In my early 30s, I attempted something new: I baked a cake from scratch. Until then, I had relied on trusty box cake mixes, but my husband was celebrating his birthday at our house with friends, so I decided to go the extra mile. Inspired by a rich chocolate cake recipe I spotted in a magazine, I diligently followed the directions on the day of the party. Even though it didn’t look like the picture when it came out of the oven (and it seemed oddly heavy), I decided that only the taste mattered. I felt proud of myself, sure it would be delicious.

During the party later that evening, my husband came up from the basement to retrieve it. As he carried the dessert to the men, I could hear him proudly telling them I had made it from scratch. Then, while I cleaned up from dinner, their appreciative responses rose through the air vent to the kitchen, reflecting their excited anticipation of the decadent treat.

They grew quiet, and I heard forks clink against plates as they dug in for their first bites. But, after a few moments of silence, I heard a murmur followed by nervous, growing laughter. The only word I caught was “brick.” That was not the reaction I expected.

Later, my fears were confirmed: the cake I had labored over to complete my husband’s celebration was inedible. Clearly, I had left out a critical ingredient. To ease the awkwardness over the “elephant in the room,” one of the guys had made a joke, hence the laughter. They weren’t trying to be hurtful and had no idea I could hear anything upstairs. But I was both embarrassed and disappointed to have ruined a central element of a birthday gathering. I had risked doing something new and failed.

After that debacle, I slunk back to the security of boxed cake mixes. I didn’t make another homemade one for twenty years. When I finally did, impulsively, on a cold pandemic morning for my son’s 24th birthday, I was shocked that it turned out to be delicious (even pretty). I wondered why I had avoided baking for so many years. How could I possibly have been so paralyzed by one instance of failure?

As humans, we can be so impacted by fear that we hide or shrink back when new opportunities arise. Fear can be one of the most significant barriers to accomplishing anything: we worry about failing, disappointing others, being laughed at, or even mocked. We are deeply concerned about what others think and how challenging something might be. Our bravery can be like a turtle, poking its head out to see the world but quickly hiding in its shell again at the slightest noise.

So, when the pandemic began, and the collective fear of the world reached a fevered pitch, I was taken aback when the idea of a faith blog entered my mind. Immediately, I wanted to be a turtle and crawl back into my cozy shell. The very idea felt scary and intimidating. I didn’t want to write publicly. How could someone so discouraged by a negative cake-baking experience possibly share about life and faith on the world wide web?

But fear comes with a cost, especially in the spiritual realm. As I thought and prayed about starting the blog, I recognized that allowing fear to motivate my decision more than faith would be like burying money in the backyard – a wasted opportunity. My faith is the most valuable thing I possess – and God said to share it. He had already given me everything I needed: a website from my months living in Sweden, a graphic designer-daughter living under my roof again because of the pandemic, and endless material from a lifetime of challenging circumstances. He even made sure I had honest people encouraging me. I only had to step in the direction I felt led to go. So, trusting Him (and praying), I did.

Three years later, I still find that publishing each new essay takes more courage than I possess, especially in these modern times, with ridicule for Christians growing.

However, the same thing that made it possible for me to start this blog also gives me the courage to continue writing. I remind myself that Jesus died to provide us with the freedom to love God without fear, to hope without doubt, and to live out our faith and calling with confidence and assurance. These are gifts; we can’t manufacture them, only fill up on them. Jesus showed us how to do it when, despite being so scared before the crucifixion that He sweated blood, He proceeded to the cross with complete trust and faith in God. Likewise, He calls us to move forward in faith, despite any fears. It’s the only way to experience the fullness of life in Christ.

Fear of the world is more costly than we realize. When we operate from the place of fearing others more than God, the risk is greater than the loss of human approval or smarting pride. It’s bigger than the embarrassment of guys laughing over a yucky cake. The highest cost is when it keeps us from doing God’s will to share the source of our hope with others. And it costs us the excellent reward we experience when we obey with our eyes on God alone, allowing Him to use us in ways we never expected and may never know.

Focusing on God instead of others causes the fear of the world to grow dim. In the light of His face, we see all that matters is doing what pleases Him.

I can write this blog because the work of Christ on the cross on my behalf gives me the courage to share my love and devotion to Him in hopes that you will see Him, want to know Him more, and look to Him as the source of courage and life.

And hopefully, my words are much easier to digest than my cakes.