Spiders and bugs and fear, oh my!

There was a spider.  A big one.  It ran across my couch, dangerously close to my foot, which didn’t seem to want to move fast enough.  I froze, and called to my hero in the recliner across the room to come save me from the eight legged monster, which he promptly did.  Said squashed monster was unceremoniously flushed.  My foe had been vanquished by my valiant knight in shining track shoes.

Spiders.  I shiver at the mere mention.  Yeah, I’ve hung from 100 foot cliffs suspended by nothing but a rope, but a creature 1/1,000,000 of my size shuts me down in my own living room.  Ok, so I made that up.  It was more like 1/1,000,000,000 my size.  A mere minion in the world of arachnids.  While in Japan a couple summers ago, I encountered a spider with a body as big as my fist.  Then add legs to the creature.  Harmless, they said.  Didn’t stick around to find out, I said.

I have no previous experience with spiders to account for the irrational response that wells up uninvited whenever I see the little buggers scurrying wherever they scurry.  No bites, stings, what have you – but it happens every time.  No, I take that back.  Not just spiders – bugs and creepy crawlies of any kind.  Like those big, icky water bug things that get in every summer…nasty things, those.  Wonder what God was thinking when He made them: “I shall make icky bugs whose only purpose is to freak people out with their grossness. And they shall multiply and fill the earth, or at least suburban garages.”  They crunch when you kill them.  Crunch.

I’m a big fan of pushing through my fears; hence the cliffs and such (next year it’s a castle in Scotland).  But no amount of desensitization therapy will cure this.  There are no books, behavior plans – at least none that I’ve come across or have any desire to utilize.  I kind of like my phobia.

Yeah, I do.  ’Bugs are icky’ is an ok belief statement by me.  I know they serve their purposes – spiders eat flies and all that jazz, although I repeat, what is the point of those water bugs? – in the greater scheme of things.  I respect their right to life, as long as it’s not on my turf.  When they happen to encroach on my territory, war ensues.  And I will win.  Oh, yes.  I will be victorious.  Usually with a shoe.

Fear is a funny thing.  It shows up in all kinds of ways, in all kinds of places, under all kinds of names.  We call it “anxiety”, “nerves”, “worry”, “concern” – we have all kinds of ways to avoid calling it what it is.  Fear.

Fear is insidious.  It focuses our minds and energy on someTHING – zapping our time, energy, sometimes resources and even our health.  And we find all kinds of ways to justify it.  We somehow believe the world will end if _______ (fill in the blank).

I’m something of a thrill seeker (nothing crazy – although storm chasing may be in my future…).  I like that little prickle I get on a roller coaster or hanging off a cliff or reading a scary story.  I think I like it because in reality, I know I’m safe, so that little bit of adrenaline is fun.  But what’s not fun is the dark nights – the ones where that thing rears its ugly head again: maybe it’s money, or sickness, or some consequence for something I forgot to do (love that one!!).  You know those nights – the ones where you can’t sleep, your stomach is in knots, and no matter what you do, you can’t talk yourself out of the panicky feelings threatening to overwhelm you.

When my oldest daughter was a baby, I had nightmares almost every night.  I don’t mean the wake up and shake ‘em off kind –  I could have written Stephen King out of a job with some of the plotlines.  It was nuts.  I was afraid to go to sleep for weeks, never knowing what I would see vividly in my mind when I was supposed to be resting.  I’d get up and go check on her, night after night, only to find, yet again, that she was just fine.  Sleeping like a baby.  But I couldn’t – I was afraid.

I was at family camp that summer in Buffalo Gap, Texas (yes, there really is such a place) when it got really bad.  I didn’t want to close my eyes – and I really didn’t want to tell anyone.  I was afraid (!!) they’d pass it off as “postpartum” or something, tell me it would pass, and then wonder if I was nuts.  I wondered that too, to be honest.  There was no rational reason for my fears – only these stupid dreams.

But fear is not rational.  Ok – being afraid of the strange pitbull facing you down in a dark alley might be rational.  But how many of us really have that kind of fear?  Most of us struggle with the kind I’m talking about – that nebulous, out-there sort of thing.  There really was nothing to be afraid of – but I was terrified.

But what is fear, really?  Fear, as I see it, is pretty simple.  It’s a lack of trust. The opposite of faith.

Faith is ‘the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.’ Where do I place my trust? In what do I hope?

For me, I at least give lip-service to placing my trust in Jesus. My hope is in Him.

At least most of the time. I find that when I’m most fearful, I’ve put my trust in something infinitely more fallible – me. I get into my mode of ‘I can do this thing, handle this on my own.’ And it never, ever works.

Flash back to that summer camp. My pastor, Eric Hulet, was at the altar after the evening service, and I bucked up my courage and made it down the aisle. He took me seriously (he always has – I like that guy), and we prayed. He prayed, actually – I bawled buckets and listened. He prayed for God’s love to overwhelm me, for the enemy to leave, and for His peace to be with me.

And it stopped. That night, it stopped.

See, the word says, ‘Perfect love casts out all fear.’ I was afraid I wouldn’t be enough for my daughter. Truth is, I’m not. I never have been, and I never will be. Oh, I’m a good mama. I have no doubt about that. But I’m imperfect. All I can do is the best I can do, which will never be good enough.

But He loves perfectly. Love me perfectly, loves her perfectly. Once He spoke that to my heart that night, I got it. The fear was gone.

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