Over the years, I've been afraid of many things.

​Having a flat tire on a freeway. Or worse, having a flat tire at night. The result of this fear is that I avoid driving on freeways whenever possible.

Losing a small child in a large shopping mall and not finding him for an hour (other end of the mall, calmly reading a comic book). So I take little kids shopping only when there is no other choice.

Waiting until midnight for a teenager driving home from up north and being two hours late. He comes in, surprised that I'm up. No problem, just some heavy rain. And he started late. My fear turns to anger, relieving pent-up emotion.

Making a fool of myself while speaking in front of a large group of strangers. Okay, they might not have realized how nervous I was, but I did.

A doctor's diagnosis. Cancer. All through the spine. My father's confused, questioning eyes as the doctor leaves me to explain. My mother's bewildered disbelief. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was always the strong one. Now I have to take his place.

The anticipation of my own death as I spend long hours in agony and helplessness, the small child inside me struggling for life, my strength flowing away like blood dripping from an amputated limb.

Yes, I know fear. But with each of these fears I've also known peace.

I've never felt alone, because God has always been with me. He allows me to lean on him. And I know that whatever happens, he'll still be in control. I also know that his agony was far more than mine as he sent his son to die. So he doesn't leave me in my fears, but lifts me above them to a place of fellowship and hope and caring.

He's there for the fears I have that would overwhelm me. And I'm able to trust and not fear.


I have another fear. One I seldom think about. In fact, I try hard not to think about it. I even pretend it doesn't exist.

It's the fear that there's something missing in my life. A dimension that ought to be there but isn't. God's peace is in my heart, but who will hold my hand? There are so many times I feel that God is with me but I'm still alone.I see you at church on Sunday and we say, "Hello", and "How are you?", and talk about the weather or the programs at church or the new people, or the people we haven't seen for a while, and then we go to our homes.

Afterwards, I think something was missing. There I was with so many questions on my heart that I could hardly concentrate. Questions about my value as a woman, my role in the church, going through so many changes as I get older. About feeling pulled in so many directions and...even about pain. And all I said was that I was fine.

Am I the only one who feels this way?

You've never mentioned similar fears to me.

And yet...there must be someone else who shares my questions and even my pain. There must be someone, somewhere.I wonder.... Could it be we're all too busy looking after our families, and furthering our careers, and keeping the church programs going that we simply have no time for each other? No time to really talk to each other and pray for each other and hold each others' hands, and look after each other? Or could there be a deeper reason?

You don't suppose our busyness is just a way of protecting ourselves from each other, do you?

What a strange idea. To think that my greatest fear might be the fear of you? Ridiculous!

And yet—I don't feel God's peace in this area. Instead, I feel a strange longing.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could talk to each other? I mean, really talk. And I wouldn't have to be afraid that you'd think I was stupid, or peculiar, or not a good enough Christian.

Wouldn't it be great if we could let our guards down and I could learn from you and you could learn from me—and we could even help each other in practical ways? No jealousy or pettiness or envy or shame—just help each other. You know—like Jesus would.

Why does the mere idea stir something deep within my heart? Like embers beginning to glow. It would be so great to know you really cared. That you knew all about me and still cared. And we wouldn't have to fear each other.

One of these days, one of us will have to make the first move.

This post was first published Dec., 1974, in The Link and Visitor.

Find links to related posts at: https://www.njlindquist.com/as-each-part/

August 23, 2013

About the author 

N. J. Lindquist

N. J. Lindquist is the award-winning author of books, articles, short stories, and blog posts. She also edits and publishes the "Hot Apple Cider" anthologies. A former high school teacher, N. J. co-founded The Word Guild and teaches workshops for writers as well as speaking on various topics including creativity and leadership.

  • Amen to that. Man looks to the outward appearance but God looks on the heart. As disciples of Christ we have the capacity to view everyone through His eyes. No longer as rivals, but as co-heirs with Christ, no longer strangers, but beloved creations of God of inestimable worth. I heard once that there are three kinds of friends, those of whom are a ministry, needing much and unable to give much in the friendship; those of whom it can be said “they know me well, and like me anyway”, apathetic saying what they think you want to hear, instead of what you need to hear; and the last is the friend who, like David and Jonathan, is truly authentic. Like “iron sharpens iron” is willing to tell you what you need to hear in love, lock arms and pull you up when you’ve run into the muck of wrong thinking, and is truly joyful when victory is yours.

  • Hi Nancy! ~ just had to leave a note with you. It just amazes me how God orchestrates on our behalf. I’m a little embarrassed to share how I came to find your site. It took real courage to share what you did. Real friendship requires real transparency, real compassion, real forgiveness, a sincere faith and love. In a superficial culture, a real friend is a treasure. Your going to laugh your head off when you finish reading this! But I just wanted you to know, I share your heart, and care…deeply. It would be a blessing to call you friend.
    In Christ Jesus,
    Nancy L. Lindquist :)
    (hehe~see, I knew you’d laugh!)

    • Well, Hi. Glad to meet you. :)

      I rarely see another Nancy, never mind a Lindquist! Yes, very funny.

      Thanks for your nice comments. Yes, it’s hard to get beyond the superficial, but I think we’re in deep trouble if we don’t make the attempt, at least with a small group of people. It’s so easy to make wrong assumptions when you don’t know the whole person.


  • Beautifully written Nancy. May I please be one to make a small first move, by following your blog and encouraging you. You are sharing an achingly important message. God bless you.

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