Fear May Remain, but It Need Not Lead

Dear Reader,

In 2014, I wrote a message based on the word “fear.” The message centered on concerns over money, health, family, loneliness, change, and uncertainty. The lack of control surrounding each of these concerns can create a state of fear.

For purposes of looking back, I chose to explore where the word fear comes from, how its meaning developed over time, and, more specifically, how fear is understood in recovery and faith.

In Old English, the word appears as fær, carrying meanings such as sudden danger, peril, or calamity. Its earlier Germanic roots also point toward danger and distress.

In the Bible, the English word fear represents several Hebrew words. One is pachad, often associated with dread or trembling. Another is yare’, which can mean to fear, to stand in awe, or to revere. The biblical idea of fear, then, is broader than simple anxiety; depending on context, it can describe terror, caution, reverence, or awe.

One might comment that all this is interesting, but what do these definitions have to do with understanding my fear of losing control over money, health, family, or the other concerns listed above?

My response is this: when I say I am fearful of not having enough money, of poor health, of losing family, or of being alone, I am describing a very real experience of distress within me. More importantly, even if all those concerns were magically removed, I would still have little defense against life’s next challenge if nothing within me had changed.

In all honesty, fear has many faces, and not all of them can simply be made to vanish.

In my experience, having a greater income did not remove the fear caused by poor budgeting. A person may have great wealth and still be afraid of losing it. And does it not seem remarkable that another person may have very little and yet maintain a deep sense of peace?

So what is the missing factor in finding peace when those around us appear to be living in fear?

Perhaps the greater question is this: What allows some people to trust and find peace even when they do not know what the outcome will be?

Over my years in recovery, and through a growing belief in a Higher Power—my Heavenly Father—I have found strength and developed a testimony of faith that God and His Son are near. Their presence brings peace to that place within me where fear once settled.

This allows me to acknowledge fear and still move forward. I can face something I do not understand and still believe that I will be given enough strength or wisdom to take the next step.

Today, I choose to stand in faith rather than remain trapped in fear.

That does not mean I will never be afraid. Faith does not require me to pretend that fear is absent. It asks me not to surrender my life to it.

Spiritually, I accept what was written centuries ago:

“Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and not be afraid; for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song; he also has become my salvation.”
(2 Nephi 22:2 / Isaiah 12:2)

There is freedom in that.

I do not need enough strength for the rest of my life today. I do not need a guarantee that nothing difficult will happen. I have the assurance that whatever comes, I will not have to face it alone.

Fear may remain, but it need not lead.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

His Ways Are Higher

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways,”  declares the LORD.— Isaiah 55:8

“For as the heavens are higher than the earth,

so My ways are higher than your ways

and My thoughts than your thoughts.”— Isaiah 55:9

Dear Reader,

This morning, while reading from the Book of Isaiah, I came across the passages above. Looking beyond the obvious truth that the Lord is greater and wiser than mere mortals, I found myself asking: What do these words mean to me in the twenty-first century as I struggle with “life on life’s terms”?

To begin, the surrounding verses matter. Isaiah is speaking about trust, mercy, and returning to God. Just before these words, Isaiah says that the Lord will “abundantly pardon” the person who turns toward Him. So the “higher ways” of God may include not only greater knowledge, but a greater capacity for mercy, patience, forgiveness, and redemption than we naturally imagine.

For those of us living in a world of rapid change, uncertainty, and at times frightening events, I find these words hopeful. They remind me that even when I cannot see the future or fully understand the present, my life is never beyond God’s reach.

God does not promise that I will understand everything that happens to me. He asks whether I can continue walking with Him when I do not understand.

From the Age of Reason to the present day, we have increasingly believed that nearly everything can be explained, predicted, searched, measured, diagnosed, or controlled. We see images from telescopes reaching far beyond what earlier generations could have imagined. We carry enormous amounts of information in our pockets. Yet all this knowledge has not eliminated grief, loneliness, uncertainty, disappointment, aging, broken relationships, fear, or the unexpected turns of life.

This is where Isaiah becomes remarkably contemporary.

“My thoughts are not your thoughts” reminds me that my present understanding is not the boundary of reality. What appears to me as failure, loss, or even an unbearable present moment may not be the end of the story. What I desperately want may not be what ultimately brings peace.

In my own experience, I have discovered repeatedly that a closed door is not necessarily the end of life’s story. In some cases, it became the beginning of a beautiful future I could not yet imagine. A divorce once looked only like pain and loss; I could not then have imagined that life would later open into a loving relationship of more than three decades. Without having every explanation, I learned that life could still move forward—and that “this too shall pass.”

So when Isaiah tells us that God’s “ways are higher than your ways,” I hear something deeper than a statement about divine power. Human perspective is often short-sighted. Where I may want victory, control, or vindication, God’s higher way may call me toward forgiveness, mercy, patience, and compassion. When I stop living in resentment and condemnation, I make room for peace and for new life to emerge.

To me, this is part of the higher way Isaiah’s message reveals.

My way may insist, “I must control this.” God’s way may whisper, “Trust Me, and take the next right step.”

That connects beautifully with the phrase “life on life’s terms.” Accepting life on life’s terms does not mean believing that everything that happens is God’s will. It means recognizing that I cannot control everything that happens, but I can choose how I meet what happens.

There is also a spiritual message here that recovery has taught me:

“I must understand before I can trust”
becomes
“I can trust even while I am still learning to understand.”

Perhaps the message of Isaiah for the twenty-first century is not that God expects me to understand His every thought, but that He invites me to trust His presence when my own understanding has reached its limit.

Moreover, God’s thoughts being higher does not mean that God is farther away. Isaiah 55 presents a God who invites us to seek Him, call upon Him, return to Him, and receive mercy. His ways may be beyond ours, but His invitation is remarkably near.

Dear Reader, what have your own experiences taught you about humility without helplessness, acceptance without resignation, and trust without requiring every answer first?

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

Gimage.net

Strength for the Next Step

 Strength for the Next Step

Dear Reader,

The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous says, “God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.” I have returned to those words many times. What does God do for us when we feel we cannot go on?

As I study Isaiah this month, I hear an answer in the Lord’s promise: “Fear thou not; for I am with thee … I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness” (Isaiah 41:10).

I think of the day I was guided to seek sobriety. I think, too, of the day my husband died, when grief and loneliness seemed more than I could bear. I remember both days vividly. Neither became easy, yet in each I sensed a hope and strength beyond my own: a presence that comforted me and helped me take the next step.

John Piper reflects on the promises in Isaiah’s verse: God is with us, strengthens us, helps us, and upholds us. In my experience, those promises do not mean trouble disappears. They mean I need not face it alone.

I also hear a gentle invitation in the Beatles’ “Let It Be.” In a time of trouble, I can loosen my grip on what I cannot control. I can trust God for the strength I need today.

Today, as you face your moments of uncertainty not knowing the whole road ahead, you can find comfort in the wisdom of Isaih, John Piper or Bill Wilson and trust that God can always do for you what you can not do for yourself.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

When Life Turns Outward

Dear Reader,

Today I received a text from a friend containing a quotation from Helen Keller:

“Life is an exciting business, and most exciting when it is lived for others.”

— Helen Keller

In itself, the quotation carries a beautiful message: life becomes richer, happier, and more meaningful when our attention moves beyond ourselves toward service, generosity, and love for others.

Still, I choose not to stop with one thought. Sometimes an idea becomes clearer when we hear it echoed through other voices and then consider what those words ask of us.

In my own journey of recovery and faith, I find the words of Albert Einstein especially direct:

“Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.”

— Albert Einstein

In those words I find both guidance and direction: to be of service wherever possible. I do not choose service for praise or recognition, but because something changes within me when I turn toward another person. Service brings a quiet joy of its own.

Perhaps that is also the meaning found in the words of Booker T. Washington:

“Those who are happiest are those who do the most for others.”

— Booker T. Washington

Looking back over the span of my life, some of my happiest moments and most rewarding experiences have come from being a friend, a helper, and a companion to others. I have learned that giving of ourselves does not diminish us; very often, it enlarges the heart.

Spiritually, I find the same direction in two other familiar sources. Jesus Christ taught:

“The Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.”

— Matthew 20:28, KJV

And in the prayer commonly known as the Prayer of St. Francis, we read:

“For it is in giving that we receive.”

— Prayer of St. Francis

That prayer continues with a series of outward-looking choices: where there is hatred, bring love; where there is injury, bring pardon; where there is despair, bring hope. Its message is not merely to think about goodness, but to become an instrument of it.

So today, I feel a little clearer about the next right thing before me: look beyond myself and find someone I can serve.

A life turned outward becomes exciting.

A life spent helping becomes happier.

A life lived for others becomes worthwhile.

Perhaps that is enough guidance for today:

turn outward, help someone, and discover what happens within.

What guiding message accompanies you today?

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

His Light Reaches Every Nation

Dear Reader,

There are many churches and faith traditions in our world today. Each carries its own history, teachings, sacred writings, forms of worship, and understanding of how humanity approaches God. Many also make particular claims about truth, authority, revelation, or the path God has given His children.

I do not feel a need to diminish any of them in order to honor my own faith.

My faith matters deeply to me. I believe covenant matters. I believe sacred ordinances, priesthood authority, doctrine, and the community of a church can give form and direction to our relationship with God. They provide a place where faith can be taught, practiced, strengthened, and passed from one generation to another.

But through my own experience, I have also come to believe that God's grace is greater than the walls we build around our understanding of Him.

Grace is not something a church manufactures or owns. Grace comes from God. It is part of the divine goodness by which God gives life, calls us toward Him, and moves human hearts toward mercy and love.

I have seen that grace in people who do not share my doctrine or worship where I worship. I have seen something sacred in a hand extended to a stranger, in food shared with someone who is hungry, in forgiveness freely offered, in the quiet care of the suffering, and in people who choose mercy when judgment would have been easier.

These experiences have taught me that God's presence may be recognized not only by the name above the doorway, but also by what happens when we walk through that doorway and meet one another.

God's covenant gives sacred form to His work, but His power cannot be confined to an office, institution, or people. His breath gives life to all; His light reaches every nation; and His Spirit becomes visible wherever humble hearts practice justice, mercy, and compassionate service.

The open doorway in the accompanying image represents covenant, worship, and sacred structure. Yet the light does not remain inside. It pours outward into the world, where it becomes visible in compassion, mercy, and service.

Christ's teaching that we are the light of the world gives this thought a personal responsibility. A candle is not lit to be hidden beneath a bushel, but to be placed upon a candlestick where its light can be seen.

So perhaps the invitation is not merely to recognize God's light wherever it appears, but to become willing bearers of that light ourselves. Let us stand where God has placed us and allow compassion, mercy, justice, forgiveness, and service to shine from our lives. Let us not hide the candle, but place it upon the candlestick where others may see - not us, but something of God through us.

My faith gives me a place to stand.

God's grace reminds me that His light reaches far beyond the place where I am standing.

And wherever we stand, may we have the courage to be that light.

His light reaches every nation.

Building on today

 

Building on Today

Dear Reader,

Norman Vincent Peale once wrote:

“People become really quite remarkable when they start thinking that they can do things. When they believe in themselves they have the first secret of success.”

There is something important in those words. Before we accomplish something, there is often a quiet moment when we must first believe that accomplishing it is possible.

But perhaps success does something else for us.

Yesterday’s successes become evidence for today.

They remind us that we have faced uncertainty before, learned things we did not know, endured things we thought difficult, and discovered abilities we did not realize we possessed.

And so I find myself thinking:

May our successes be the foundation for today, and may the successes of today make way for our tomorrows.

This does not mean that every day must contain some great achievement. Sometimes success is simply getting up again. Sometimes it is making the telephone call we have avoided, forgiving someone, asking for help, learning something new, or taking one more faithful step when we cannot yet see where the road leads.

Perhaps confidence is built that way—not by convincing ourselves that we can do everything, but by remembering that we have already been carried through much.

Faith adds something even greater.

I need not believe only in myself. I can believe that God has given me gifts still being discovered, strength still being developed, and purposes still unfolding.

Yesterday has given me something upon which to stand.

Today gives me something to build.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow may reveal what God has been preparing me for all along.

Good morning. 😊

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

The Road Before Us

 Good Morning Dear Reader,

There are seasons in life when the road before us is clear, and there are others when it disappears beyond the hill, leaving us to travel by faith rather than sight. We make our plans with care, imagining that tomorrow will follow the course we have marked for it; yet life, like a river, has its own bends and hidden passages.

It is often only afterward that we understand why the road turned as it did.

What seemed at first a disappointment may become a blessing, and what we feared as a loss may open the door to some greater good. There is wisdom, therefore, in holding our plans with an open hand. We may prepare for the journey, but we cannot command every mile of it.

There is also a curious law of the heart: that what we give away is often what we possess most fully.

Knowledge grows when it is shared. Kindness deepens when it is practiced. Love, unlike earthly treasure, is not diminished by giving, but enlarged. The man who thinks only of his own advantage may gather much and yet remain poor; while another, giving freely of his time, his patience, and his affection, may possess a richness no account book can measure.

We are likewise stronger than we commonly suppose.

Many of the walls that seem to stand before us are built not of stone, but of fear. We look upon some distant task and say, “I cannot,” when perhaps the truer words would be, “I have not yet tried.”

Courage does not always announce itself with trumpet and banner. Often it is simply the quiet decision to take another step.

The traveler climbs the mountain not by one mighty stride, but by placing one foot faithfully before the other. He may stumble. He may stop to rest. The clouds may gather around him. Yet if he continues, the path rises beneath his feet, and heights once thought impossible gradually come within his reach.

So it is with the duties of life.

The task neglected today does not vanish with the setting sun. It waits for us upon the morrow, often joined by others. There is peace in doing the work that lies nearest at hand, and there is dignity in meeting responsibility while the hour is ours.

We need not accomplish everything at once. It is enough to do faithfully what belongs to this day.

For life is made not merely of great achievements, but of small acts performed with constancy: a promise kept, a kindness offered, a duty completed, a word of encouragement given when another heart is weary.

Nor can the outward life alone sustain us.

A house may be filled with possessions and yet lack warmth. A life may be crowded with activity and still know an inward emptiness. The spirit, like the hearth fire, must be tended.

It needs purpose.

It needs companionship.

It needs faith.

It needs those quiet hours in which we remember that life is more than what we acquire, more than what others think of us, and more than the brief applause of success.

There is within every person some work that seems to awaken the heart. When we discover it, we ought not to fear the labor it requires.

No worthy undertaking is free of difficulty.

The ship does not curse the wind because it must adjust its sails. The tree does not cease growing because winter has come. Each accepts the season before it and continues according to its nature.

So should we.

Failure need not be the grave of effort. It may instead become its teacher. The broken plan may show us a better way. The closed door may cause us to notice another entrance. What matters is not that we have never fallen, but that we have refused to remain upon the ground.

And when the years have passed, perhaps we shall discover that the great question was never how much we gained, how high we rose, or how widely our names were known.

The better questions may be simpler.

Did we remain true when truth was difficult?

Did we continue when the road became steep?

Did we give something of ourselves to those who traveled beside us?

Did we leave another person stronger, kinder, or more hopeful because our paths happened to meet?

These are the measures by which a life quietly gathers meaning.

We need not know the whole journey before beginning it. The morning sun does not illuminate every road to its end. It gives us light enough for the place where we now stand.

And perhaps that is all we are meant to have.

For life is not lived tomorrow, nor upon some distant shore. It is lived here, in this present hour, where there is still some duty to perform, some kindness to give, some beauty to notice, and some step yet waiting to be taken.

So let us go forward without demanding that every mystery be explained beforehand.

Let us carry what light we have.

Let us help one another along the road.

And when evening comes, may we be able to look back upon the day's journey and say that, however imperfectly, we walked it with courage, with faith, and with a willing heart.