Facing the Collision of Fear and Desire

It's been eight months since I went to Ireland. Eight months since I got on a plane with my son to write the music I'd been burying for thirty years. We filmed the experience. I finally let that ache breathe. The songs are done. The studio is booked. Everything's ready.
But I haven't recorded a single track yet.
I keep saying I'm too busy. Yes, my schedule is crazy. Travel is extensive right now. And life is a little hectic. That's all true. But that's not the real problem.
The honest truth? I'm terrified the album will suck. I'm afraid I'll lay down these tracks and discover what I've been afraid of all along: I'm not actually good at this. Thirty years of thinking I had music in me, but maybe I've just been fooling myself. What if I finally do it and it's just bad?
So I've been sitting here. Desire pulling: This is who you are. Do it. Fear pushing back: You're fifty-five. You're going to look ridiculous.
November. That's my new deadline. I'll cut one track minimum. But here's what hit me stuck in this collision for eight months: What if the collision is the actual point?
The Setup They Sold Us
Desire and fear are enemies. That's the story. Kill the fear, chase the desire. Be bold. Step out in faith. Or kill the desire, listen to the fear. Be wise. Be responsible.
The system taught me this. Every leadership book assumes it. And every conference I've sat through treats it as gospel.
Except it's not how life works.
Every major moment that's mattered in my life happened right where desire and fear crashed into each other. Proposing to my wife. Starting a church. Launching a ministry. Having children. Writing my books. Every conversation that actually changed something. All of it happened when what I wanted and what terrified me occupied the same space.
And I didn't resolve it first. I walked into it.
When You Try to Kill One
I've watched pastors kill fear and run on pure passion. They call it faith. But it looks more like recklessness.
I've watched pastors plant churches without counting costs. Blow up their families chasing visions. Make massive decisions because "God told me." When it crashes—and it will—they blame spiritual warfare instead of their own refusal to let fear ask hard questions. Desire without fear is just ego in a Jesus jersey.
But I've seen the opposite, too. I've seen pastors who kill desire and worship fear. They call it wisdom. Stewardship. Waiting on God. Or maybe they're just terrified.
In the end, they never plant the thing. They never write the book. Never even try. There's always one more degree. One more year of getting ready. Meanwhile, the ache inside slowly destroys them.
Because fear without desire is death wearing a spiritual mask.
What Your Brain Already Knows
Neuroscience has discovered something that we need to learn. Your brain doesn't treat desire and fear as opposites. It treats them as partners.
The amygdala—that little almond-shaped part of your brain is fear's home. It lights up when you really want something. Not because you're broken. But because your brain understands that anything worth having involves risk. And dopamine fuels desire. The same chemical system keeps you alert to danger. Because you're wired to feel both at once.
It's not a bug. It's God's design.
God didn't give you desire then accidentally add fear to the recipe. Nope. You need both. Desire without fear is naive. Fear without desire is dead. The collision of the two isn't the problem. It's the forge where faith is formed.
David Understood It
Everyone loves the story of King David dancing naked before the ark. It's a moment of pure worship. It's beautiful. Uninhibited. But nobody mentions what happened right before he stripped in public.
God had just killed Uzzah for touching the ark wrong. So David's standing there thinking, Do I bring this home or not? This could destroy everything. Desire and fear. Dance partners. Same moment.
Or listen to Paul's words, "I want to be with Christ—that's better. But you need me here." His desire was pulling hard. But responsibility was pushing back. Paul doesn't kill one to follow the other. He holds both. Lives in the uncomfortable tension. And then makes the call from inside the collision.
What the Collision Makes
When desire and fear crash, here's what comes out the other side:
- Real courage. Not the fake kind that pretends nothing's scary. The kind that says, "This terrifies me. But I'm doing it anyway."
- Real wisdom. Not the safe kind that never moves. The kind that counts the cost and pays the price to be obedient to the urge.
- Real authenticity. You can't fake a collision. The mask burns off. What's left is you—wanting something—scared at the same time.
The collision strips everything fake away. Because you can perform desire. And you can act fearlessly. But you can't perform both screaming at once. That's when you find out who you actually are.
The Line I Can't Shake
What if the thing you're most afraid to want is exactly where God's been waiting for you?
So here I am. Eight months of waiting, wishing, and wondering. But I haven't gone to the studio...still. And I'm done lying about why.
November's just around the corner. My flight schedule is lighter next month. So I'm walking in there. Desire screaming. Fear screaming louder. But I'm cutting at least one track. Will it be any good? Heck, I don't know. And I don't know if anyone will care. I don't know if I'll even like it.
But I do know this—the collision isn't something for me to fix. It's something I need to finally embrace.
Because what comes out isn't perfect. It isn't safe. But it's real. And people are dying for real. Especially from pastors today.
Stop Picking Sides
Here's my advice for you: just stop. Stop trying to kill fear to chase desire. Stop trying to kill the desire to stay safe. The collision is where you're meant to be.
So get out your journal. Write them both down. The desire. And the fear. Don't choose. Don't make one smaller. Tell the truth: I want this. And I'm terrified. Then ask: What would I do if I stopped waiting for one of them to win?
I've coached hundreds of pastors. The ones who make it—who don't burn out, fade out, or check out—they didn't kill the fear or tame the desire. They learned to stand in the collision and let both be true.
No, it's not comfortable. It's not neat. It won't preach well. But it's where life is and where do find what you're made of...and made for.
You've been avoiding it long enough. So what are you waiting for? ◼︎
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