I am a big scaredy cat. I get squirrelly in dark parking lots, check my back seat for Ted Bundy, and keep every door and window locked despite the sweltering heat of summer. The Night Stalker killings and rampage of the 1980’s terrorized my childhood dreams and sleep for years, even after he was incarcerated and even when my fear was more detrimental than reality. Admittedly, if ADT offered a personalized alarm system, one that monitored my body’s perimeter for criminals, sex offenders and violent youth, I would be the first to sign up.
I know I am not alone in this irrational attachment to fear. Women, in general, seem far more prone to insecurity than men when it comes to feeling safe and the media only plays into our anxiety. Watching the eleven-o-clock news requires a black belt in karate or at minimum, a proficient knowledge in the use of handguns and weaponry. At least the Today show filters down the evil antics of the night before to a few newsworthy stories. The media’s fascination with shock value has given the general public an overload of information, much of it detrimental to our sense of well-being.
In an effort to “enlighten us,” it has not come without a great cost. We have sacrificed of our sense of peace and perceived security on the altar of “shock and awe news.” Jack Nicholson said it best, “You can’t handle the truth.” I both agree and simultaneously disagree with him. I would argue that a little truth goes a long way, and in some cases, I would actually prefer to be sheltered from every single murder and drive-by incident. On the flip side, deep down my spirit pushes me to cry out for the oppressed in direct opposition to my inner wuss who wants to live in denial.
That’s not to say violence hasn’t touched my own life. I don’t live in a bubble. As a small child, an intruder broke into our home and assaulted my own mother at knife-point. I’ve had my share of attempted break-ins, altercations, and even a bounty-hunter who terrorized my family one night due to a mistaken identity. And maybe that’s the reason why my heart breaks every time I see another story of devastation and abuse. Isn’t life hard enough without a play by-play rerun of its atrocities?
As a story–teller, I too am at a conundrum. I aim to evoke emotion from my writing. I want to expose the injustice in the world and bring it to light. Conversely, as a woman and a mother, my deepest desire is for security and a sense of well-being. It is a duality that confronts all of us. This is where faith in God and our deepest trust issues collide. The Scriptures say to “fear not” while my flesh trembles and panics. Maybe that’s why, “Don’t be afraid,” is repeated more often than any verse in the Bible. God knew the torment we would encounter and suggests only He, can provide us with the peace and security we long for.
So until the day I will meet Jesus face to face, I will continue to lock my doors, skip the late news and press into the truth, even when I would rather shut my eyes and even when the façade of safety seems more appealing than the violence of reality.
