Faith disarms fear by making it visible and choosing trust anyways.
My husband left yesterday.
He is in the military and has been sent away for six months, something we had no say in. Last night was my first night without him since our wedding, and I’m existing in a strange space right now.
There is a version of faith I used to think that I understood. The kind where everything is stable at home, life is predictable, and each day has a routine way about it that makes it predictable and easy to explain. This is not a normal day for me, and I am uncovering that there is another kind of faith. It is the faith you learn when everything looks the same but feels no different. When the day is full of children and motion to keep your mind busy and your heart full…then the quiet of night arrives, and the stillness is deafening.
I am learning that when your body is afraid, small physical reminders become a tether. A shirt that still carries his scent, waking on his side of the bed, choosing to use his favorite mug for my morning coffee. Ordinary objects, yes, but also enormous anchors.
Because fear is loud, and if I am honest, it knows my name.
I am learning that faith doesn’t pretend that fear is not there. Faith names it. Looks it in the face. And refuses to let it drive. Because when we lean into trust, fear is disarmed.
This is the kind of faith I am writing about this week. The kind that helps us discern what is true so we can disarm our fears.
Read the full letter on Substack: What Faith Feels Like to Me
Yours in ink,
Sabrina
