I was just sitting to remove the shoe covers the hospital makes us wear when the Mongolian beside me answered his phone.

“The doctor says… discs are degenerating…. not good.” He paused, “Just off to see the lama now.” Instinctively I wanted to reach out and tell him about the real healer of men’s souls but instead I prayed quietly.

From the cut of his suit and his immaculate appearance it was obvious that the man was successful, and probably in his late forties. But the slump of his shoulders, his staccato speech and the way his hand kept rubbing his chin told me he’d just been confronted with a reality that was beyond his control. Uncertainties were casting shadows of fear across his path.

Life seems to do that. As I get older life’s uncertainties become more pronounced. Circumstances come that are beyond my ability to control, and at such times terrors can, and do, overtake me leaving me paralysed with fear. My own frailties are many and I realise I’m not as strong as I thought I was.

I asked God, “How do we deal with fear?”

The other day Mark and I were returning from a walk in the woods when we noticed a crowd of people gathered in a neighbour’s enclosure. As we got closer we saw two shamans, dressed in colourful cloaks and grotesque masks, whirling to the beat of the drum. Their drawling song was menacing and the crowd stood transfixed as the shamans moved into a trance-like state.

The sight saddened us. The shamans’ power could not rescue the Mongolians from their fears — their rituals only bring bondage, not peace. And yet we all want to find true peace. But the reality is we are not often able to bring peace into our own lives. We are not in control of the circumstances that surround our lives and usually we can’t change them. We are not God.

Therefore I asked again, “How do we overcome our fears?”

The answer is simple: God needs to deliver us. But I’m learning it doesn’t just happen. We have to put ourselves in a position where we can be immersed in God’s life so that we can learn to fear Him more than our natural fears.

What does the fear of God look like? In the Mongolian language there are a number of words for fear but two distinctly different words highlight the difference between man’s natural fears and the fear which is filled with awe and reverence. This is the fear which God encourages us to let grow in our lives.

The fear of the Lord does not crush or diminish us. We can stand on the top of a mountain and feel horrifyingly small but our smallness does not have to alarm us or even destroy us; instead it should cause us to marvel at the wonders of His glory. We are in awe and that awesome fear touches the centre of our very being and lifts us up to see that we are safely held in his hands.

Recognition of His astonishing greatness and our smallness leads us to worship. We come into His presence with rejoicing hearts and freely admit our weaknesses. Through worship our hope and faith are renewed. Our faith is in Him and our hope is based on the solid foundation of the work Christ accomplished on the Cross. Our faith and hope must be active, they must be growing. We must keep on trusting in Him, keep on obeying His word, keep on realising that He is God and we are not; and understand that He doesn’t exist to fulfil our needs — we exist to worship Him.

We may continue to know sadness and sorrow but His greatness in our lives enables us to stand strong. Hope in God is never disappointed. When we allow Him to transform the natural fears which drive us to dread, then we begin to see the love that encircles us. It is His love and filled with a radiance that never fades. It is a love which never lets us go — even after all other loves have departed.

When tragedies come, or we hear bad news where do we go? We all need to encounter a love that is stronger than terror, a love that is more powerful than any panic we experience. When we look into the face of God, when we see His glory, our natural fears fade and with awe, we realise, He is not going to abandon us. He will never leave us.

 

Welcome to my blog! I am not sure I’m actually a blog-writer but, with the encouragement of friends, I decided to take the plunge and start one anyway.

Ironically, as I’m writing this I’m thinking about a letter we recently received — we enjoy receiving letters and cards. And this one was from a young lady called Grace who, at the time, we’d never met. However, it wasn’t the fact that she was visiting Mongolia that caught our attention specifically, rather it was that she described herself as someone who ‘absolutely loves God’, not someone who just loves God but someone who absolutely loves God.

Her candour evoked in our minds a picture of a young woman with arms open wide worshipping God face down on the floor. Her honesty also reminded me of a prayer I often feel like shouting but don’t. You see I’m English and sometimes the constraints of my culture keep my mouth closed. But the truth is there are many times when I stifle the desire to shout with all might, “Lord, let me live for your glory alone.” I know it’s an audacious request and I do wonder whether, in my fickleness, I can live for the glory of God alone.

Grace’s extravagant love for God reminds us that we simply reflect what we have seen, understood and received of God’s extravagance. If we stand in His presence then we become reflectors of His goodness, of His glory. Over the last few months we’ve been thinking about the glory of God, and since the long winter has passed here we’ve noticed that the countryside is brimming with life.

We live on the northern edge of Ulaanbaatar, about twenty kilometres from the city centre, in an area that’s the summer location for many city people. As soon as school finishes, families migrate to simple one-roomed wooden cabins for the duration of the holidays. The valleys and hills around us are still covered with cabins — although the recent building boom has meant many have been demolished and replaced with larger properties.

In summer the dawn comes early and the darkness is not in a hurry to return. Children spend their days playing outside with the simplest toys: stones and sand, water and sticks. Overcome with tiredness they collapse in flimsy dens and snooze until the sun begins to wane. When they wake, refreshed, they go shouting and screaming, wrestling and tumbling their way through the long grass. At night their parents bring their wood-burning stoves outside, and while the fire gets hot they exchange tots of vodka until the spit and crackle of roasting meat fills the air.

Our valley is alive with life. Cheeky young marmots hide behind rocks before fleeing with a hop, skip and jump back to their burrows. Asian red squirrels, which are mostly black, dash up trees from where they taut dogs who refuse to believe they too can’t climb trees. Cows roam in through our open gate to feast on tasty grass before heading to the next enclosure. Horses stand cooling in the stream near our house while a crane struts in the calm shallows, unperturbed by the horses or the women gathering water in plastic containers.

We walk along the banks finding a quiet place to sit and watch the light dance on the water. In a shady bend the bough of a tree hangs over the stream. Ripples of silver light touch the underside of that branch as it reflects the temporary glory of the golden water and we ask, “Are we catching glimpses of God’s glory?” Hidden in the curve of the steam are we seeing the reflection of His light? Is He passing by, casting shadows that cause us to cry out with longing, longing that we might see more of him? I am not sure. But certainly my heart praises Him and with Grace says “I absolutely love God.”