Chapter 2: When Pain and Fear Change What We See
"For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he..." Proverbs 23:7 (KJV)
Chapter 1 asked us to look at what we're carrying.
Now we need to look at something a little deeper.
What has carrying it taught us to see?
Because pain doesn't only hurt.
Sometimes pain changes our interpretation of what happens next.
And fear can do the same thing.
Pain looks backward.
This happened to me.
Fear looks forward.
What if it happens again?
Pain remembers betrayal.
Fear watches for the next betrayal.
Pain remembers abandonment.
Fear becomes uneasy when someone feels distant.
Pain remembers losing something important.
Fear begins holding tightly to whatever remains.
Pain remembers being blindsided.
Fear tells us we need to anticipate everything so we're never caught unprepared again.
Pain remembers what it felt like to have no control.
Fear whispers that if we can control enough this time, maybe we'll finally be safe.
And before we realize it, we aren't responding only to what is happening today.
We're responding to yesterday's pain and tomorrow's possibilities at the same time.
That's a lot of weight to bring into one moment.
What We See Isn't Always Everything That's There
Think about looking through tinted glass.
The things on the other side are really there.
The people are real.
The circumstances are real.
The conversations are real.
But the lens affects how everything looks.
Pain and fear can become lenses too.
Someone doesn't answer.
That's what actually happened.
But then our minds begin filling in the blanks.
They're ignoring me.
They're upset with me.
They're pulling away.
I did something wrong.
Something is changing.
Something bad is about to happen.
One fact becomes an entire story.
And sometimes the person standing in front of us has no idea they're participating in a story that began long before they ever arrived.
That's where healing requires us to slow down.
What actually happened?
And what did I add to what happened?
Those aren't always the same thing.
Maybe someone was quiet.
That's true.
But:
They're angry with me.
May be an interpretation.
Maybe someone asked for space.
That's true.
But:
They're abandoning me.
May be fear.
Maybe someone disagreed with us.
That's true.
But:
They don't respect me.
May be something our history taught us to hear.
Maybe something changed unexpectedly.
That's true.
But:
Everything is falling apart again.
May be yesterday speaking into today.
Our feelings can be completely real while our interpretation of what caused them is incomplete.
That's an important distinction.
Because healing doesn't require us to stop feeling.
It requires us to become willing to ask God whether what we're feeling is showing us the whole truth.
Pain and Fear Can Tell Convincing Stories
The difficult thing about pain and fear is that they don't always sound unreasonable.
They can sound like wisdom.
Be careful.
Don't trust too quickly.
Remember what happened last time.
Protect yourself.
Don't get too close.
Don't let this happen again.
Prepare for the worst.
Fix this before something goes wrong.
And sometimes caution genuinely is wisdom.
Sometimes something really is wrong.
Sometimes our concern is telling us to pay attention.
That's why healing doesn't mean ignoring our emotions.
But it also doesn't mean automatically obeying them.
We bring them to God.
What actually happened?
What am I feeling?
What am I afraid this means?
What does this remind me of?
What do I actually know to be true?
And Lord, what are You showing me?
David prayed:
"Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts:" Psalm 139:23 (KJV)
"And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." Psalm 139:24 (KJV)
Search me.
Not just the situation.
Not just the other person.
Me.
Because sometimes what needs God's attention isn't only what's happening around us.
It's what's happening inside us because of it.
Insecurity Is Often Fear With a Question Attached
Sometimes insecurity sounds like:
What if I'm not enough?
What if they leave?
What if I'm rejected?
What if I fail?
What if I lose this?
What if I'm misunderstood?
What if I trust and regret it?
What if I love and get hurt?
What if everyone discovers I'm not as strong as they think I am?
Those questions can become powerful.
Because eventually we begin making decisions designed to prevent the thing we're afraid of.
If I'm afraid of rejection, I may work too hard to keep everyone happy.
If I'm afraid of abandonment, I may hold too tightly to people.
If I'm afraid of being controlled, I may resist anything that feels like someone else having influence.
If I'm afraid of failure, I may never attempt something unless I'm certain I'll succeed.
If I'm afraid of being hurt, I may keep everyone far enough away that they never really know me.
And then fear begins shaping our lives while telling us it's protecting them.
That's why insecurity isn't always solved by someone reassuring us.
Reassurance may help.
But if the wound underneath remains, we may need reassurance again tomorrow.
And the next day.
And again after that.
Eventually God may want to take us underneath the question.
Not only:
Will they leave?
But:
Why does the possibility of someone leaving determine what I believe about my worth?
Not only:
What if I fail?
But:
What have I decided failure would mean about me?
Not only:
What if something goes wrong?
But:
Why do I believe I have to prevent every bad outcome in order to be safe?
Those are deeper questions.
And sometimes healing begins there.
Our Reactions Can Make Sense and Still Need Healing
This is important because I don't want us to look at the ways we've responded and immediately condemn ourselves.
Maybe shutting down once kept conflict from escalating.
Maybe staying constantly prepared helped us survive an unpredictable environment.
Maybe keeping people at a distance protected us during a season when someone genuinely wasn't safe.
Maybe people pleasing once helped keep the peace.
Maybe becoming fiercely independent was necessary when there wasn't anyone dependable around us.
Maybe controlling details gave us some sense of stability when everything else felt uncertain.
There may be a reason we learned to respond the way we do.
Understanding that reason matters.
But understanding why something developed doesn't mean it should continue directing our lives.
Something can make sense and still need healing.
We don't have to say:
What's wrong with me?
And we don't have to say:
This is just who I am because of what happened.
Maybe we can say:
I understand why I learned this.
And I don't believe I need to live this way forever.
That's different.
It allows compassion and growth to exist in the same place.
Emotions Give Us Information, but They Don't Have to Give Us Direction
Pain is real.
Fear is real.
Insecurity is real.
Anger is real.
Grief is real.
We don't need to shame ourselves for feeling them.
Our emotions can tell us:
Something is happening inside me.
Pay attention.
But that doesn't necessarily mean they're telling us:
This is what you should do next.
That's where abiding matters.
We feel.
We pause.
We bring what we're feeling to Christ.
We allow truth into the moment.
Then we respond.
Maybe a trigger doesn't have to become an instruction.
Maybe it can become an invitation.
Lord, why did that affect me so strongly?
What did that touch?
What am I afraid of?
Am I responding to what is happening now, or did today bump into yesterday?
Am I reacting to something that actually happened, or to something I'm afraid could happen?
Healing doesn't necessarily mean we stop having emotional reactions.
Sometimes healing creates a pause between what we feel and what we do.
Before, fear became control.
Now fear becomes prayer.
Before, hurt became anger.
Now hurt becomes an honest conversation.
Before, uncertainty became an assumption.
Now we ask a question.
Before, insecurity made us hold tighter.
Now we can recognize what we're afraid of and bring it to God.
Before, disagreement immediately felt like rejection.
Now we can pause long enough to realize:
Someone can disagree with me and still love me.
That's growth.
The emotion still came.
But it didn't automatically get the steering wheel.
Fear Can Make Us Fight Battles That Haven't Happened
Fear doesn't only change the way we interpret today.
It can make us emotionally live through tomorrow before tomorrow arrives.
What if this happens?
What if they say this?
What if something goes wrong?
What if I lose this?
What if I can't handle what comes next?
What if the thing I'm afraid of happens again?
Before anything has actually happened, we're already responding to it.
We're preparing conversations.
Imagining outcomes.
Planning defenses.
Feeling emotions over circumstances that currently exist only in our minds.
Sometimes we call that being prepared.
And sometimes preparation genuinely is wise.
But there is a difference.
Wisdom prepares for what we reasonably know.
Fear tries to control what we cannot know.
Jesus said:
"Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself." Matthew 6:34 (KJV)
We don't have to fight tomorrow today.
That doesn't mean we don't plan.
It means we don't have to emotionally experience every possible future before we ever arrive there.
Because fear can exhaust us fighting battles that never happen.
And then when today actually requires something from us, we've already spent today's strength somewhere else.
We Can Also Make Someone Today Pay for What Someone Else Did Yesterday
This is one of the places pain can quietly affect relationships.
Someone betrayed us.
Now trust is harder.
Someone abandoned us.
Now distance feels dangerous.
Someone manipulated our vulnerability.
Now vulnerability itself feels unsafe.
Someone lied.
Now questions feel necessary before trust can grow.
Some of that may be wisdom.
Experience should teach us something.
But there's a difference between bringing wisdom into a new relationship and bringing an old person's debt into it.
A new person shouldn't automatically have to prove they aren't everyone who came before them.
They may need to demonstrate character.
Trust should still grow through truth and consistency.
But if someone hasn't betrayed us, we should be careful about treating them as though they already have.
Otherwise the person who hurt us is still influencing relationships they aren't even part of.
That's something pain can do if we don't recognize it.
It can make yesterday's wound become today's expectation.
And eventually we may realize:
I'm not responding entirely to the person standing in front of me.
Part of me is still responding to someone who isn't here.
We Have to Let Truth Correct the Story
Sometimes pain and fear teach us things that begin feeling like truth.
Everybody leaves.
Nobody can be trusted.
If I don't control this, everything will fall apart.
If someone disagrees with me, they don't respect me.
If I need help, I'm weak.
If I become vulnerable, I'll regret it.
If I don't stay alert, I'll be blindsided again.
Something bad happened before, so something bad will probably happen again.
Maybe those beliefs didn't come from nowhere.
Something may have happened that taught us to think that way.
But something feeling true because of our experience doesn't automatically make it truth.
That's where God's Word has to become louder than what our wounds taught us.
Paul writes:
"And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind..." Romans 12:2 (KJV)
Renewing.
Maybe part of restoration is allowing God to teach us how to think again.
Not everybody leaves.
Not everybody lies.
Conflict doesn't always mean abandonment.
A boundary doesn't always mean rejection.
Correction isn't always condemnation.
Someone asking a question isn't always accusing us.
Someone needing space isn't necessarily leaving.
Vulnerability isn't always danger.
Forgiveness doesn't require foolishness.
And uncertainty doesn't automatically mean something bad is coming.
Sometimes healing means allowing truth to correct the conclusions pain taught us to make.
Pain Remembers. Fear Predicts. Christ Leads.
Maybe this is one of the simplest ways to recognize what's happening.
Pain remembers.
Fear predicts.
Christ leads.
Pain can tell us something about where we've been.
Fear can reveal something we're afraid of.
But neither one was meant to become our shepherd.
Jesus said:
"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me:" John 10:27 (KJV)
That's why abiding matters so much.
If fear is loud, we need to know His voice.
If pain is interpreting everything around us, we need truth.
If insecurity is telling us what something means, we need to remain close enough to Christ to ask:
Is that actually what You are showing me?
Healing doesn't require forgetting what happened.
Courage doesn't require never feeling afraid.
Maybe it means our memories and fears stop becoming the loudest voices directing our next step.
We can remember without assuming history must repeat itself.
We can recognize danger without seeing danger everywhere.
We can use wisdom without trying to control every outcome.
We can feel fear without allowing fear to become our guide.
Pain may explain why I reacted.
Fear may explain why I want to protect myself.
But Christ determines how I respond.
Discernment and Fear Are Not the Same Thing
This is where we have to be careful.
Because after we've been hurt, we may call everything discernment.
I just have a bad feeling.
Something seems off.
I've seen this before.
Maybe.
And we should never train ourselves to ignore legitimate warning signs.
But discernment and fear don't always feel dramatically different in the moment.
Both may tell us to slow down.
Both may make us pay attention.
So how do we begin separating them?
Fear often demands immediate certainty.
Discernment can wait for truth.
Fear fills unanswered spaces with assumptions.
Discernment asks questions.
Fear tends to see one similarity and assume the same ending.
Discernment watches patterns and fruit.
Fear says:
Protect yourself at all costs.
Discernment asks:
God, what is wise here?
Fear can make us frantic.
Discernment may warn us strongly, but it still keeps us dependent upon God.
And sometimes we won't immediately know which one we're hearing.
That's another reason we abide.
We don't have to make every decision in the first emotional moment.
Sometimes the wisest thing we can do is pause long enough to pray:
Lord, if this is fear from something I've experienced before, help me recognize it.
If this is wisdom, help me not dismiss it simply because I'm trying to prove I'm healed.
Show me what is true.
Show me the fruit.
Show me what belongs to today and what belongs to yesterday.
And help me respond to what is actually in front of me.
When the Lens Changes, Relationships Can Change Too
Sometimes we don't realize how much fear has affected our relationships until we begin seeing more clearly.
If I believe people eventually leave, I may cling too tightly.
Or I may leave first.
If I believe vulnerability is dangerous, I may want closeness while continually keeping part of myself hidden.
If I believe disagreement means rejection, every difficult conversation can feel like a threat to the entire relationship.
If I believe I'm responsible for keeping everyone happy, another person's disappointment may feel like evidence that I've done something wrong.
If I believe I have to protect myself from being blindsided, I may analyze every word, every pause, every change in tone, searching for something that isn't necessarily there.
And here's where it becomes complicated:
Our fear can sometimes produce the very response we're afraid of.
Fear of abandonment can make us hold someone so tightly that the relationship becomes exhausting.
Fear of conflict can make us avoid necessary conversations until resentment grows.
Fear of being misunderstood can make us overexplain until the other person feels as though nothing they say is enough.
Fear of losing control can make the people around us feel controlled.
Fear of being hurt can make us so guarded that someone who genuinely wants closeness eventually stops trying to reach us.
Then when the relationship becomes strained, fear says:
See?
I told you.
But maybe fear wasn't predicting the future.
Maybe fear was participating in creating it.
That's a difficult thing to consider.
Not so we can blame ourselves for every relationship that has struggled.
Relationships involve more than one person.
But healing requires enough honesty to ask:
Is the thing I'm afraid of affecting the way I'm relating to the people around me?
Sometimes Two Wounded People Are Responding to Each Other's Fear
This can become even more complicated when both people are carrying something.
One person fears abandonment.
The other fears being controlled.
So one moves closer.
The other pulls away.
The first person feels the distance and moves closer again.
The second person feels more pressure and pulls away further.
Now both people's fears appear to be confirmed.
See?
You're leaving me.
See?
You're trying to control me.
Neither person may have entered the relationship intending to hurt the other.
They may genuinely care about each other.
But two wounds can begin responding to each other instead of two people actually hearing each other.
Or maybe one person learned to process conflict by talking immediately.
Another learned that conflict becomes safer when everyone has time to calm down.
One says:
We need to talk about this now.
The other says:
I need some time.
The first hears:
You don't care enough to work this out.
The second hears:
You don't respect my need for space.
And suddenly they're no longer responding only to what the other person said.
They're responding to everything those words mean through the lens of their own history.
This is why understanding our wounds matters.
Not so we can excuse unhealthy behavior.
But so we can recognize when the past has entered a conversation that was supposed to be about the present.
Good Intentions Don't Automatically Prevent Harm
Sometimes this is one of the hardest truths to accept.
We can have good intentions and still hurt someone.
So can someone else.
Maybe we were trying to protect.
But the other person experienced control.
Maybe we were trying to explain.
They experienced pressure.
Maybe we were trying to create space.
They experienced abandonment.
Maybe we were trying to help.
They experienced criticism.
Maybe we were afraid and reacted strongly.
They didn't see the fear underneath.
They only experienced the reaction.
Intentions matter.
But impact matters too.
That doesn't mean another person's interpretation automatically becomes the entire truth.
Sometimes people misunderstand us.
But healing gives us enough security to become curious instead of immediately defensive.
What did you hear when I said that?
What did that feel like to you?
That's not what I intended. Can you help me understand what happened between my intention and what you experienced?
Those can be healing questions.
Because sometimes the goal of a difficult conversation shouldn't be determining whose interpretation wins.
Maybe the goal is understanding what happened between two people well enough that both can respond differently next time.
We Can Learn to Ask Before We Assume
Maybe one of the simplest ways healing changes relationships is this:
We ask.
Instead of:
You're angry with me.
We can ask:
Are you upset with me?
Instead of:
You're pulling away.
We can ask:
I've noticed some distance. Is something going on?
Instead of:
You don't care.
We can say:
I'm feeling disconnected right now. Can we talk about it?
Instead of:
You're trying to control me.
We can ask:
Can you help me understand what you're asking from me?
Instead of:
You're rejecting me.
We can say:
I noticed that hurt more than I expected. I think it touched something in me.
That takes vulnerability.
Assumptions can feel safer because they allow us to prepare ourselves without exposing what we're actually afraid of.
Questions require us to admit:
I don't know.
And sometimes:
I'm scared of what the answer might be.
But questions create room for truth.
Assumptions usually create room for fear to finish the story.
When the Lens Shows Up in Real Time
It's one thing to recognize these patterns while we're sitting quietly reading about them.
It's another thing to recognize them while our heart is racing.
When the message hasn't been answered.
When someone's tone changes.
When a conversation becomes uncomfortable.
When something doesn't go according to plan.
When someone we love makes a choice we don't understand.
When we're waiting for an answer.
When something feels familiar in a way we don't like.
That's when the lens becomes harder to see.
Because in the moment, fear doesn't usually announce itself by saying:
I'm fear, and I'm about to distort this situation.
It sounds more like:
Something is wrong.
You need to do something.
You need an answer.
You need to fix this.
You need to protect yourself.
You need to prepare.
Now.
Maybe one of the first signs of healing is learning not to immediately obey that urgency.
Not ignore it.
Pause with it.
God, something in me is reacting strongly right now.
Help me see clearly before I respond.
That pause can change a lot.
Separate What You Know From What You Fear
Sometimes we need to make this incredibly simple.
What do I actually know?
And what am I afraid this means?
Maybe what I know is:
They haven't answered yet.
What I fear is:
They're pulling away.
Maybe what I know is:
Someone disagreed with me.
What I fear is:
They don't respect me.
Maybe what I know is:
Something unexpected happened.
What I fear is:
Everything is about to fall apart.
Maybe what I know is:
I made a mistake.
What I fear is:
I've ruined everything.
Maybe what I know is:
Someone I love is struggling.
What I fear is:
If I don't fix this, something terrible will happen.
Those two columns can look very different.
And sometimes simply separating them helps us realize how much of our emotional response is coming from something that hasn't actually happened.
That doesn't make the fear foolish.
There may be a reason we're afraid.
But fear deserves compassion without automatically receiving authority.
We can say:
I understand why this scares me.
And:
I still don't know that what I'm afraid of is true.
Both can exist together.
Ask What Belongs to Today
Maybe this is another question worth learning:
Does this feeling belong entirely to today?
Sometimes the answer is yes.
Something genuinely difficult is happening.
Something needs attention.
A boundary may have been crossed.
Trust may actually have been broken.
Wisdom may genuinely be warning us.
Healing doesn't mean explaining away every concern as trauma.
That's not discernment either.
But sometimes today's situation is carrying emotional weight that belongs partly to yesterday.
Maybe the current disagreement is real.
But the terror of losing the relationship belongs somewhere older.
Maybe someone's dishonesty today genuinely needs to be addressed.
But the belief that nobody can ever be trusted came from somewhere else.
Maybe today's uncertainty is uncomfortable.
But the need to control every possible outcome was formed long before this situation arrived.
We don't have to choose between:
This is all in my head.
And:
Everything I'm feeling must be entirely about what's happening right now.
Sometimes both past and present are in the room.
Healing helps us separate them.
Lord, show me what belongs to today.
Show me what belongs to yesterday.
And help me respond to today without allowing yesterday to take over.
Let Truth Enter Before You React
This is where abiding becomes practical again.
We don't only abide when everything is peaceful.
We abide in the uncomfortable moment.
Before sending the message.
Before making the accusation.
Before shutting down.
Before assuming.
Before trying to fix everything.
Before deciding what someone meant.
Maybe we stop.
Pray.
Ask.
Listen.
Look at what we actually know.
Remember what Scripture says.
Then respond.
James writes:
"Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath:" James 1:19 (KJV)
Slow.
That's difficult when fear wants speed.
Fear wants an answer now.
Fear wants certainty now.
Fear wants resolution now.
But sometimes slowing down is exactly what gives truth enough room to enter.
Maybe I don't have to answer this second.
Maybe I can ask another question.
Maybe I misunderstood.
Maybe I need to listen.
Maybe I need to pray before I speak.
Maybe I need to sleep before I decide.
Maybe something genuinely is wrong and slowing down will help me respond wisely instead of reactively.
The pause isn't weakness.
Sometimes the pause is where discernment begins.
What If the Thing You're Afraid of Really Does Happen?
This question matters.
Because sometimes when we talk about fear, we focus so much on recognizing distorted thinking that we accidentally imply:
Don't worry. The bad thing probably won't happen.
But sometimes it does.
People leave.
Relationships end.
People disappoint us.
Plans fail.
Doors close.
We receive news we didn't want.
Someone breaks trust.
Something we hoped would work doesn't.
So if healing depends upon convincing ourselves that our fears will never happen, we're still trying to create certainty.
Maybe the deeper healing is this:
Even if something painful happens, God will still be God.
That doesn't mean:
It won't hurt.
It means:
Pain won't have the final word.
Maybe that's where fear begins losing some of its power.
I don't have to prevent every possible painful outcome in order to be okay.
I don't have to anticipate everything.
I don't have to control everyone.
I don't have to see every danger before it arrives.
I can use wisdom.
I can pay attention.
I can act when God tells me to act.
And I can trust Him with what I cannot predict.
David wrote:
"What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee." Psalm 56:3 (KJV)
Notice that David didn't say:
I will never be afraid.
He said:
When I am afraid.
Fear came.
Then came a choice.
I will trust.
Maybe courage isn't the absence of fear.
Maybe it's knowing what to do with fear when it arrives.
We Don't Have to Be Ashamed of the Lens
As God begins showing us these things, we need to be careful not to turn awareness into another reason to condemn ourselves.
Why am I like this?
Why do I overthink?
Why did I assume that?
Why am I so afraid?
Why can't I just trust?
Maybe because something happened.
Maybe because your heart learned something while it was trying to survive.
Maybe because fear once helped you pay attention to something important.
Maybe because you developed ways of protecting yourself before you knew healthier ways to respond.
Understanding that isn't an excuse to remain there.
But shame rarely produces healthy growth.
We can look at ourselves with enough compassion to say:
I understand why I learned to see things this way.
And then enough courage to say:
But Christ is teaching me another way to see.
That's restoration.
A Renewed Mind Learns to See Again
Paul wrote:
"And be renewed in the spirit of your mind;" Ephesians 4:23 (KJV)
Renewed.
Not erased.
Not emptied of every memory.
Renewed.
Maybe God doesn't need us to forget everything we've learned.
Some experiences gave us wisdom.
Some taught us discernment.
Some taught us boundaries.
Some revealed things we genuinely needed to know.
But He can separate wisdom from fear.
He can teach us to notice without assuming.
To remember without predicting.
To ask without accusing.
To pause without panicking.
To protect without controlling.
To love without gripping.
To recognize danger without believing danger is everywhere.
To trust without becoming naive.
And maybe that is part of what it means to have our minds renewed.
We aren't pretending yesterday didn't happen.
We're refusing to let yesterday interpret everything that happens today.
Before You Decide What Something Means
Maybe this is something we can carry with us:
Before deciding what something means, pause.
What actually happened?
What am I feeling?
What am I afraid this means?
What does this remind me of?
What do I actually know?
What am I assuming?
Is there a question I could ask instead?
Is there a pattern I genuinely need to pay attention to?
Does this belong to today, yesterday, or a little of both?
And what does God say is true?
Maybe we won't always get it right.
That's okay.
Healing doesn't make us perfectly perceptive.
It makes us increasingly willing to let God correct our perception.
Sometimes He may say:
That is fear. You don't need to run.
Sometimes He may say:
Pay attention. Something isn't right.
Sometimes He may say:
You're assuming something you don't know.
Sometimes:
Ask.
Sometimes:
Wait.
Sometimes:
Speak.
Sometimes:
Set the boundary.
Sometimes:
Trust.
The goal isn't becoming so skilled at analyzing ourselves that we never need God.
The goal is becoming so accustomed to abiding with Him that we learn to bring our interpretation to Him before allowing it to determine our response.
Maybe Healing Changes What Gets the Final Word
Pain may still speak.
Fear may still speak.
Insecurity may still ask questions.
A memory may still surface.
Something may still trigger a reaction before we've had time to think.
Healing doesn't necessarily silence all of those things immediately.
Maybe it changes which voice gets the final word.
Pain says:
Remember what happened.
Wisdom says:
Yes. Learn from it.
Fear says:
It's going to happen again.
Truth says:
You don't know that.
Insecurity says:
This proves something is wrong with you.
Christ says:
Your identity is in Me.
Fear says:
Control this.
Faith says:
Ask God what is actually yours to do.
Pain says:
Protect yourself from everyone.
Discernment says:
Watch the fruit and respond to what is true.
Maybe that's what we're learning.
Pain remembers.
Fear predicts.
But Christ leads.
And if Christ is leading, we don't have to let yesterday decide what today means.
Questions to Carry Forward
Where has pain changed the way I interpret situations today?
What am I most afraid will happen again?
When something feels uncertain, do I look for truth or immediately begin filling in the blanks?
Are there people in my life who may be experiencing reactions that actually began with someone else?
What does fear usually make me do?
Control?
Withdraw?
Overexplain?
People please?
Assume?
Prepare for the worst?
What beliefs about myself, other people, or God were formed during painful seasons?
Are those beliefs actually true?
Can I recognize the difference between a warning I need to pay attention to and fear asking me to predict an outcome?
When I'm emotionally activated, can I pause long enough to ask what belongs to today and what belongs to yesterday?
And perhaps the question to carry into the next chapter:
Am I willing to let God show me not only what I feel, but what is actually true?
Because once we begin recognizing the lens, the next part of restoration is learning to face the truth.
Even when truth is uncomfortable.
Even when someone else refuses to admit it.
Even when the truth requires something from us.
"And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." John 8:32 (KJV)
"We love him, because he first loved us." 1 John 4:19 (KJV)