When faith and fear battle

I grew up in South Florida where storms are a regular occurrence. After moving there from Chicago, I remember my mom being so amused that it seemed to rain every day at 4pm in the summer. Sometimes it was just rain, other times it would be an intense system that brough dark skies, lightning, thunder, and the type of rain that makes it impossible to see even a few feet in front of you.

Floridians are also notorious for not batting an eye when we hear that we might be in the path of a hurricane—a massive storm that brings all manner of stormy weather. Sure, supplies are purchased, and windows are shuttered, but the vast majority of us hunker down with our snacks and choose to ride out the storm rather than trying to escape it.

Storms like those were things I grew accustomed to, but the kind of storms we face in life whether medical, mental health, emotional, familial, financial…those are storms we don’t get to prepare for. There are no category 3 hurricane impact windows for the human mind and soul. When the storms of life rage, it can feel like we’re extremely vulnerable and susceptible to harm.

I didn’t have my first panic attack until after my mom passed away suddenly. Trauma like that can be a trigger for anxiety and symptoms that stem from anxiety. All of a sudden, the storm of grief and loss gave way to a different kind of storm—one brewing just under the surface. When something like that happens, it can mean that situations or instances that would ordinarily cause you fear or discomfort, begin to cause panic attacks.

On the one-year anniversary of my mom’s passing, I was trying everything in my power to distract myself. But I ended up encountering a phobia that sent me into a tailspin. My first panic attack. I was unfamiliar with this type of storm. The kind that makes you feel vulnerable in a foreign and heightened way. I was scared, exhausted, grieving, anxious, and in that moment, I wasn’t sure what was happening to me or how to make it stop. Thankfully, in the middle of all of that, a friend saw that I was in distress—I wasn’t just stressed out about the situation—I was currently and actively in distress.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me into a tight hug, and she didn’t let go until my breathing regulated, my heart rate leveled out, and my head stopped feeling like the walls were closing in on me. In that moment she walked into my storm and stayed with me until it died down. In that moment, she was Jesus to me. She leaned in to my distress and her hug was synonymous with Jesus’ words to the disciples, “Don’t be afraid. Take courage. I’m here.”

I don’t know what type of storm you might be facing—or whether or not it’s a rainstorm, thunderstorm, or full-blown hurricane. But whatever it is, may you be reminded today that in the storm, Christ comes to us. Our God does not watch us endure from the safety of the seashore; our God is He who walked on water in the midst of a storm. May you feel God’s presence in whatever storm you are facing—may you experience Christ himself through the love and care of the Church we’ve been given.