And my lungs hurt and my ears bled
With the sound of the city life echoed in my head
Do I need this to keep me alive?
The traffic stops and starts but I need to move along
London calls me a stranger
This is not my home, my home
–The City, Ed Sheeran
One has a lot of fears coming to NYC. Most chiefly for me was, not to be homeless. To feel safe. Having the things important to me feel safe. I came to NYC for a week, not completely on a whim. More like a prayer. To see if I could indeed live here. To see about getting a job. Which is hard. People in NYC don’t want to hire you when you don’t live here.
So I bought a one way ticket, and hopped on a plane. I had a place to stay for a few days out of the week, a stay which didn’t start until the day after I was supposed to arrive. Oops.
I mulled this over for a while. I could beg and borrow from others I knew…
Or take a crazy chance to face some fears. As you’ll remember from the last post, I’ve got some. Afraid all the time, actually.
Fears: be homeless. Get stabbed, or snatched, or mobbed by homeless people. Almost completely irrational. But I’m a girl. That’s how it goes.
So that night, as I flew into NYC alone, I decided.
I would sleep in LaGuardia. People sleep in airports all the time, right? Not certainly by choice, but they do. I would take it one step further, and shack up in the baggage claim. Not the nice comfy safe terminals. (Plus I had checked bags, I had to rescue them.) In my ridiculousness, I figured, if I could last one night in the baggage claim of LaGuardia, I would be all right to stay and live in NYC.
Long story short, I did it. I managed to sleep for a while, but one too many creepy shuffling dudes did me in, and I ended up watching some Netflix on my phone, waiting in vain for the morning hours. But I did it. (Ask me the story over coffee sometime, and do yourself a favor by googling images of ‘sleeping in airport’. Some complete gems.)
Essentially, sleeping in LaGuardia became my moment of overcoming. The moment that I could look back and say, whatever happens, I know at least, that I can do that. One time I can look back and say, “Here. Here is where I overcame. I can make it through.”
That’s what this whole journey is about though, isn’t it? Doing life in spite of the fear. Having the courage to run after what you should be running after.
Fear is a huge controlling factor in people’s lives. When it is hard and lonely and different, we crave the safety and comfort of things and places we know. But I didn’t leave for comfort. I left to grow, to be challenged.
Do we stop growing when things are comfortable? When they are easy? Or safe? Does the craving of the familiar mean that we are weak, and are dependent upon that comfort? Does that mean that we should strive to throw off that dependency? What is the line between content and comfort? Have we confused them?
So many people say the opposite of fear is courage. Or that the opposite of fear is bravery, or action, or recklessness, or any of those other words that sound like you should strap on some leather bracers and grab a spear, ala Russell Crowe in Gladiator.
I’d say the opposite of fear is obedience. Someone I know once said, “Fear over obedience is a rejection of God’s goodness.” That God knows what is going on, and has a plan.
The comfort (friends/house/job/you name it) we’re afraid of leaving, is not really any comfort. The comfort is in the cross. Jesus. That God’s plan and purpose is ultimately the best thing, and the small comforts on earth we crave are nothing compared to what God has in mind.
So here’s to the life of obedience in spite of the fear.