Happy Wednesday :)
One of the perks of an extremely mild winter is getting a lot of really wonderful sunny days to play outside. A couple weeks ago, we had one of those days. The sun was shining, the temperature was perfect (how is it mid-January?) so the kids and I headed out for a bike ride. The big kids were on their bikes, and I was speed-walking Ellie in the stroller, attempting to keep up.
You never really know what you might encounter on the trails behind our home. We've seen bears, a coyote out front, and a whole herd of deer, so you can imagine I wasn't overly concerned when we headed up the hill towards our house and saw a small dog waiting for us at the top.
As we got closer, though, I could tell this dog was not happy. It was barking, growling, jumping toward us, clearly intent on protecting its territory. This short, stocky, big-headed bulldog was taking up far more space in personality than in stature, and it was suddenly the one thing standing between us and home, sweet home.
As it yapped and lunged (all three kids screaming) I did the only thing that rushed through my mind: I looked for the biggest rock I could find.
I stomped my foot, yelled at it to go home, waved the rock around like I knew what I was doing (which probably only escalated the situation), and felt immediate relief when my neighbor wandered out to check his mailbox.
"Can you help us?" I gasped, ready for my rescuer to step in.
He shrugged and said, "It lives two doors down. I don't think it's dangerous," and casually walked back inside.
Thanks for the help, buddy.
To cut a long saga short, we made it home. We survived. The demon dog is now contained. But I couldn't quite shake the experience. Was I overreacting? Was I making too big a deal out of it? Should I have just walked by without worrying about the barking, the teeth, the aggression?
That feeling, that spike of fear, shows up a lot these days. Especially when it comes to our kids. There are so many loud barks that make us want to grab whatever we can to protect them. School choices. Discipline decisions. Friendship drama. Cultural noise. Politics. It can feel like if we don't get this exactly right, everything will fall apart.
And when we finally admit how overwhelmed we feel, the response is often, "Don't worry about it. It'll be fine."
But sometimes I don't need reassurance, I need a reminder.
Paul writes to Timothy in 2 Timothy 1, reminding him of the sincere faith Timothy has in him. He wants Timothy to remember that he has been given a gift from God:
"For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control." — 2 Timothy 1:7
Our circumstances aren't guaranteed, but in Christ, who we are has been settled. And we have been given a spirit of power, love and self control.
So when the barking feels loud and the fear rises fast, maybe the invitation isn't to panic or overcorrect, but to remember who you are and whose you belong to. If our God can shut the mouths of lions, He can quiet the noise that tries to convince us we're failing.
We don't have to react with fear. We can respond with faith.