Triangular Lines of Death
Just outside of Bakersfield, California, located on the monotonous Interstate-5, is a mountain range mostly known as The Grapevine. The cluster of mountains is actually the Amargosa Range and is best known for the Tejon Pass. I have never once heard anyone use the word Amargosa (I had to Google it!), all the locals and the frequent travelers just call it the Grapevine.
As a child, I frequented trips through this infamous pass. If you live in Northern California and need to travel south, you only have a few options. The quickest, straightforward path tends to be through this mountain range, weather permitting. From our location in the San Joaquin Valley, the I-5 and the Grapevine were really our only viable options to travel south to see my grandparents in San Diego county. (For those of you aware of the geography, Highway-99 is a drivable option but it ends up merging with I-5 just before the Grapevine.)
I had ventured through this canyon many times in the backseat of a Honda Accord but I was too young to recall the escapades. I had been strapped in a car seat and likely had either slept or whimpered my way through the pass. Either way, I was unaware of my surroundings and ignorant of the journey. I didn't have to focus on much besides the irritation of seatbelts, the constant need for snacks, and the discomfort of a soiled diaper.
Then, I grew up and learned things. Kindergarten became incredibly vital to my understanding of mountain ranges and it drastically changed my viewpoint of the Grapevine. With crayons in hand, I learned how to draw mountains. One line begins at the bottom of the page and crawls upward, slightly leaning towards the left. At the top point, the second line begins its move downward, greeting the bottom of the page. Essentially, a mountain is a triangle minus the bottom line. For fun, we would add squiggle lines at the peak that represented snow. Cute, right?
Nope. Wrong. A triangular mountain scribbled on construction paper poisoned my ignorant brain.
On our next trek down south to see grandma and grandpa, we again came up to the Grapevine pass. This mountain range is visual several miles before actual arrival at the climb. This meant that my head (and my carmates) began to suffer miles before our car approached the bottom of the triangle. I freaked out. I didn’t know the word ‘panic’ yet, but that day, I felt it. My mind was sure that we were headed straight for our death and I couldn’t grasp why my parents were so nonchalant about it all. They didn’t seem to be worried about the same thing I was losing my mind over.
Of course, my parents were worried about me. They were shocked and thrown off by my backseat explosion. I was old enough to put words to my tantrums now, but this was no tantrum. This was a death sentence and I was not ready to die.
I do not remember how all the details hashed out but eventually, my parents were able to extrapolate from me that I was afraid of dying in the mountains. I was fearful that our car would climb up the slanted left line and never make it, which then meant that we would slide down backward to our death. Even if we did make it to the top of the line, we would meet a sharp point that would puncture our tires or impale our car. By chance, if we escaped the first two forms of death, we would surely meet our doom on the steep downfall of the right-side line, crashing at the bottom of this triangular trap.
I am pretty sure my parents laughed at me. Somehow, my dad explained to me that Kindergarten mountains and man-made highways through mountains looked starkly different. While I might die on my Kinder mountain, I would find safe passage on the roads ahead. I don’t know if I trusted him because I vividly remember digging my small hands into the seat, holding on for dear life. My five-year-old self ultimately came to the realization that mountains looked nothing like deadly triangles and my parents were right about the path ahead.
Most children experience irrational fears. The shark in the bathtub, the boogie man under the bed, the sky falling, being chased by the moon…all faulty images birthed from an imaginative brain. Not real, yet it feels so real.
As adults, we have likely ditched the worries about monsters, animals, and triangular mountains but we have most definitely picked up other fears. While these fears may have more sustenance and weight, we still apply too much imagination. We take a circumstance and play it out from start to finish in our heads. We scribble lines up and down and criss-cross from one possible outcome to another. Carefully, we calculate probability and project our pivots and our escape plans. Our emotions take precedence and we fade into the twilight zone, unable to differentiate between reality and imaginary.
Bad news tends to begin this spiral. We hear a portion of something, a possible outcome and we immediately race to the finish line of the worst-case scenario. We sit there at the line and feel overwhelmed, defeated, crushed - sure that we will die here. Our clouded vision and convoluted head-space push out the reality of a few crayon-drawn triangular lines and take us to the falsehood of a plummeting car.
We really are not nice to ourselves. The additional levels of panic that we smear across an already difficult situation only reduce us more. We invite the unknowns to our table and play “house” with them, conversing, exploring, befriending. Then, we wonder why there is no room for hope, joy, or courage. There is no option to receive wise counsel or encouragement from those on the outside. There is no way out, no rescue plan, no option to prevail beyond this moment.
Fear is real and it definitely has its proper place in our life. Healthy amounts of fear help keep us safe and encourage proper forethought ahead of the action. Crippling fear, on the other hand, grips at us and fights to destroy us. It is no longer about safety or wisdom; it is incoherent, impractical, and irrational. It drags us through beliefs that we will never again thrive, we will never again find enjoyment, and we very well may not even survive.
Some of us need to hear on REPEAT a voice of reason, a voice outside of our own head-space. May these words of God Almighty immerse your very soul, may they flood your mind and push out enemy lies, and may they renew in you a fresh spring of water that restores your joy.
So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
For I am the Lord your God
who takes hold of your right hand
and says to you, Do not fear;
I will help you. (Isaiah 41:10 & 13)
Some of us also need to hear on REPEAT that we see only a partial or incomplete picture. I saw triangular lines of death. My parents had the maturity, wisdom, and experience to know the reality of well-constructed paved roads weaving through the mountains ahead. God, our good Father, knows the whole picture and He has the kindness to hike the mountain with us. We need to believe that the One who knows the end of the story, the true outcome, is worth trusting more than our irrational imagination.
Whatever your news is, whatever you are facing, whatever inner-battle rages…do not fear. God is with you, for you, and in you. He has his arm outstretched to take hold of your right hand. Instead of gripping to the handlebars, the backseat, the bank account, the past relationship, the unfair diagnosis, the fill-in-the-blank, allow God to be your loving Father and hold your hand. Allow Him to strengthen your mind, to replace your dismay with delight, and to be your help in times of trouble.
As you journey up or down your own triangular mountain, today or tomorrow or next week, recall this Scripture verse and say it aloud on repeat. May your head-space be crowded with this TRUTH -
The Lord is my light and my salvation— whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom [or what] shall I be afraid?
(Psalm 27:1, NIV)
Until next time my friend,
