by Charles Swindoll
We were rapidly descending through a night of thick fog at 200 miles per hour, but the seasoned pilot of the twin-engine Aero Commander was loving every dip, roll and lurch. At one point he looked over at me, smiled and exclaimed, "Hey, Chuck, isn't this great?" I didn't answer. I was sweating it out on my knees. As the lonely plane knifed through the overcast pre-dawn sky, I was reviewing every Bible verse I'd ever known and re-confessing every wrong I'd ever done. It was like hurtling 200 miles an hour down the Santa Ana Freeway with a white bedsheet wrapped across the windshield and your radio turned up just beneath the threshold of audible pain. I couldn't believe my companion-in-flight. He was whistling and humming like it was all a bike ride through the park. His passenger, however, had ten fingernails imbedded in the cushion. I stared longingly for something-anything-through the blanket of white surrounding us. Our flight record may have indicated two passengers on that eerie Monday morning, but I can vouch for at least three. An unyielding creature called Fear and I shared the same seat. Fear-the phantom giant. Drifting in through cracks in the floorboards or filtering down like a chilling mist, the fog called Fear whispers omens of the unknown and the unseen. Surrounding individuals with its blinding, billowy robe, the creature hisses, "What if . . . what if . . .?" One blast of its awful breath transforms saints into atheists, reversing a person's entire mind-set. Its bite releases a paralyzing venom in its victim, and it isn't long before doubt begins to dull the vision. To one who falls prey to this attack, the creature displays no mercy. It falls full weight on its back, laughs with glee at its crippled plaything and circles for another savage assault. Fear. Ever met this beast? Sure you have. It creeps into your cockpit by a dozen different doors. Fear of failure. Fear of heights. Fear of crowds. Fear of disease. Fear of rejection. Fear of unemployment. Fear of what others are saying about you. Fear of moving away. Fear of height or depth or distance or death. Fear of being yourself. Fear of buying. Fear of selling. Fear of financial reversal. Fear of war. Fear of the dark. Fear of being alone. Lurking in the shadows around every imaginable corner, it threatens to poison your inner peace and outward poise. Bully that it is, the creature relies on scare tactics and surprise attacks. It watches for your vulnerable moment, then picks the lock that safeguards your security. Once inside, it strikes quickly to transform spiritual muscle into mental mush. . . . David's 27th psalm, however, is known to contain an unusually effective antitoxin. With broad, bold strokes, the monarch of Israel (the first giant-killer on record), pens a prescription guaranteed to infuse iron into our bones. He meets Fear face-to-face at the door of his dwelling . . . then whistles and hums to himself as he walks back into the family room, kitchen, office or bedroom, reminding himself of the daily dosage required to counteract Fear's repeated attacks: The LORD is my light and my salvation-
whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the stronghold of my life-
of whom shall I be afraid?
Though an army besiege me,
my heart will not fear;
though war break out against me,
even then will I be confident.
One thing I ask of the LORD,
this is what I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the LORD
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD
and to seek him in his temple.
For in the day of trouble
he will keep me safe in his dwelling;
he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle
and set me high upon a rock.
Hear my voice when I call, O LORD;
be merciful to me and answer me.
My heart says of you, 'Seek his face!'
Your face, LORD, I will seek.
Wait for the LORD;
be strong and take heart
and wait for the LORD. Psalm 27:1, 3-5, 7-8, 14
Taken from Killing Giants, Pulling Thorns by Charles Swindoll. Copyright (c) 1994 by Charles R. Swindoll, Inc. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House
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