I was hiking our local trail system a few weeks ago, and I marveled afresh at how dirt-under-the-shoes provides a certain authenticity to the hike that no amount of gravel, cement, or rubberized material can replicate.
It was all quite lovely until I turned a corner and saw three large, black birds situated in the center of the trail.
I paused.
Everything really is bigger in Texas I said to myself, ever-marveling at how far-and-wide this truth is known.
I took a couple more steps to see if, like most birds, they might fly away at the advance of a human. Nope.
Stubborn.
Non-pulsed.
Bored, even.
Which was kind of intimating in its own way.
Then I looked up into the trees. The black birds had an enormous family canvassing the branches. Everything about them suggested a kind of ominous regality.
Do these birds descend upon perceived attackers?
Surely this was a ridiculous thought.
Would the good-and-kind people who build trail systems really carve a beautiful path through the woods - complete with nice green benches and regularly emptied garbage cans - if they knew flesh-eating birds were preying there? Honestly.
At the same time, those birds were not moving one lick, and the off-chance of being pecked to death proved enough for me to turn casually in the other direction. Nevermind I had only been hiking eight minutes.
Sixteen minutes is a solid outing I told myself.
As I started back I noticed a sign posted that described the various kind birds prevalent in the area. Among them was the large, black, curved-beak-of-death that I encountered moments ago: a Turkey Vulture.
This sounded far more promising for my survival.
Because while it does turn out these birds are all about death - they don’t inflict it. In fact, they really don’t kill at all. They wait until something is dead and then they go to town with no qualms about how long a carcass has been sitting.
Buoyed by my new found information, I decided to resume the hike in the direction of the vultures.
Admittedly, I moved at a somewhat quickened pace while walking directly by-and-under the gazing eyes.
An hour later, I had completed my hike.
—
Fear, I think, may be the most pervasive challenge of our time.
We worry about what lies ahead, whose dangerous, and what may come directly for us.
Oftentimes, we try and play it cool.
We smile politely.
We put up a good front.
We hold it together.
But get us in a moment of honesty, and we can probably tell you quite quickly about the dark canopy above.
The things in our hearts,
our families,
our workplace,
our society as a whole…
…that are surely not good. And in fact they are likely the thing that will take us out.
(Photo by Egor Myznik on Unsplash)
Sometimes the canopy rests so heavily upon us that the fear renders us…
Helpless.
Listless.
Empty.
Precisely the kind of lifeless reality on which fear itself Goes. To. Town.
Fear, then, proves to be the thing that both stops us in our tracks and then devours us.
In fact, if you want to know when the end-is-beginning with a(n)
heart,
business,
nation,
endeavor
or otherwise…
…look not to the ominous cloud that everyone sees above. Look to the ones on the path.
If fear has taken the wheel of the heart,
if fear has stalled the steps,
if fear has them pumping out rapid-fire doomsday scenarios or cynical ‘won’t works’…
…then a kind of lifelessness has already set in.
It’s why the command to Fear Not is declared 365 times in the Bible. It’s a book about finding Life. Fear is the great enemy of that.
Is there another way?
Maybe this: let’s admit that fearful things, people, and possibilities lie upon every road we take. But what if we asked three questions of the things we most fear?
What’s true (really true) about that which is before us? Sometimes we see a canopy of death when in fact, it’s a bunch of turkeys. And maybe we need to name that aloud with someone else. And then enjoy a few laughs about the turkeys. It’s amazing the gift of simply putting an actual name to our fears.
Who’s been on this path before? Sometimes we need to remember that a whole lot of people have trod this road before us. In fact, they trail-blazed the road themselves - and probably with far less on-hand that we have today! Simply remembering (and giving thanks for) the people who have gone before us can provide a renewed peace. And courage.
What’s the worst that can happen? Most of the time, my fearful projections are massive-and-terrible until I finally think through (with someone else) what the truly worst might be. At that point, I usually find things look to be far less devastating than my feelings had been telling me.
But… to be fair to that final question:
What if the ‘worst case scenario’ actually is somewhat possible and also pretty bad?
What if the vultures ahead do not budge when we try to move forward - and things get ugly?
What if we are facing the real possibility of significant failure, loss, or even death itself because we have chosen to move forward?
And if so… is it worth it anyway?
—
It probably is if we are walking an authentic, dirt-filled road of things-that-matter.
You know, like…
Serving others,
Seeking justice,
Loving a family,
Building community,
Fostering creativity and joy,
Lifting up the voices of those marginalized,
Empowering people to become their fullest, truest self,
Hearing others into being,
Nurturing truth.
Those kind of roads inspire souls-and-soles like no other.
(Photo by Artem Maltsev on Unsplash)
Indeed…
May such a Road Rise to Meet You.
And (amid some inevitable fear)
may you step with Courage.
Thank you. Needed that.
We owe a lot to our reviled decomposers. Vultures, fire ants... Realtors :-) Without them the world would be piled high with rotting carcasses (and unsold real estate). They do us a great service - even fire ants who never fail to remind me of their presence. Ever notice how well the grass grows where an old carcass was? Or where a fire ant mound is? As with most things, a little perspective and understanding go a long way. Although my acceptance of fire ants remains arms-length and begrudging. And Realtors... don’t even get me started. Great column, as usual.