Learned Lesson Number Six – Faith is the Opposite of Fear

I believe in faith. Is that redundant? Perhaps a better way to state that would be that I practice faith. Practice is a great word because it suggests repetition. And repetition is the only way we really learn anything. I often find myself allowing fear to rule my thoughts, and that is not a good thing. I have really learned that in order to hold onto faith, you have to kick fear the heck out. Forcibly remove it. Divorce it from your life. Divorce is a good word to use in this context because (having experienced it) it suggests to me “dividing with force.”

When my former husband and I were in the process of what was intended to be an “amicable” divorce, we were going to a mediator who never used the word “divorce”, instead using the word “dissolution” to describe what we were doing to our family. It sounded sweet and painless, like sugar dissolving in water. As we got further down the road, it became clear to me that “dissolution” was not an accurate description of the experience. It was definitely a “dividing with force”. While divorce is not a pleasant thing when it happens to a couple and/or family, it is a most useful word when it comes to what should be done with the negative parts of life.

One of my favorite writers is C.S. Lewis, who wrote an excellent book called “The Great Divorce”. It has been years since I read it, but one point stood out, and that was that no degree of evil could exist in Heaven. Not a molecule. There had to be a total separation between good and evil. Because it is an irrevocable law that the two cannot occupy the same space. The same applies to light and darkness, hope and despair, and faith and fear. Light and darkness is a visible example. No one can argue with that one, because it can be seen. If a room is dark and you turn on a light, the darkness is gone from the space that is now occupied by the light. Period. No debate.

The others are a bit more slippery. Fear is sometimes seen as a positive motivator, or a deterrent to bad behavior. I myself have for years foolishly believed that if I could imagine the worst in any given situation, the fact that I had thought of it would prevent it from happening. As silly as that is, I would wager that some of you have also shared this belief on some level at some time, am I right? I am.

Worry never made the scary thing easier when the scary thing actually happened. We talk about “not getting our hopes up” and about how “if we have no expectations, we cannot be disappointed.” It takes a lot of practice to break out of these thought patterns. Rejecting hope and expecting nothing are products of fear. In order to embrace faith, we must divorce fear. We have to get our hopes up and expect everything. It’s risky. RISKY. Hopes can be dashed and expectations shattered, whether by other people, or by unforeseen circumstances, it happens. It has happened to me, and it certainly will again.

Right now I can see some possibilities in my future that look so good that I am afraid to hope for them. It feels much safer in that old and confining box that is labeled “I don’t deserve something that great.” But I want out of that box. So I have decided to get my hopes way, way up. Into the freakin’stratosphere! I have decided to expect every amazing thing I can imagine for myself and my children. I have decided to finally trust that the God I have faith in is a loving Father who wants to give me those things. My faith in this is strong. And when I inevitably start to doubt and fear, I will practice that faith. Again and again. Until practice makes perfect, and faith replaces fear. Forever.

Learned Lesson Number Five: Winter Passes

Right now I am listening to a chilling wind howl away outside my bedroom window. My parents’ home sits atop the foothills of the Wasatch Front, and the wind coming down the canyon can get going at a good enough clip to carry away a small child. OK, that might be a slight exaggeration, but more often than not, the trellis in the back yard is on the ground, and the dumpsters have been known to make their own way down the driveway. Although I was born in Utah and lived here until I was nine, I consider myself an Arizona Desert Rat at heart. That said, it’s not like I have never done winter in a cold place. When I was married and we were moving around the country, I spent some bitterly cold winters in places like St. Louis and Detroit. Car doors frozen shut, black ice on the road, endless ear infections for the kids, and a sudden abundance of mice in the house. (My illustrious but short-lived career as a mouse executioner is a tale for another blog.) True winter is not my favorite thing, but I have handled it before. So I was a little blind-sided by how afraid I have been of the cold and the dark of winter over the past few weeks.

After spending the Christmas Holidays in Arizona with my kids, I was suddenly terrified to return to Utah. I did not want to leave the warmth and return to the cold. (Literally and figuratively on both counts.) A big part of the figurative cold was my own self-doubt, due to the fact that over the last five years, I have tried to make positive changes in my life and have felt like I failed both myself and my children miserably. Over and over again. The final weeks of 2010 came with some unexpected challenges that very nearly caused me to fail colossally, but I somehow managed to salvage things. Now the college degree and hopefully self-sustaining life I am seeking is suddenly within reach, and I find I am afraid to reach out and grab it. Being the master of self-sabotage that I am, I fear for the safety of this new and better life in the hands of someone such as I.

However, I forced myself to come back to winter, in spite of these feelings. I bought a warm coat and a scarf and tightened it around me, and I am facing January head-on. I have discovered a few things about winter in the past two weeks, and one is that there is a phenomenon called an “inversion” that lives up (down?) to the cold and scary image of winter that I have been discussing thus far. Basically, it is a weather condition where everything cold and gray gets trapped below everything warm and light. I have an aversion to the inversion, definitely. But it does not last forever. Some days have crisp blue skies, and the snow-covered mountains set against such a backdrop are blindingly beautiful. Majestic, actually. So much so that I have to wear shades while viewing them.

Another thing I have learned, in my job as a teachers’ aide with regular recess duty, is that children do not fear winter. Inversion or no, sub-freezing temps or icy stretches of playground, they are out there in their rosy-cheeked glory, living their lives with boundless joy. Snow angels in a dress? No problem. Ice sculptures on the basketball courts? Why not? It’s still recess, and recess is fun. And fun trumps fear. As I approach age 50, which might be considered “winter”, I am seeing more and more indicators that the best way to head into the next 50 years is to turn around occasionally and look back at “spring”. Remember what age 5 or 15 felt like, and use that. Then go forward again. Because spring also comes after winter.

Last week I was in a 4^th-grade classroom, where my job was to walk around the room and help kids with their math. This particular teacher plays classical music during math time, and she also has an abundance of wise and happy thoughts on every wall in the room. I kind of want to be a 4^th-grader in her class. On this particular day, it was very cold and gray, and it was snowing outside, but I felt warmth, peace, and hope. When I looked out the window, I noticed that the snow that was falling was so fine that it looked like glitter, sparkling as it drifted down. I could not see the sun, so I was puzzled by where the light was coming from. It struck me that enough light must be getting through the gray to light up the snow. I think I just didn’t see it before, because my focus was on my fear of the dark. Suddenly every single thing I need to do in the next six months was illuminated in my mind, and I did not fear it. I knew that spring was not far off. Winter would pass, as it always does, and I might even miss it when it was gone.

Learned Lesson Number Four: One Better Choice At A Time

This particular piece is sort of a companion to the last one, about “Starting Where You Are”. Only it will be shorter. I promise. I have come to suspect that I might be prone to wordiness, and I am trying to embrace the concept of “less is more” when it comes to the spilling of my thoughts. A shorter message is more likely to be read, I believe. I am a great fan (yes, I am) of the late, great Theodore Geisel, aka “Dr. Seuss”, and as such chose to write a research paper about him last year. One of the things that struck me as I learned more about his life was the way in which his most famous literary works came to be.

In 1955, the illustrious Mr. Geisel was challenged by William Spaulding, the director of Houghton Mifflin's educational division, to write a new kind of reading primer for children, in order to battle the growing levels of illiteracy in America. Spaulding gave him a list of only 225 words to work with, and once he began attempting to create something within those limits, he described the experience as being one of the most difficult of his life. He described it like "being lost with a witch in a tunnel of love", and said that "The only job I ever tackled that I found more difficult was when I wrote the Baedeker guide Eskimos use when they travel to Siam".

The result was, of course, “The Cat in the Hat” and the other outrageously popular childrens’ books that followed. I would wager that every one of you reading this now could quote from memory at least one line from one of those books. You all know who “Sam-I-am” is, and just how passionately he wants to share his green eggs and ham. “Thing One and Thing Two” are likely not unknown to you. So what is my point? My point is that having only the stripped-down basics to work with was what ultimately produced, for Dr. Seuss, what many consider to be his most brilliant and enduring works. In other words, less became more.

Having previously stated that I have ditched “The List” and that making a "Big Plan" is not part of my nature, I do concede to the fact that if we are to make any progress in this life, there needs to be at least a seedling of an idea of how to go about that. But to set “all or nothing” goals which fly out the window at the first sign of failure is not the way to do it. At least not for me. So I have created for myself a stripped-down basic motto that I can live with. One that does not evaporate the first time I violate it. One that can always apply, and this is it: One Better Choice at a Time.

I can always make a better choice than the last one. Always. This applies to both small and large choices. If I just had a big 44-ounce Dr. Pepper when I have attempted to swear off sugar and caffeine forever, I can have a smaller one the next time. And a smaller diet one the time after that. If I fail to say a prayer of gratitude on my way out the door one day, I can whisper a short one on the run in my car the next time. And I can properly get on my knees the time after that. A little better is still better. If I wrote a really long and wordy blog post last time, I can make it shorter this time. I can choose better words and be more specific. And I can leave it at one basic fundamental thought, rather than expounding for another page. One better choice at a time.