Fear

As Halloween approaches, I’m thinking quite a bit about what it means to be a parent in the scary things of life. Grace is determined to terrify herself this spooky season, and I am determined to protect her little mind. “I’m not scared, mummy! I like scary things!” whines the little girl who has me check for monsters every night. The same little girl who came downstairs tonight telling me her brother’s snores were scaring her.

I don’t want my children to ever be afraid.

Yes, yes, I know fear is an emotion that they have and will experience. I know I can’t protect them from everything. But oh, how I wish I could.

When I was a young girl, maybe seven or eight years old, my family went to a wild-west family park. I don’t recall much from the place, but I know there was one of those old-fashioned photo shops (the ones where you dress up for sepia-toned pictures) and a haunted house. I wanted to go into the haunted house. I wanted to prove I was a “big girl.” As with many childhood memories, I’m not exactly clear on the little details, but I recall enough. I managed to convince my dad to take me. I remember clinging to his arm as we walked into the dark house, uncertain of what I was getting myself into. The first room had a ragged bed, surrounded by cobwebs and dust. Without warning, a skeleton sat straight up. My screams were drowned out by the eerie music as I hid my face in dad’s arm and continued on. I didn’t see everything––my eyes were mostly squeezed shut––but I’m sure zombies and monsters were all around. I was scared. Terrified. And it seemed like the house would never end.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned around and ran as fast as I could, not stopping until I was back beneath the blue sky. But moments later I realised: my dad was still in the haunted house. Alone. I didn’t want him to get hurt or trapped. I didn’t want him to feel scared.

So I went back to rescue him.

The skeleton jumped up from the bed, but I kept my eyes straight ahead and started running. “Daddy?! I’m coming! Where are you?” I shouted the same thing over and over, trying to drown out the unnerving music and deter any of the undead from approaching me. It wasn’t long before I was further into the house than I had gone before, and I couldn’t find him. I was certain he had been taken by the Scary Things. I didn’t know what to do, and my shouts became more frantic.

I hoped he would come find me. I didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Something grabbed my shoulders.

My scream, I’m sure, was heard through the entire park. I collapsed on the ground and covered my face, only to realise that I wasn’t grabbed by a monster––I was grabbed by my dad. The mixture between relief and terror was overwhelming as I broke into tears.  

There are more than just monsters, ghosts, and zombies that are scary in this world. And a lot of it is more terrifying than made-up things that go “bump” in the night. The world is filled with sick, cruel people and very real dangers. My dad did not protect me from either, which perhaps intensifies the need to guard my own children.

I can tell my babies they are safe, that there is no such thing as a real monster. But I cannot promise them they will never be harmed. I can tell them to call out to Jesus when they are scared and alone––that he will protect them. But what about all those who God hasn’t protected? What about the children who have been harmed as they sat frozen in fear calling His name? How will my son or daughters believe in a God who does not rescue or protect them in the times when I am not around?

I remember what it was like to lie awake in fear. I remember demons filling my room and my dreams. I remember almost every scary story I was told.

I do not remember God bringing me peace or comfort.

How can I protect my babies from fear? How can I trust God to hold them in his hands––the same God it feels I am trying to forgive? How can I speak to them in a way that is honest but safe?

I don’t know.

Despite all I’m processing in my own faith, I do believe God remains faithful. I believe he can (will?) protect my children in his way, regardless of whatever trust I hold. I believe that, somehow, he is safe, because that’s what he says.

And in the meantime, I long for the New Creation.