his disciples (and therefore us), “if you’re looking for a Jesus to help you circumvent all pain, loss and suffering, that’s not me. If you’re looking for a Jesus, however who has been through it all and can promise that there’s new life and joy on the other side, that’s me, because I’ve already walked that path.”
A couple of months ago, I accomplished one of my New Year’s Resolutions for 2018, I finished a short triathlon. This triathlon turned out to be an interesting case study in my struggle with fear.
The afternoon before the race, I went out to the lake to organize my transition area and to check out the course. As this was about to be my first ever triathlon, I had no idea what to expect nor any previous experience upon which I could draw for navigating all the different variables of an open water swim, followed by a bike ride, capped off by a run.
Here's a list of all the fears I had about that race, starting Saturday afternoon and continuing until I received the “KC Triathlon Finisher” medal
I’d drown
My goggles would get kicked off my face while out in the open water
I’d be embarrassed by my old-school bike
My bike would have mechanical issues and my non-mechanical self wouldn’t know what to do
I wouldn’t make it up the hill at mile 9
My cotton shirt would fill with sweat
I wouldn’t be able to get my wetsuit off during the transition from swimming to biking
My bag would take up too much space in the transition area
I wouldn’t get my transition area set up properly or by 7:00 AM
I wouldn’t get a good picture in my wetsuit
Between swimming warm-ups and the start of the race (1.5 hours later), I’d be too hot in my wetsuit
I’d leave stuff in transition area, which closed at 7, that I’d need before the race
My car would be so far from the beach that I’d sweat like crazy walking there and back in my wetsuit
I’d put my wetsuit on backwards
If I took off my wetsuit, to avoid getting too hot, I wouldn’t be able to get it back on
My legs would be too weak to run after the bike portion
I’d look like an imposter among all the seasoned tri-athletes
I’d have to poop during the race
I’d oversleep
My goggles would get kicked off my face while out in the open water
I’d be embarrassed by my old-school bike
My bike would have mechanical issues and my non-mechanical self wouldn’t know what to do
I wouldn’t make it up the hill at mile 9
My cotton shirt would fill with sweat
I wouldn’t be able to get my wetsuit off during the transition from swimming to biking
My bag would take up too much space in the transition area
I wouldn’t get my transition area set up properly or by 7:00 AM
I wouldn’t get a good picture in my wetsuit
Between swimming warm-ups and the start of the race (1.5 hours later), I’d be too hot in my wetsuit
I’d leave stuff in transition area, which closed at 7, that I’d need before the race
My car would be so far from the beach that I’d sweat like crazy walking there and back in my wetsuit
I’d put my wetsuit on backwards
If I took off my wetsuit, to avoid getting too hot, I wouldn’t be able to get it back on
My legs would be too weak to run after the bike portion
I’d look like an imposter among all the seasoned tri-athletes
I’d have to poop during the race
I’d oversleep
Yeah, that’s a pretty long list…
When the starting buzzer sounded for my “wave” (men 40 and older), my legs felt like jelly and the movement down the sandy beach and toward the lake water felt surreal. Until I plunged face first into the ice cold water, I wasn’t convinced I’d have the courage to actually start the race. At the other end of the race, while painfully jogging the last portion under a hot sun, I was never fully convinced I’d finish the race without walking until I actually crossed the finish line.
As I savored the post-race wheat beer, I realize that not a single one of the fears on the above list manifested themselves. Not a single one. Though I’m sure it might be riveting writing, I’m going to pass on sharing the details of how I worked through every single one of those challenges. It will suffice to say though, that I both figured them all out and regretted having wasted so much emotional energy worrying about them.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some other things to go worry about. Like whether there’s a good spot in my house to display my medal.
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