Journal 2018

When I received an irate email from an acquaintance, I began to formulate a rejoinder. I was clearly in the right and could prove it, but my core suddenly grew cold, my fingers tingled, and my heart began to pound in fear. What in the world was going on here? My immediate response was to vow never to cross this lady again.

I see a momma bear rearing on her hind feet with a deafening roar. Adrenalin kicks in, and I want to turn and hightail it down the path. Instead, I choose to stay. I know I stand in the power and the might of God, so why am I afraid? I have no desire to harm this bear, but she doesn’t know it. But I am in danger of her claws, and her breath has the stench of hellfire.

I know I’m supposed to play dead, but that goes against everything in me that wants to defend myself. Slowly, I lower myself to the ground and curl into a ball with my back to the bear. My breathing slows, and I begin to relax as I listen for movement. She drops to the ground on all fours, sniffs the wind, turns and goes back to the den where her babies are hidden.

I want the momma bear to know I’m not going to hurt her young, but I’m not sure I can convince her. I ask God what to do: confront, approach, or retreat?

“Better let Me handle it,” He says. “I know how to speak bear.”

And so, though I want the mama bear to deal with her anger and intimidation and admit she’s protecting cubs, I don’t think she trusts anyone. I don’t have relationship with her. I’ll have to let the Lord speak to her, but I’m staying close to Him to observe, to be ready to move should He ask it of me.

The next day I woke up obsessing over how to answer this irate lady’s emails. I want so badly to scoop up her little wounded bear cubs and comfort them. But they don’t need me. They have their mama bear. Then what’s the issue? The desire to fix the hurt? I no longer feel a need to defend myself. I have compassion for her and her pain. I can pray for her, and I can trust God to talk bear, so what’s the issue? I want to approach her and try to reason with her, and that’s quite silly, really.

And so, I meet with Jesus in my secret garden. He pours some tea for us and offers me a plate of scones.

Like the biblical Gideon, I need some confirmation. I am not afraid anymore, but I want to be wise, not foolish. I don’t want to be blind-sided or taken advantage of. I want to walk in step with Him.

“Why can’t she discern that I’m innocent of any wrongdoing?” I ask Him. “I need to know, Lord, if You are asking me to confront her?”

“Why would you want to?” He queries.

“To clear the air. There is something between us—she’s defaming me behind my back and getting her friend to go along with her libel. She’s manipulating to get her own way . . . to protect herself.”

“I need you to stay here with Me,” Jesus says. And I watch as He sends a messenger angel on an errand. I wonder what that’s all about.

I’m shocked when I see this momma bear lady being escorted into the room. I thought this was a private place just for me and Jesus. Apparently Bear and I need to talk, and we need Jesus to mediate. She says she trusts Jesus and is intimate with Him, so why is she so wary?

“Sit down,” He says kindly. And so she does.

“What’s SHE doing here?” she asks.

“I invited her,” says Jesus.

I’m puzzled. This is my garden. Why would she question why I’m here in my own garden?

“Now, let’s talk,” He says, as He pours her a cup of tea.

“No thanks,” she says.

Really? I think. She’s refusing His hospitality?

“Suit yourself,” I want Him to say, but He just nods and sets the pot back down.

“Now, why aren’t you two getting along?” He begins.

“I don’t trust her,” we both say simultaneously.

“I see.” And He waits.

“Why?”

We both look at each other.

Why can’t she trust me … I’m trustworthy after all. But I know her why—she’s been burned, lied to, deceived, taken for a ride. I understand. I get it. But I don’t trust a wounded victim to know her own heart. And I don’t trust that Satan hasn’t planted her in my life to destroy my reputation. How do I know I’m not being deceived? I wonder. I trust Jesus. And I trust He’ll tell me the truth.

 “She is My servant,” I hear Jesus say.

And so, we begin to talk. Soon we have cleared up the misunderstanding and confusion. Her tone is pleasant as she hands me a picture of her cubs to admire.

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Why did I spend so much emotional energy and time on such a non-issue? I know I’m driven to reconciliation, to making things right between me and others, and I know I got some healing out of it for which I’m grateful, but I couldn’t seem to resolve my emotions fully till I connected with her. Why is that?

I see a closed circle, a loop. It felt unresolved until I did all I could to make it right. Unreconciled feels very uncomfortable. It makes me fidgety. I suppose that’s why I’m driven to “pursue peace with all men.” And that’s okay because I do the right thing as a result. Go in peace, Karen.