When Fear Pulls Us Down

Dear Reader,

Tonight I had a conversation with a close friend about fear.

Not the ordinary worries that come and go, but the kind of fear that can reach deeply into our lives—the fear that comes when something feels dangerous, uncertain, or beyond our control.

As we talked, the conversation gradually moved from fear itself toward faith.

We spoke about how Christ can help us face difficult and even frightening circumstances, and how recovery often comes the same way many of us learn to live life: with faith, and one day at a time.

Earlier today, I listened to Elder Patrick Kearon speak in General Conference. Later, during my evening conversation, I realized how useful his words were to what my friend and I were discussing.. 

He said:

“We can learn to live in spiritual lift. And when we sink, our gentle Savior is there to lift us up as we turn to Him. Jesus Christ loves to lift.”

His words brought back two memories from my own life.

Years ago, while on vacation, I went parasailing. I remember being lifted above the water, carried upward by forces I could not see but could certainly feel.

On another occasion, one Sunday afternoon, I parachuted from an airplane.

That experience taught me something very different.

Once you step from an airplane, gravity becomes very real.

There is no pretending that you are not falling.

Yet there is also something above you capable of catching the air, slowing your descent, and carrying you safely toward the ground.

As I listened to Elder Kearon today, I began to see those experiences differently.

Life also has its gravity.

Fear can pull us downward.

So can grief, loneliness, disappointment, illness, uncertainty, regret, and circumstances we simply cannot control.

Faith does not mean pretending those forces are not real.

Faith reminds us that gravity is not the only force at work.

Elder Kearon taught:

“Your Savior is your lift. He is your ever-rising air. There is no limit to how high you can climb with Him. Jesus Christ lives to lift.”

I find great comfort in those words.

There have been times in my own life when encouragement alone was not enough. Telling myself to be stronger, think more positively, or simply “get over it” would not have changed the circumstances.

Sometimes we need something beyond our own strength.

Sometimes we need to be lifted.

The prophet Isaiah expressed a similar hope:

“But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles.”

—Isaiah 40:31

Christ does not promise us a life without fear.

He does not promise that we will never feel ourselves falling.

What He offers is His presence in the middle of those experiences.

Sometimes He changes the situation.

Sometimes He strengthens us enough to face it.

Sometimes He carries us through one day at a time.

And sometimes, when we cannot lift ourselves at all, He becomes the lift.

Today, my conversation with a friend and Elder Kearon’s message seemed to come together around one simple truth:

Fear may remind us that gravity is real. Faith reminds us that gravity is not the only force at work.

There is also love.

There is grace.

There is hope.

And there is a Savior who still lifts.

As Elder Kearon said:

“At the heart of our faith is the glorious truth that we have an adoring Father in Heaven, whose Son, our Savior, loves to lift.”

Perhaps that is what faith sometimes looks like.

Not the absence of fear.

Not the absence of falling.

But trusting that when fear pulls us downward, Jesus Christ is still there—lifting, carrying, strengthening, and helping us take the next step.

One day at a time.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

 

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?

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

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