Be Not Afraid

Lessons from Appalachia

I was standing on the edge of terra firma on the coast of Denmark, looking out across a dark sea of chilly water towards a distant Sweden. Dawn was breaking and I was naked. Why I was standing there with no clothes on can be blamed upon a cold winter's night in Appalachia.

When I left the suburbs of Washington DC, I was an uptight, stressed-out mess. Years of single parenting, an intense year of caregiving for my father, the death of my unique and wonderful artist sister, and the incessant struggles of being self-employed in the documentary film business had all taken a toll on my equilibrium. Like a team of persistent sculptors, these challenges had etched themselves into lines on my face and on my psyche, chipping away shards of my potentially happier self.

And the fears. Two decades of fears that I wouldn't be able to take care of my kids, that I wouldn't be able to pay the rent or the mortgage or any of the bills. Fears that I would die in a plane accident (or a car accident), that my kids would be shot at school or be injured playing sports or crash while learning to drive. Fears that I would get cancer like my sister, that I was eating the wrong things, cooking with the wrong pans. Scared that someone would steal the idea for the book I had spent more than a couple of years researching and writing (which actually happened.)

I let these fears eat away at my potential for well-being and happiness like acid rain.

After my father’s death, I escaped to Asheville. The mountains surrounding this small town in Western North Carolina are some of the world's oldest so they know something about resilience and survival. I only knew I needed peace and quiet and their healing energy.

Although I had gone to various churches (more off than on) much of my life, I made a conscious decision church would not be a part of my new life. But a chance encounter that took place in (of all places) a church, on Christmas Eve changed my life. The irony of this was not lost on me.

On Christmas Eve, my son, my former husband, his girlfriend, and I had gathered together at my new little home on the mountainside overlooking a bird sanctuary for a holiday meal and exchange of gifts. After dinner, I heard Nan say she wanted to go to a service that night. Steve – my former, her current – expressed no interest. Tipsy on the spirit of Christmas and goodwill toward all mankind, I heard myself say that I would take her.

Why on earth?! my startled inner self exclaimed. It's dark and cold out there – just stay home, drink wine, and fall asleep by the fireplace.

But it was too late. Nan's face lit up with gratitude and I realized I was committed.

An hour later, I found myself inside a downtown church, along with dozens of others bundled up against the chill, trying my best to tune out the words of the charismatic minister. He was going through the Christmas story. I'd heard it all before. Instead, I turned my thoughts to what people were wearing and whether or not there might be any single guys there.

Preoccupied with my thoughts, I didn't hear any of the sermon until, clear as a bell in the midst of the random muck of my mind, I heard these words:

What if you were not afraid?

The minister had just gotten to the bit about the angels appearing and startling the shepherds.

Hah, that's crazy, I thought. I can't imagine not being afraid.

“Think about it,” the minister said, pausing to look intently at each person in the large circle around him, including me. “What would your life be like if - you - were - not - afraid?”

It would be refreshing and life-changing, I realized.

So captivating were these six words and this different vision of my life, I missed the rest of the sermon. The idea of being not afraid, the permission to be not afraid, that it might actually be okay to be not afraid, was so alluring that I adopted it as my New Year's mantra in the coming year.

And that was how, nine months later, I found myself standing naked on the shores of Denmark as dawn was breaking, ready to jump into the cold sea – a dare from my Danish cousin in order to ‘become a Viking.’

Be not afraid, I whispered to myself.

And jumped.