Raw Exposure!

The walls that we surround ourselves with.... are they really safe? I have always struggled with fear, for some reason. I have examined that at length, and I now know a lot about fear. For one, my MawMaw and my Daddy have also struggled with fear....and we are like three peas in a pod. Very similar in personality. We are (or were) fractious, fun people who love life and people and all the drama. We're a little bit hypochondriac in our natures, a little over-the-top in our Greek-tragedy-lives, and just love a party. We also fail in our self-control and our tongues, are forgetful, sometimes insensitive to others' needs, and basically undisciplined. We love life. But we fear the loss of it or the fact that yes, we are having a party, but the wolf just might be at the door.

A few years ago, quite a few, I had three bouncing baby boys... we were so busy it was dizzying, but I was loving our life. I would look at those blonde heads and get all misty, I loved them so much. I would often think of Ken's Mom, who died when he was 2-1/2 years old and his baby brother, Kirk, was 5 months old. I would think of the sadness of that, and all that she missed. Ken's grandparents had lost their only child through that, and they were still, all these years later, inconsolable. You never get over those things, really, until heaven. I thought it was horribly sad that Ken never knew anything about his mother. It was as if she vanished into thin air. When I met him, he had no memory of ever seeing a picture of her or even of anyone talking to him about her. 

Somewhere in there, a seed was planted in my brain. My tendency to fear was watered and grew into something irrational. At the time, I had a mystical view of God. I had almost a "second sight" attitude about God.... that we could discern God's will by listening for His voice. That could come through a thought, a "sign," something I read, or maybe just the breeze coming through. I thoroughly believed in the Scriptures, but also thought that God spoke His will through other means. It was sometimes a torment to me, because I would worry that I would miss God's Best if I did not discern what His perfect will was. I would pray, read the Word, pray some more, listening for His voice. I would beg Him to tell me what His will was in different situations. Sometimes I thought I knew, but often I was afraid that I was just going to miss out on His will. I thought it was that mysterious. It was as if He were holding out some unobtainable key, like a carrot, just beyond my reach. But I firmly believed that this was how He operated. Many of the teachings I had been under during my life alluded to this. 

Because of this worldview and because of the (not) handling of Ken's mother's death, I started to have a niggling fear of what would happen if I died with these three little boys to take care of. It started small, then began to grow. Yes, it was irrational. Yes, it might make no sense to anyone else. But to me, it was very real. I began to pray about it, asking God if I were safe. I also was having some physical issues with my stomach that the doctors did not seem to be able to diagnose. (Eventually it was determined that my gallbladder was ill, but in the HMO we were in, it was beneficial to them to keep passing me around rather than test for it.) Meanwhile, I began to worry that I was going to die. Then really worry. Then I began to feel, when I would pray and ask God for a word, that He was telling me that I was about to die soon. This engulfed me with panic and despair. It grew some more. Ken was working night shift and would leave at about 10:30 at night. I would beg him, many nights, not to leave. I knew that he had to go, but I would beg him anyway. The boys would be in bed, and I would lie awake, reading my Bible and praying, getting no relief. I took to taking big swigs of Benadryl so that I could go to sleep and forget about my fears. I would look at my boys playing during the day and become overwhelmed that I was not going to get to see them grow up. 

This was not something that I felt I could talk to people about. They would think I was crazy! And, in some sense, I was. I began casting about, looking for a resource to help me make sense of this. I would be in the grocery store or at church, and would look at other women and think, "Wow.... that must be nice to just go about your life and be normal, to not be afraid." No one really knew how nuts I was going on the inside. I began to talk to Ken about it. Along with this and the physical symptoms I was having, he was so tender to me....it was something God used to bind Ken and I to one another in ways that had not happened before. I began to understand that my husband really, really loved me. His patience and kindness through this still overwhelms me. 

Finally, after months, maybe almost a year of this, I was at my wit's end. I was so sick of living this way and being frozen in limbo, I felt like I might as well die. I was not suicidal yet, but I was at the point of despair where something had to change. I remember the day very clearly. Ken got home that morning at about 8:30 a.m. When he walked in, I told him that I was going to have to find someone to help me with my fear. I could not live this way anymore. I told him that if I didn't get help, he was going to have to put me in the loony bin or something. I was not coping, I was not able to do what I needed to do for the boys or him, and that I was going to try to find some counseling. He asked me what I wanted him to do. I told him to go ahead and go to sleep and that I would wake him up if I needed him. He hugged me for a long time and trawled upstairs to sleep.

I got out the phone book and started calling agencies and ministries. If I had truly been suicidal, I'd have been in trouble. Most of them tried to book me several weeks out. I would tell them, "No! I need help today. You don't understand." But they didn't understand. I didn't want to talk to anyone that I actually knew, because I was afraid they would, again, think I was nuts. After numerous attempts and calls, I finally called Reach Out ministries in Chattanooga. I talked to a wonderful lady there and she recommended I call a fellow in Atlanta, a speaker and counselor whom I had actually heard on numerous occasions. She thought that he could help me. Providentially, when I called his ministry, his secretary said that he had just happened to pop in, but that he only had about 30 minutes before he had to catch a plane. He graciously got on the phone with me and said that he had twenty minutes to talk to me. He could hear the boys making noise all around and asked me to lock myself in the bedroom so I could talk to him. 

I told him my story, from stem to stern (I still wonder if he caught his flight).... he took time to pray before we started. Then he said to me, "This is not nearly as complicated as you might think. Ultimately, fear is sin." He then explained to me that, no matter what happened, even the worst case scenario -- that I indeed might die, that it was imperative that I aggressively give these boys and Ken to the Lord, that I trust God with anything that happens, and that I surrender everything to Him. Meanwhile, I had been trusting these internal "words" from God that I was going to die soon. I needed to rebuke that, to quit listening for some ethereal sign, and to rest in God's providence. He had me pray there with him on the phone, doing those givings and surrenderings, and also confessing my sin of fear. I saw, for the first time, that in some sense I had been setting myself up as God -- prophetess and priestess -- with my all-discerning ear. My fear had grown from a little whisper into a roaring monster, and where I thought I was listening to God, Satan was taking me right down the primrose path. Satan doesn't act like a red beast with a pitchfork like we think. He imitates our ideas of God, whispering, wooing, beckoning....in ways we never imagine. Whereas Satan couldn't get me to cheat on my husband or become an alcoholic or steal candy from babies (hmmmm, maybe it is possible I have done that), he was rendering me ineffective and bound by a simple fear of death, all the while tricking me into thinking he was God. 

I felt like virtual chains were falling off my body and my soul. I was free for the first time in a long time. Some of you have known what I am talking about, be it the day you received salvation or the unbinding of some sin.... but it is palpable, inexplicable. In some sense, now, I see my life as the time before that day and the time after that day. Before that day, I saw God as my personal genie. According to the mystical whim of this God, my life was going good or bad. His will was usually indiscernable, but I was mightily trying to figure it out. What He did for me was according to how well I was working and doing what I was supposed to do. If I'm being honest, I was viewing God as my personal puppet. If I do this, then God will do that. Put this ingredient in, you get that cake. Truth is, God is God. He is not my puppet, He is not my genie. He is not Santa Claus or the fairy godmother. He does what He wants. He has His plans and His plans for me and His people. He loves me and is working all things out for my good and my salvation. Even if it seems bad on this side. Ouch, that is hard to believe. But it is true.

I began to live in a simpler way. I began to rebuke those whisperings and notions. Anything smacking of second sight was sent away. It was a drier, more desert-like place at first. Over time I saw that the Word was clearer, sermons more applicable, prayer more distinct. I could trust the Scriptures, live free, enjoy life without questioning all the undercurrents. God's will was His business and I did not have to figure out what it was in order to get in on it. A few months later, the Lord blessed my womb with another baby, a precious girl. Her middle name is Hope because that's what I was experiencing. I felt that God was showing me the fleshed-out version of Jeremiah 29:11 - "For I know the plans I have for you, plans to give you a hope and a future...." That child, Elizabeth Hope, was pure joy for me as I rested in His plans.

There's an old saying, by St. Augustine (I think) that says, "Love God, then do what you want." At first that sounds like heresy or debauchery. But it's not. It's pretty true. If you only look at the "do what you want" you could miss the "Love God" part. Loving God is what informs the rest of my life. Where my heart wants to worry and fuss and fear, I need to rest in God and in His providence. He can take care of it. And I now know, after all these many years, that He does indeed love me and that I am the apple of His eye. My life, my actions, my deeds, are lived in gratefulness to Him for redeeming me.... not in fear of what might happen if I mess up.