Dread

 

 

A word about Dread.

I heard through the grapevine yesterday that a friend of mine was having some health problems. All I could find out was that whatever was happening, it didn’t sound good. I couldn’t shake my concern, so I called my friend and left a message. Could he call me and let me know how to pray for him? Thirty minutes later, he did call. Doctors had told him he has a terrible disease. We talked. The word dread. My good and godly friend has what I would call a dread disease. And now, along with the disease itself, there’s everything he fears it may bring. That’s how dread works. It looks ahead, takes the news we’ve received, and starts imagining what comes next. The next appointment, the next test, the next conversation we don’t want to have. The phone call is over, but Dread keeps talking. We’ve all experienced it. Something happens today and suddenly tomorrow occupies every corner of our thinking. We may be sitting in our favorite chair in our own living room, but our thoughts have gone somewhere we don’t want to go. In Job chapter 3, that man who had experienced devastating losses said, For the thing which I greatly fear is come upon me, that which I was afraid of is come unto me. That’s a difficult verse. Job had feared something terrible would happen, and it did. It’s an unavoidable truth. People who love God get terrible news. Good and godly people answer phone calls that change their lives forever. My friend did. And telling someone there’s nothing to worry about doesn’t help much when there is something terribly wrong. I certainly didn’t tell my friend that there was nothing to worry about, but I did remind my friend, I remembered that old hymn we’ve both sung for years. What have I to dread? What have I to fear? Leaning on the everlasting arms. How can we sing that? The answer, I think, is in those arms. The hymn finds its footing in Deuteronomy chapter 33. Deuteronomy chapter 33 says, The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. Underneath. I’ve been thinking about that word too. When I’m afraid, I want to know what’s ahead of me. I want details, dates, outcomes. I want someone to tell me how all of this is going to turn out. And there, in the middle of all my questions about what’s ahead, Scripture tells me who is underneath the everlasting arms. Leaning means letting someone else bear some weight. It means admitting that what I’m carrying is heavy, that I need help, that my own strength has limits. God knows about us. He knows that about my friend. I don’t know what the next phone call will bring. I’m praying for his strength. I’m praying that in this very difficult hour my friend will know the nearness of the God he loves and serves. Those arms will be underneath him at his next appointment. Through the long night, when he has words to pray, and when he has no words to pray. The disease has no effect on the everlasting arms. They are still everlasting, and they are still underneath, especially in the realities of dire circumstances and dread diseases.