Big Cats, Big Space Rocks, and Big Fears
“All things which make noise at the side of the path do not come down the path.”
Traditional African proverb
Its designation is “YR4 2024.” That is the name given to an asteroid looming on social media and news feeds over the last few days. Seems that this particular space rock (if it were to collide with earth in the year 2032) would release an explosion 343 times greater than that of Hiroshima. The chance of impact currently sits at 2.3%, but even at that low percentage, it remains a top threat.
Given the news, my mind flashed back to my childhood, to two specific fears. I write about them in my book Before Dawn. Enjoy the following excerpt:
My grandfather loved to weave tales about the Wampus Cat. My brother and I would listen wide-eyed as he spoke of the mythical, predatory feline. We learned that it was big: "Once, I heard about a Wampus Cat carrying off a live cow.” It was fast: "It can outrun cars, so never try to escape in one.” And it had a special power over its prey: "If you look into its eyes, it will hypnotize you, and you will be frozen in place.” As a small child, I held a healthy fear of the Wampus Cat as it stalked the shadows of southern folklore.
Despite the lengthy list of terrifying characteristics, only one thing gave me the sickening feeling of being cold and hot at the same time: the habitat of the Wampus Cat. Though unseen, it lived everywhere. If a baseball rolled under the front porch, as if on cue, my grandfather would voice a warning from his rocking chair with the squeaking runners, "If you crawl under there, the Wampus Cat will get you.” I could not stray too close to the woods alone, go into the old barn, or wander too far afield after dark or in daylight. Wherever I went, the Wampus Cat was watching and waiting.
One summer evening, all the stories feeding the continual wariness and borderline paranoia funneled into a single moment. My brother and I were playing at twilight near the edge of my grandparents’ lawn near a rusted barbed-wire fence hanging heavy with twisted vines that blocked a clear view of the field on the other side. Returning from an afternoon of solitary fishing, my grandfather heard our voices across the fencerow, crept over, and gave the vines a shake. We froze for a moment and then moved slowly toward the noise. The leaves shook again. We took a few more tentative steps. With each shake our curiosity grew as we drew nearer and nearer. Finally, as we squinted in the dying light, trying to make out any detail of the source of the noise, my grandfather gave a loud, feline-sounding yowl. Instinctively, I yelled, "The Wampus Cat!” I shamelessly left my brother and ran as fast as I could go.
I covered the distance of the yard with the speed that comes from knowing that if you are not fast, you will be eaten. I flung open the screen door so violently that it never closed quite right ever again. Running through the house, I found a suitable spot in the kitchen between the stove and the cabinets - a place so small that you would not think a child could fit. Squeezing myself into the gap, I awaited a giant paw to drag me from my hiding place. It was one of the most frightening experiences of my young life, all because the myth in my mind had grown larger and louder than the truth.
As real as that imagined childhood threat felt, actual concerns arise, and they can be just as terrifying. Relationships, health, job situations, financial concerns – each and all may snap at your mind with the teeth of panic. Or maybe your worries don't lash out as much as they lurk about and growl softly somewhere back behind you or up ahead in the bushes, causing a continual low-grade fever of fear of the soul. Each of us faces a personal Wampus Cat.
"Fear not” is a command found throughout the Bible; God knows that we can be fearful people. Living under the cloud of worry may overshadow life to the point that any fleeting ray of light will not be enjoyed, but rather anxiously watched in the fear that it will dim far too soon. The biblical command: "Do not fret, it only causes harm,” (Psalm 37:8) seems much easier said than lived out. But great faith never plays well with great fear.
We face fears by the power of God: "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind" (2 Timothy 1:7). Through a relationship with Christ, we are equipped with great power. You can face your fear because he is with you: "For he himself has said, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you.' So we may boldly say: The LORD is my helper; I will not fear. What can man do to me?” (Hebrews 13:5,6). The understood answer to that question is "nothing of eternal consequence."
The key that makes boldness possible and enables a person to avoid unnecessary fear is a necessary fear: the fear of the LORD. This fear is a deeply reverential and awestruck attitude of worship. The Bible shows us how the awe of the holy God is the beginning of wisdom and knowledge (Proverbs 9:10), keeps us from sinful ways (Proverbs 16:6) and brings satisfaction and life (Proverbs 19:23).
We will face fearful situations, but we must remember the focus: "Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is man's all" (Ecclesiastes 12:13b). Christ is present and in control, and we approach him with fearful reverence.
How do we acknowledge God's power over every fearful and worrisome moment of our lives? Paul connected our prayers to the elimination of anxiety: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 4:6,7). When we cast our concerns upon God in humble prayer (1 Peter 5:7), we find that he is more than able to handle our problems, and he frees us to live by faith with a worshipful awe of him. Worry cannot live in an atmosphere of prayer. Only trust in a powerful God who is in control of all things can create a quiet heart in troubled times.
In the early 1980's, Halley's comet was due to appear, which is an occurrence that takes place about every seventy-six years. Knowing both my intellectual curiosity and love of reading as well, my mother bought a book for me about the coming astronomical snowball. One afternoon, on the long bus ride home after school, I immersed myself in the little paperback. The viewer's guide included interesting trivia about the life of Edmund Halley, who first charted the comet, followed by a section on how comets are formed. Then came another, far darker chapter.
It was at this point in my reading that I was introduced to the idea of "Apollo asteroids." These are asteroids whose paths cross the orbit of Earth. The book highlighted some near misses of the past and proposed that, as the odds go, one of these planet-killing rocks would one day hurtle silently from the galactic darkness and smack into us with little, if any, warning.
I quit reading.
Later that same afternoon, I methodically ate an after-school bowl of mac and cheese while worriedly contemplating this newly realized, existential threat. Impact craters, tidal waves, shockwaves, dust clouds blotting out the light of the sun – all seemed to loom in my mind, not as distant possibilities, but as distinct probabilities. I did not play outside for the next week or so without one cautious eye toward the sky, on alert for an interstellar Wampus Cat.
This is the very recipe for worry: take a bit of information, add a generous amount of uncertainty, fold in the direst of projections, then bake it all in the fires of fear. The result is a catastrophic anxiousness of cosmic proportions that will cross the orbit of your peace on a regular basis leaving you a little more rattled with each passing.
But let us take another peek into the skies, not in search of planet killers, but to consider the Planet-Maker. David wrote, "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork. Day to day pours out speech, and night to night reveals knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words, whose voice is not heard" (Psalm 19:1-3). Though lacking literal spoken words, the sun, moon, stars, the planets and all astronomical objects and events point toward the existence, creativity, goodness, greatness, and majesty of the Creator. God has given enough evidence of himself for us to know he is there. This is why Paul writes that humanity is "without excuse” for unbelief (Romans 1:20). God emblazoned his signature across all creation – a writ large, wordless witness of his design of our universe.
A really. Big. Universe.
A point of reference for your consideration…
Tonight, if you gaze into the reaches of the night sky and find Polaris, the North Star, the twinkling light falling on your eyes began its journey over four hundred years ago. Speeding along at over six hundred million miles per hour, the light is just now reaching Earth. That is just one star.
One of many.
So many in fact, if you were to take the number of all the grains of sand on our planet and multiply it times ten, you would get the low-end estimate of the total number of stars in existence.
God not only spoke all the stars into being (Psalm 33:6), but he knows their precise number and calls each by name (Psalm 147:4; Isaiah 40:26). But he is not just the God of Polaris, the Andromeda galaxy, and the rings of Saturn, he is also the God who sees every sparrow that falls, numbers the hairs on your head, and he knows your name too (Matthew 10:29,30).
Yes, he is the transcendent Creator, but he is also the personal Redeemer and Sustainer. And you, me and all other humans are his crown jewels of creation; Polaris is a mere rhinestone by comparison. Take comfort that God, in the vastness of the universe, is intimately acquainted with you.
"How precious to me are your thoughts God! How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand" (Psalm 139:17,18).
So let the Wampus Cats, real and imagined, yowl as they may, for our Creator – who made bird feathers and flower petals, the One who sends rain from above, the God who numbered and named the stars – knows all your needs, gives your life value, and is mindful of you.