About a month ago, I had the privilege of loading up with one of my soul sisters and taking a road trip to a women's conference out of town. Featured speaker, Jen Hatmaker. Y'all, I love her. I wish we lived closer together because I would totally exhaust all efforts to be friends with her. We would totally click; I just know it. See, don't we look like we all belong together?!
Anyway, she was telling a story at one of the sessions about her son Caleb. When he was small, somewhere around 4 years old, he developed this crazy, irrational fear of elevators. It wasn't his life he feared every time they were faced with an elevator ride, but his little sister Sydney's. Each time he was convinced surely this would be the elevator ride that took Sydney out. Every situation included screaming, sobbing and persistent pleading not to get on the elevator, which was a bit embarrassing considering it was usually in front of a public audience. One particular time when Caleb was mid hissy-fit, Jen stopped him and grabbed his shoulders and said, "Caleb! I am right here. I am the parent. I am holding her fat little hand. The parent is in the elevator!"
And suddenly, I wasn't hearing a story about Jen's boy anymore. It was God speaking to me.
...because I am the ridiculous, irrational four year old.
I have been living in quiet fear since Michael's heart attack in January. The additional problems it revealed still remain unrepaired, and I worry about something more serious happening before those repairs take place. The doctors all agree that if the anuerism were to burst before surgery, we'd only have minutes. "Minutes" is not enough time to get to the help he would need.
While I haven't spoken these fears out loud, Michael knows. He now begins every text or voice mail with "This is not an emergency, but..." or "Everything is ok with me, but..." Recently, I was outside jumping on the trampoline with the kids while Michael got ready to leave for work inside. I know his routine and know he leaves the house by 6:40 at the latest. When I looked down at my phone and saw that it was 6:42 and he hadn't come out yet, I abandoned my children in the backyard and ran inside like a crazy lady, certain he must be lying in the floor gasping for his last breath while I was outside, unaware. Ridiculous, irrational fear.
It was Jen's words, her story, but God used those words to tell me, "I am Right Here! I am holding your fat hand, Jennifer! The parent is in the elevator! I can handle this; don't be afraid!"
There is a reason we are told 365 times in the Bible not to fear or be afraid...because we struggle with being afraid! Praise God that he loves the ridiculous, irrational four year olds (like me) and lovingly reminds us that we are not alone. There's no one else I'd rather have holding my hand through this uncertainty. I don't have any idea how this will all end, but I do truly believe that God is good, all the time, and He loves me and won't leave me. I'm uncertain, but He's still good.
So, I'm learning to calm down, because the parent is in the elevator.
