About Robert "Keith" Cartwright
I am a friend of God, a dad, a writer, speaker, and an advocate for healing-centered relationships.
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Fear Is Not My Future
I’ve borrowed a song from Maverick City Music to help with my own personal reflections today. They have a song, maybe you’ve heard of it 😊 - it’s called Fear is Not My Future.
In the song, the writers make four proclamations:
Fear is not my future, you are.
Sickness is not my story, you are.
Heartbreak’s not my home, you are.
Death is not the end, you are.
This morning, I want to reflect on the first proclamation; fear is not my future, you are.
I confess, for most of my life it’s been easier to sing those words in a song than declare them upon my life. For most of my life, fear HAS felt like my future.
In the bible it says we weren’t created with a spirit of fear. Yet, the whole world seems to be running around in a perpetual state of fear.
So, I have found myself wondering, if God didn’t create this fear I have felt, and so many continue to fear, who did?
We did. I know that, Jesus.
We did.
We did when we created relationships that have become emotionally and physically frightening to each other.
We did when we created mirrors that made us afraid of what we’d see when we looked in them.
We did when we adopted the pressures of the world as the pressures of our lives.
We did when we started celebrating Christmas while forgetting the promise that came with the baby in a feeding trough. The promise that no matter how insecure our present lives begin to feel, our futures are secure.
There’s another song. It’s called Fear is a Liar.
I think fear tries to tell us stories that make us so afraid of the future that we no longer desire the future. Tackling every day becomes a sense of obligation to living and not a longing to be alive.
Is that fear’s goal? To keep us alive so that it can keep telling us stories that make us wonder what the point of being alive even is?
I met a man once. He approached every day like life was a gift and not some chore life had ordered him to complete. I asked him one day; how do you do that? How do you show up to life each day looking like you’re happy to be here?
He asked me, do you really want to know?
I said yes. I do.
He told me Jesus.
Jesus.
He said he had a relationship with Jesus that brought him a peace that surpasses all understanding.
I’d like to say from that day on I have lived a life without fear. I’d like to say from that day on I have never let fear lie to me again. I’d like to say from that day on I started living life like it was an opportunity and not an endurance event that feels like it will never end.
I’d like to say all of that, but I can’t.
What I can say, though, is that I’m getting there.
I can say that more days than ever, when it feels difficult to connect with anyone, I imagine myself standing beside the manger and being connected to the one who creates an inviting place for all of us.
I can say that more days than ever, when I look in the mirror and find it difficult to face what I see, I see the smile of the baby in a manger, the reminder that only fear can tell me I am not enough for that mirror.
And that fear is a liar.
I can say that more days than ever, when the pressures of the world feel too heavy to bear, I imagine Jesus on the cross, bearing every weight and every pressure ever known to man, and absorbing them into himself so we can descend with them into his grave.
Only to rise as the forever reminder: fear is not our future.
A forever reminder that the baby in a manger was much more than a story we’ll read out loud to one another over the course of this month. Much more than the carols we’ll sing and the movies we will watch and the lights that will shine.
In a world built on fear – on lies – that baby in a manger, Jesus, is the truth, and he is the promise that makes life something to chase with the spirit of a newborn wanting to experience and know every single thing it can get its hands on.
With a peace that surpasses all understanding.
A fearless peace.
Because, Jesus, fear is not my future
You are.
May we all feel the peace of that reminder this Christmas season.
In the song, the writers make four proclamations:
Fear is not my future, you are.
Sickness is not my story, you are.
Heartbreak’s not my home, you are.
Death is not the end, you are.
This morning, I want to reflect on the first proclamation; fear is not my future, you are.
I confess, for most of my life it’s been easier to sing those words in a song than declare them upon my life. For most of my life, fear HAS felt like my future.
In the bible it says we weren’t created with a spirit of fear. Yet, the whole world seems to be running around in a perpetual state of fear.
So, I have found myself wondering, if God didn’t create this fear I have felt, and so many continue to fear, who did?
We did. I know that, Jesus.
We did.
We did when we created relationships that have become emotionally and physically frightening to each other.
We did when we created mirrors that made us afraid of what we’d see when we looked in them.
We did when we adopted the pressures of the world as the pressures of our lives.
We did when we started celebrating Christmas while forgetting the promise that came with the baby in a feeding trough. The promise that no matter how insecure our present lives begin to feel, our futures are secure.
There’s another song. It’s called Fear is a Liar.
I think fear tries to tell us stories that make us so afraid of the future that we no longer desire the future. Tackling every day becomes a sense of obligation to living and not a longing to be alive.
Is that fear’s goal? To keep us alive so that it can keep telling us stories that make us wonder what the point of being alive even is?
I met a man once. He approached every day like life was a gift and not some chore life had ordered him to complete. I asked him one day; how do you do that? How do you show up to life each day looking like you’re happy to be here?
He asked me, do you really want to know?
I said yes. I do.
He told me Jesus.
Jesus.
He said he had a relationship with Jesus that brought him a peace that surpasses all understanding.
I’d like to say from that day on I have lived a life without fear. I’d like to say from that day on I have never let fear lie to me again. I’d like to say from that day on I started living life like it was an opportunity and not an endurance event that feels like it will never end.
I’d like to say all of that, but I can’t.
What I can say, though, is that I’m getting there.
I can say that more days than ever, when it feels difficult to connect with anyone, I imagine myself standing beside the manger and being connected to the one who creates an inviting place for all of us.
I can say that more days than ever, when I look in the mirror and find it difficult to face what I see, I see the smile of the baby in a manger, the reminder that only fear can tell me I am not enough for that mirror.
And that fear is a liar.
I can say that more days than ever, when the pressures of the world feel too heavy to bear, I imagine Jesus on the cross, bearing every weight and every pressure ever known to man, and absorbing them into himself so we can descend with them into his grave.
Only to rise as the forever reminder: fear is not our future.
A forever reminder that the baby in a manger was much more than a story we’ll read out loud to one another over the course of this month. Much more than the carols we’ll sing and the movies we will watch and the lights that will shine.
In a world built on fear – on lies – that baby in a manger, Jesus, is the truth, and he is the promise that makes life something to chase with the spirit of a newborn wanting to experience and know every single thing it can get its hands on.
With a peace that surpasses all understanding.
A fearless peace.
Because, Jesus, fear is not my future
You are.
May we all feel the peace of that reminder this Christmas season.
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