Faith Over Fear

We usually enjoy the third week of March biking, hiking and hanging with my sister and her family in Bend’s outdoor paradise. 2020 Spring break was no different. But last year the spring in “Spring Break” was in name only, as Bend’s vernal equinox was not so warm and inviting as usual. People were still bundled up in down jackets. Once pristine and white, now dirty snow drifts lined parking lots. Sidewalks were dusted with Winter’s last snow. Apparently, Winter did not want to yield itself to Spring.

I understand not wanting to yield.

Of course, this Spring Break was unusual and unyielding for other reasons. It was the beginning of the “shut down” here in Oregon.

My daughter, Elena, who also lives and teaches in Bend, joined us when her time allowed. I remember during one conversation she seemed particularly anxious, more anxious than I thought she should be, me being her mother and all. She was overreacting, I was sure, saying that the schools were being shut down and they were moving to online everything. Shut down schools, I thought, that would be crazy.

Incredulous, I recounted that conversation and my subsequent experience of empty shelves at grocery stores to my sister over a simple meal at a local burger joint. We were the lone patrons for the moment and laughed with the employee as he swept the runaway French fries off the floor. “You might be our last customers until this thing is over,” he joked, alluding to the imminent closure of all non- essential businesses.

“We heard that too,” my sister acknowledged, not as stunned as I was with the news.

“We are living in historic times,” quipped my 12-year-old nephew in a later rehashing of the discussion.

Shut down. Non-essential businesses. The words echoed through my brain. What does that even mean? For me? For my fledgling business that was probably considered non-essential? Is it that serious? Worse than the Spanish flu, worse than Ebola? So contagious and life-threatening that we must stop our normal way of life? Including kids not going to school?

My thoughts raced as we went to bed that night. I tossed and turned, nightmares crowding sound sleep. The next morning, I asked my husband if we could cut our vacation short and leave a day early. It was not fun anymore. I had to get back to the office. I had to get back to work.

The drive home was torture, for me and my husband. Poor guy. He couldn’t do anything right. If he drove the speed limit, I told him to speed up. If he sped up, I told him to slow down. If he tailed a car, I told him to pass. If he passed a car, I freaked. It was catch 22 with me in the passenger seat.

Monday morning came and I showed up at my office two hours early dawning the N-95 mask I had dug out of the plastic container where my husband stores his paint supplies. Unfortunately, it wreaked of moth balls. There’s no way I can wear this. I’ll faint, I thought to myself and checked my oxygen level to make sure I was even breathing.

I scurried from room to room, mask now on my chin. Do I wipe everything down?  Had Covid surreptitiously seeped in and blanketed every nook and cranny of the office?  How do I decontaminate? Would it be any different than my normal routine? I rummaged through the supply closet for more bottles of hand sanitizer and Lysol spray. Would this kill Covid? Should I even see patients? Do I change to telehealth? I don’t know how to do telehealth. What is telehealth? How is my business going to survive this?

The questions pelted me, one after another, without waiting for answers, like one of those tennis ball serving machines gone rogue. Then they turned circular like a whirling dervish. Lost in thought, immersed in anxiety, I had become dizzy and nauseated from the accumulating fog of bleach and moth balls fumes. I threw open the front door and sucked in a breath of fresh air.

There was a small pile of mail strewn on the floor in the entryway, having been dropped through the mail slot by a faithful mail carrier even in my absence. I picked up the envelopes and fliers and shuffled through them, one by one, relieved by the distraction.  A few bills, mostly junk mail.

An otherwise plain white envelope stood out. The size of a greeting card, it was hand-addressed to me with the words “personal” printed in the lower left corner, and “confidential” stamped directly beneath that. A pink ink stamp in the shape of a cable car flanked the left border and a similar pink Golden Gate Bridge stamp ran along the bottom. A blue postage stamp depicting a small white plane spelling out the word “love” with its entrails was postmarked in the upper right corner. March 09, 2020.  I stared in disbelief as I read the return address.

Corona. I blinked away the irony and read it again. Corona, CA.

It was a from a beloved college friend, Karen. We met and became fast friends freshman year taking many of the same premed classes. I thought about the last time I saw or talked to Karen. It must have been at least twenty years if not more.  We kept in touch after college with Christmas cards, letters, phone calls, even a visit; and then we both went to medical school. And as things often go, our busy lives went on their busy ways. College was thirty plus years ago and here she was looking for me.

“Dear Julie, I found you,” the letter read.  

Did I hear that correctly? I read it again.  “Dear Julie, I found you.”

“Don’t forget.” I sensed a faint whisper in my spirit.

The written words washed over me and the still small voice settled my soul. The God of the universe saw me. He saw me lost in my thoughts, immersed in anxiety. It was as if He stopped time to meet meet me in my space in the most intimate way to tell me that I was not lost. That I had been found.  He had found me. Thirty some years ago, he had found me. The message was so personal and confidential yet written boldly in the bright blue sky: “I LOVE YOU.”

You see, Karen was instrumental in me becoming a Christian. She was with me at the beginning of my walk with God.  

So her letter, from Corona no less, which had come to my office, not to my home but to my office,  in the middle of a pandemic, in the middle of a shut down, to me in that moment, in my fear and my anxiety, was a reminder of my beginnings with God, was a reminder that the God who was with me in the beginning was with me now, was a reminder that the God who created in the beginning was in control now, that he created the vision of the clinic, that he gave me the vision, and He who began the good work would be faithful to complete it.

Fear yielded itself to faith in that moment as winter had to spring. I finished my preparations and welcomed my patients.

Over a year has passed since that experience, and I am still standing, grateful and humbled. Its been a wild ride, a one-day-at-a-time kind of faith, lots of asking for help and seeking wise counsel and praying, not always knowing what is around the bend and hopefully, most of all,  encouraging and building others up. And yes, fear still crouches in the corners. Anxiety is not far behind. But I remember that moment – how could I forget – and the peace of God that transcends all understanding continues to guard my heart and my soul.