Apart from a feelings of loss and emptiness, my Dad's death has left me with a fear of dying. I was there with him when he died and an icy chill gripped my heart at that moment: "where has my Dad gone?" I said to myself, "if, in fact, he has 'gone' anywhere at all?" Is this a normal reaction for one who is grieving? Why do I fear this now, when surely I should accept dying as a part of life and not necessarily apart from life?
At one time I remember being totally fearless of death. I happened to be working as a humanitarian aid worker in South Sudan, a region ravaged by conflict and extreme poverty. I led a mobile relief team in northern Bahr el Ghazal, where the war was described as a 'low intensity conflict' (obviously coined by people in the West who had not experienced the conflict first-hand). There was nothing 'low' about the intensity of bombings and raids by militia such as the Popular Defence Force. Being mindful and ever alert to security issues was a way of life out there. I even slept in my one man tent with my clothes and boots on, ready to run at the drop of a hat. I remember writing home to my friends saying that I was happy and ready to die, I had no fear of death, I could embrace it if the worst came to the worst because I was in the right place at the right time, carrying out my calling. Some of my friends wrote back in horror saying "you can't possibly think that can you?", "you have everything to live for so don't tempt fate".
As I contemplate returning to the humanitarian aid sector of a break of nearly four years I will have to grapple with my newly found fear. In order to 'lay down my life for my friends', and therefore be a friend of Christ, I must be prepared to go to those places and be in situations where dying could be an everyday possibility, therefore my fear has to die instead of the kingdom life within me dying to fear.
At one time I remember being totally fearless of death. I happened to be working as a humanitarian aid worker in South Sudan, a region ravaged by conflict and extreme poverty. I led a mobile relief team in northern Bahr el Ghazal, where the war was described as a 'low intensity conflict' (obviously coined by people in the West who had not experienced the conflict first-hand). There was nothing 'low' about the intensity of bombings and raids by militia such as the Popular Defence Force. Being mindful and ever alert to security issues was a way of life out there. I even slept in my one man tent with my clothes and boots on, ready to run at the drop of a hat. I remember writing home to my friends saying that I was happy and ready to die, I had no fear of death, I could embrace it if the worst came to the worst because I was in the right place at the right time, carrying out my calling. Some of my friends wrote back in horror saying "you can't possibly think that can you?", "you have everything to live for so don't tempt fate".
As I contemplate returning to the humanitarian aid sector of a break of nearly four years I will have to grapple with my newly found fear. In order to 'lay down my life for my friends', and therefore be a friend of Christ, I must be prepared to go to those places and be in situations where dying could be an everyday possibility, therefore my fear has to die instead of the kingdom life within me dying to fear.
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