Choosing to stay is a big deal.

I didn’t want to stay in Nashville, and I certainly didn’t plan to still be here at 26.

In a world of wide possibility, I used to think that choosing to stay close to home was for the weaklings. The only people who stayed close to home must be settling for a story too small. I promised myself that wouldn’t be me.

I mean, how could I stay knowing hundreds of flights flew out daily and dozens of paths paved the way out into the rest of the world? And why would I want to, if I believed only small things happened here?

But I did stay. It wasn’t because I was unaware of the wide world out there. It wasn’t because I didn’t desire big things. The opposite actually. I just knew, in the heart of my heart, that this is the place God has planted me to glorify Him.

The community I wanted to loath became the one I suspect I’ll love most on this side of heaven.

Staying in place comes with its own set of fears.

For a long time, I thought this route exempted me from fear. What is there to fear in the place you’ve called home your entire life? How can fear live in the roads, people, and community you already know?

Familiarity of this city wanted me to believe I would stay and be fearless. I would be fearless, but not out of courage or boldness. At the root, I would believe that there was not space for my fear. That in some weird way, fear could only be reserved for the ones who had jumped on a departing flight or turned the ignition to leave.

Only the people who had chosen to leave and live in the wide world had earned the right to be afraid. And for the rest of us in familiar places, we were tasked not be afraid. Those who stayed didn’t have the right to be fearful about it.

But I was wrong. As my story continued down familiar paths, it became obvious to me: I would stay and I would not be fearless.

What if I never leave?

What if I’m not making the most of it?

What if my calling isn’t to do big things after all?

What if everyone moves?

What if I’m forced to leave because we can’t afford it?

What if they think I’m lame for staying?

What if 10 years from now I’m still in the exact place?

What if I’m wrong for living and loving here?

In a city of transience and an age of rapid change, these are the fears that hide in the heart of the local who stays. I know because these are just a few that have hidden in mine. These are the taunts that threaten to make me feel smaller than I already do for staying.

But I’ve come to know a truth or two about these fears.

The fear will always lurk where there is unknown. There’s unknown in staying, and unknown in going. Fear does doesn’t discriminate and knows how to root itself in either. And on this side of heaven, there is plenty of fear to go around. One need not take a departing flight to find it. Staying in the same zip code for too long will hear its taunts too.

Fear is not a contest. It’s not something any of desire to hoard. I don’t want to idolize it.

But let’s call it out, and recognize its role in each of our unique stories.

It’s here at my lowest, at my most fear-bound, that I meet with Jesus. He will always be the faithful One who trades our fears for peace. He’s more than capable of providing equally for the one who stays local and for the nomad who follows roads out of town.

The glorious reality is that “we’re way more loved than we’ve dared to believe.”

I’ve been looking for a solid reply to give those fears when they come. I’m learning to respond, and truly believe with some level of certainty, something along the lines of: even so, God will remain faithful to my good and His glory. He’s got this. I’m not forgotten, and nothing can separate me from Him.

I truly believe He doesn’t want us to live afraid of the questions, but wants us to know where our help comes from when we feel cornered. I want to believe the right answer to these fears, to put my confidence in a word that can get under them.

But how do you answer those questions?

My pastor shared a sermon the morning after I started writing this from Mark 9:38-41. He boiled down the Christian fear into two main categories: fear of being overlooked and fear of being an imposter.

I look over my list of fears, and you know, he could be right. That could sum up my fears.

But he didn’t stop there. He showed us Jesus’ words to His disciples in their own moment of insecurity and fear: you belong to Christ.

You belong.

I rest under the weight of that statement.

Any fearful taunt, any restless nagging, any unkind questioning in the depths of my heart is diminished when that promise is spoken. What fearful insecurity could stand against it? He speaks over me, “You belong.”

I look at my list of fears, and to each one I respond: I belong.

I may not ever leave. Others may think I’m lame. I could be in the same exact place in 10 years. But so long as I belong to Christ, I’m not afraid of the possibility. My anxious heart is settled when I believe His promise spoken over me.

Because in Christ my peace is found and my fear is quieted. I’m fully aware of the wide world out there. And yet, I choose to stay where I can gloriously practice the promise: I belong to Christ.