No, really. Do not be afraid.
- bjustham
- Mar 14, 2023
- 9 min read
"I've tried to pray about it... but praying means I start overthinking again. And then I worry. And then I'm not following what we're told, you know - 'Do not be afraid'. I can't even do that!" - the words of a very lovely friend, not so long ago. Words that I think most of us have thought at one time or another.
'Do not be afraid' is apparently the most commonly repeated command in the Bible. I find the repetition vaguely comforting, since it indicates that my lovely friend and I are not alone: God's people have often struggled to put our worry down. We've needed to be told again and again: Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid. Sometimes many times in the same day - or the same hour. Do not be afraid.
Great, it's not just me... But then what? Vaguely comforting isn't enough. What do we actually do with the fear that we're not meant to feel?
Do not be afraid... but how?


12-year-old Ella was not as good as my lovely friend at articulating where she was at. But sometimes she didn't need to say anything. The fear came pouring off her - and created havoc.
"Bob, Bob, Bob!" she yelled, crashing through the kitchen door, oblivious to my attempts to focus on the work I was trying to do. "Bob! It's all OK, it's sorted, I've talked to Becca, Jessie's thinking about what she wants, and Calum is happy with anything. Becca's going to text you later."
"Well, I'm glad it's all sorted," I said, no idea what she was referring to. "Just explain to me - what have you talked to Becca about?"
"You know, the food! For tomorrow night!"
Ah... the penny dropped. Becca, our neighbour, and her two kids were coming over the next day for a farewell meal as Ella was shortly moving on to a new home.
The thing was that the meal had been sorted for days. It was a big deal for Ella, who was very fond of Jessie and Calum and had spent hours with them over the previous year, and so I had arranged it all with Becca well in advance. Ella didn't cope well with last minute changes and so I had left nothing to chance. And she knew this. But clearly, she didn't actually know it.
"Erm... so do you remember that I told you, everything is already organised for the meal?" I asked gently. "We talked about what you wanted last week and it's all arranged. We've already done it! So you didn't need to do anything today."
Her face fell. "But what are you going to do when Jessie chooses what she wants? I told her she could have any takeaway she likes, and she's dead excited!"
I suppressed the flicker of irritation rising in me - a familiar one. We had been here so many times over the previous 12 months. It was a familiar pattern. Knowing what was important to Ella, I'd get things booked in advance. She had a calendar with all our activities on it, and I kept her up to date with planning and arrangements. Often she'd help decide what we would do. And then... she'd forget, or worry it might not be done, or just take things into her own hands... and cause chaos.
She invited several extra friends to her birthday party after the invitations she'd previously decided on had been sent out - so we had to uninvite them again.
She arranged to see her sister during the holidays when there was no social worker available to supervise - so we had to cancel.
She double booked herself for parties and facetime calls and activities - so we had to let people down.
She promised gifts that she couldn't afford, outings she wasn't allowed to go on, skills she didn't have and time she couldn't spare.
Time and again, she caused confusion, embarrassment or upset. She fell out with friends. She reneged on promises. She caused teachers and social workers worry and upset - and the adults around her spent hours trying to unravel what had happened after each episode.
"Well, Jessie will just have to have what we've already chosen. You did think about what she likes, so I'm sure it'll be ok... now where are you going?" She had dived for the door again. "Stop! I'll text Becca. Don't go back over there. It'll be easier for Jessie to understand if her mum explains it to her."
'And goodness knows what extra promise you'll add to try to make up for it', I added in my head... but I managed not to say it out loud. I did say the mantra that we'd developed for these situations. "You know, you really can trust the people who are looking after you." I am not sure whether I achieved the warm tone I was aiming for... I'm sure she heard the frustration that often accompanied these words.
Once again, Ella had to face that familiar feeling... she'd taken it into her own hands, and now it was a bit of a mess.


Why did she do it?
For Ella, there were a few things behind the scenes that made this very hard for her.
She lived with a sense of desperation. The neglect of her early years had been internalised as a deep void, a lack of love and care and attention that now seemed impossible to fill. Like any child, she had looked to her parents to care for her - and like so many kids she had interpreted their failure to do so as if it were her fault. There must be something wrong with her. Shame filled her little soul. And that felt awful. So she had learned to throw herself into constant distraction, constant activity - anything to drown out the voices of rejection inside her head. She talked when she had nothing to say - and so said things she didn't mean. She acted when there was nothing to do - and so created havoc.
She didn't really believe that she was loved. Not just by me, but by her friends, her teachers, her social worker; by Becca and Jessie and Calum. Life had taught her that relationships are fickle; being yourself isn't enough to guarantee love for today, never mind commitment for tomorrow. And so she had to offer them something extra. What if they didn't really want to come to her meal? She'd better let Jessie choose anything from the menu, to sweeten the deal, to make sure she came. Promising presents, invitations, sleepovers, activities... anything to make sure that they said yes. That she didn't experience rejection again.
And she didn't really believe that she could trust me - or anyone else charged with her care. Sadly, her experience had taught her that the opposite was true. All my attempts to show her that things were different now - the calendar on the wall, the discussions about how plans were going, the arrangements made well ahead of time - it wasn't enough to outweigh the years of being let down . Now she wasn't leaving anything to chance... or to anyone else.
It made sense. It was very sad, but it made sense. Like most survivors of abuse, Ella had learned coping strategies which had kept her safe in an unsafe world. And it's much harder to unlearn something than it is to learn it in the first place.
Even when it's causing havoc, making you unhappy, and damaging people you love.


Isn't this exactly where we're at?
One evening at around the same time, I was praying. Or more accurately, I was trying to pray. I had been living with a horrible, gnawing anxiety for weeks. it wasn't directed at anything in particular - which is to say, it was directed at everything. I just felt scared, the whole time. And so I'd found a Bible study that I thought would help. In this, the last session, I was writing down all the fears that were haunting me. I knew what was meant to happen. As I released each one to God, I would feel the peace that passes understanding descending where before there had been fear. The burden would finally fall away, my breathing would slow and I'd know the delight of 'Do not be afraid', spoken into my troubled heart.
Except it didn't. I wrote and wrote, and only became more frantic. The bottom of the page approached and I had plenty more material to add. I wrote faster and pressed harder, and nothing happened except me feeling more awful. I threw the pen across the room in frustration.
And as I re-read the page I'd just scrawled, it hit me between the eyes. Ella could have written this.
The desperation I felt was the same as hers.
The need to take things into my own hands was the same as hers.
The worry that I wouldn't be accepted was the same as hers.
The fear that I couldn't trust others to care for me was the same as hers.
Ella had good reasons for her maladaptive thinking. She had learned at the hands of cruel people in a cruel world.
I am very grateful that my story is not the same as hers. But I have known cruel people and a cruel world too.
In that moment, God lifted me out of my frustration and my anger, and let me see myself as I saw Ella - a brave soul, fighting with the weapons she's learned to use, making a massive mess of things but doing her very best. And suddenly I had compassion for myself, just as I had compassion for Ella. And suddenly I could speak the same words over myself as I spoke over Ella: "You know, you really can trust the people who are looking after you."
And I started to wonder...
Is my compassion for Ella a window through which I can glimpse my Daddy's infinitely greater compassion for me?
He sees me desperately distracting myself from the shaming voice inside my head, and making a bit of a mess... and he says, "Oh, little one... do not be afraid."
He sees me needing to take things into my own hands, and making a bit of a mess... and he says, "Oh, little one... do not be afraid."
He sees me worrying that I won't be accepted, and making a bit of a mess... and he says, "Oh little one... do not be afraid."
He sees me fearful that I can't trust him to take care of me, and making a bit of a mess... and he says, "Oh, little one... do not be afraid."
Did you catch the tone? It's not a command. It's a comfort, a cuddle, a hand to hold in the dark, an arm to lean on when we're weary. It's our Daddy declaring truth over us, to us. It's compassionate and gentle and smiling and kind. "Oh, little one... do not be afraid."
And it's never said alone.


Our Daddy knows that we are easily scared. And so whenever he reassures us, he gives us something to fix our eyes on instead of the fear.
When Abram (later renamed Abraham) is fretting that he has no heir, God appears in a vision and says, "Do not be afraid... I am your shield, your very great reward." - Genesis 15:1
When an Israelite murders the Babylonian governor and the people plan to flee, terrified of the retribution to come, Jeremiah is told to tell them, "Do not be afraid... for I am with you and will save you and deliver you from [the king of Babylon]'s hands." - Jeremiah 42:11
When the people are exiled and scattered among the nations, Zechariah is told to tell them, "Do not be afraid, but let your hands be strong.... I have determined to do good again to Jerusalem and Judah." - Zechariah 8:15
When Mary is terrified by Gabriel's appearance and message, he tells her, "Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favour with God." - Luke 1:30
When Jesus addresses his listeners' preoccupation with possessions, and their worry over food and clothes and daily needs, he says, "Do not be afraid... for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom." - Luke 12:32
When Paul meets opposition in the Corinthian synagogue, God appears to him in a vision and says, "Do not be afraid... for I am with you, and no-one is going to attack and harm you because I have many people in this city." - Acts 18:9-10
And when John has his apocalyptic vision and sees Jesus in all his glory, and falls at his feet as though dead, Jesus says, "Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last, I am the Living One; I was dead, and now look, I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades." - Revelation 1:17-18
This, perhaps, is my favourite one: when the people of Israel are scared of the giants who occupy the promised land, Moses is told to tell them, "Do not be afraid... the LORD your God, who is going before you, will fight for you, just as he did... in Egypt... and in the wilderness. There you saw how the LORD your God carried you, as a father carries his son, all the way you went..." - Deuteronomy 1:29-30
Isn't that incredible? The LORD your God, who fights for you, is also your Daddy, who carries you.
Our Daddy knows we are easily scared. He knows we need something to drive the fear away - something bigger. Someone bigger. And so, again and again, he points us back to himself.
"Oh, little one.... do not be afraid. Your Daddy is here."
We get one really beautiful insight into what that looks like in practice. When the disciples were caught in a furious squall on the Sea of Galilee, they were terrified. A good number of them were experienced sailors, and yet they panicked - so it must have been quite a storm! They woke Jesus up by yelling at him, "Don't you care if we drown?!"
Because Jesus was fast asleep. As the storm raged around him, and the disciples panicked, he slept. He wasn't lying with one eye open, checking that they were bailing adequately, or tapping his foot waiting for them to remember to ask him for help, or even praying. He was asleep.
This is what it looks like when we really hear it, deep, deep down, below the desperation, the shameful self talk, the fear of rejection, the need to control, the distrust.
"Oh, little one... do not be afraid. Your Daddy is here."


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