The Power of Faith: Facing the Fear of the Unknown

How I’m learning to trust what I can’t yet see.

I Hate Surprises

When I was twenty-three and getting ready to move to Los Angeles, my best friend Jean said she wanted to take me out to celebrate—probably dancing at a bar, since that’s what we usually did.

She’d just returned from a trip to Hawaii, and when I arrived at her parents’ house, she greeted me at the door, eyes bright with mischief.

“I brought something back from Hawaii,” she said as I stepped into the small kitchen, rich with the familiar aroma of her mother’s Italian gravy. “It’s in the basement.”

“It better be Tom Selleck!” I called after her—I was obsessed with Magnum P.I. back then.

She bounded down the dark stairs ahead of me, flipped on the light, and—“SURPRISE!”

About fifty of our friends were crammed into the basement rec room. I stumbled and missed the last few steps, then turned and shot back up into the kitchen, trying to quiet my heart pounding out of my chest.

That’s me:

I like to know the lay of the land.

I pick my own top-ten Christmas gifts.

I plan Barry’s and my day trips.

Otherwise, I fall down stairs—or have a minor heart attack.

When Life Doesn’t Ask Your Permission

This week reminded me that not all surprises come with balloons.

It started beautifully. I spent the weekend at a Caron Transformative Care retreat in the Pocono Mountains—quiet, woods, prayer, recovery. Then I came home and jumped straight into Women Starting Movements in the center of New York City with my coach Brenda Byers and author Sara Connell—purpose and light everywhere.

And then, life changed again.

Barry told me there’s a new, questionable spot on his scalp—the same area where he’s been treated for stage-four melanoma.

The biopsy is Monday.

It was Friday.

Three days to live inside the unknown.

Why the Unknown Feels So Hard

Psychologists have long said that fear of the unknown is at the root of nearly every anxiety.

In a landmark paper titled “Fear of the Unknown: One Fear to Rule Them All?” published in the Journal of Anxiety Disorders, psychologist R. Nicholas Carleton calls it a transdiagnostic driver—a common thread running through everything from everyday worry to full-blown panic. In other words, uncertainty itself is the thing we fear most.

And neuroscience backs that up.

At the University of Reading, researcher J. M. Morriss and her team analyzed dozens of brain-imaging studies and found that uncertainty lights up the insula and amygdala—the very regions linked to pain and threat. “Not knowing,” it turns out, doesn’t just feel painful. The brain actually reads it as danger.

Another study by Sarinopoulos and colleagues found that when people anticipate something uncertain, those same brain regions fire even more intensely than when facing a definite negative outcome. Our minds would rather know bad news than live in the suspense of maybe.

If you’ve ever waited for medical results, you know exactly what that means. The in-between can be its own kind of suffering. Clinicians even have a name for it—“scanxiety”—the anxiety that builds during the wait for scans or biopsies, not just for patients but for everyone who loves them.

What Sustains Me (and Us)

What amazes me about the women in my recovery group—and what I noticed this week especially—is how much our emotional and spiritual growth is what keeps us steady.

It’s not just abstaining from the bottle that matters.

It’s the deep inner work—the hard-earned “emotional sobriety”—that gives us a calm, loving presence for whatever life brings.

Without that, I’d be at risk of sliding back into old patterns.

Because we’ve grown so much, some of us even call ourselves “grateful alcoholics.”

Not grateful to be addicts, but grateful that pain forced us to grow, to mature, and to reach for a bigger life.

It’s this growth, this spiritual deepening, that holds me up right now.

My rock bottom made me reach for God, and for the self I’m meant to be.

When Faith Meets Fear

Faith and fear aren’t opposites—they travel together. One proves I’m human; the other reminds me I’m held.

Franciscan friar and ecumenical teacher, Father Richard Rohr puts it this way: Faith is not certainty; it’s the courage to trust without clarity. That’s the road I’m on this weekend—every principle I teach about surrender meeting real life in my own kitchen.

Sometimes faith isn’t serene. It’s messy. It’s trembling hands still choosing to believe. It’s staying on the ride when the lights go out and whispering, I’m still here.

(A gentle note for anyone in the cancer world: According to Verywell Health, sometimes spots that look worse during or after immunotherapy can be pseudoprogression—changes caused by the immune system rather than true cancer growth. That’s why doctors often confirm with follow-up scans or a biopsy before changing course. — Lynne Eldridge, MD, March 2024.)

Living One Day at a Time

So I practice what I teach—one day at a time. I live in the now, do the next right thing, and let go of the past (that’s where depression waits). I don’t let my mind sprint into the future (that’s where anxiety sits)—I couldn’t predict it if I tried, and I trust God has a plan.

What grounds me is simple: gratitude, presence, and small daily rituals—the feel of Barry’s hand, the thump of Frisco’s tail, the scent of a fresh-baked scone, and laughter at the little neighborhood park we call “Squirrel Park,” where Frisco happily scans the trees for squirrels.

Fear shows up, but so does love. I remind myself that today’s enough.

Living in the Now

The strangest part of all this is that just a few days before Barry’s news, our Women in the Rooms meeting topic was fear of the unknown. I didn’t plan it that way—sometimes I think God gives us the themes we most need to live.

We had such a heartfelt meeting. The women opened up about their own fears—about health, family, aging, change—and I could feel the honesty in the room. Realizing I’m not alone helped me breathe a little easier. We all walk through uncertainty, but when we do it together, it becomes lighter to carry.

Since then, I’ve been trying to live what I teach: counting blessings, practicing gratitude, staying present. I give thanks every day for Barry—he is such a gift—and for all that we have right now.

I’m learning to keep my focus on what’s here, not what’s ahead. Speaking and acting with love.

Connecting with my core self—the authentic, fearless, loving part of me that doesn’t need to control the future to trust it. I pray for strength, wisdom, and patience. I pray for Barry’s healing. And I try to keep love at the center of everything.

We’re planning a simple day trip to Lancaster for his birthday, another to visit my cousins near Philadelphia, and today we’ll stop by our favorite bakery for scones before heading to “Squirrel Park” with Frisco. Watching his little bobblehead scan the trees for squirrels always makes us laugh.

We live.

We laugh.

We love.

And for today, that’s enough.

Reflection

What helps you stay grounded when life takes an unexpected turn?

If you have a grounding practice or a tiny moment of gratitude you return to, I’d love to know. Even if you just want to sit with the question, I’m with you in the waiting.

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