Facing Fear

It’s Halloween time – time for costumes, pumpkins, apple bobbing  . . . and this year in our house, the first trip to the Children’s  Museum haunted house.  I am not the biggest fan of Halloween.  Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing all the creativity in costumes and sneaking a few Reece Cups from my children’s stashes, but I hate the scary side of the holiday.  Horror films?  No thank you.  I have seen enough real life scary things, I do not wish to voluntarily subject myself to further hair-raising, oh-no-I-pooped myself activities.  But I have children; children who love all the festivities of Halloween ghosts and goblins.  

The haunted house.  Back in July, my children participated in the library summer reading program and one of the prizes was free tickets to the haunted house.  I remember going when I was about their age – witches having tea parties, ghosts doing a little jig.  They were excited to have earned their own way and I was excited to relive a piece of my own childhood memories and experience another first with them.  We chose lights on – after all, the kids are still young.  And, as I said stated earlier, someone jumping out at me might trigger an accident and I did not bring a change of underwear.  Lights on equals no people jumping out, but instead an opportunity to walk through and experience the art and creativity.  We walked in as a family and my oldest quickly went from excited to sheer terror.

When I say terrified, picture shaking, screaming, jumping, crying, the whole works.  Being mom, I scooped her up to offer comfort, but I also made a parenting decision to not let her take the easy way out and run from her fears.  I am convinced that the staff, volunteers, and other onlookers thought I was a cruel parent for not shielding her from her fears and taking her back to the lobby.  As I held her, we started a mantra, “It’s just costumes, makeup, and statues . . . it’s all pretend, it cannot hurt me.”  We repeated these words over and over.  Costumes, makeup, statues.  Costumes, makeup, statues.  Within minutes, she had calmed down and even left the comfort of my arms and walked through independently.  In the end, she said it was silly to be afraid, but she was never going through another haunted house again.  I was proud of her for making it and agreed she never had to do it again.

I have been chewing on this mother daughter moment and thinking about my own relationship with God.  I still have a lot of fears, more than just of carnies, clowns, and haunted houses.  I fear the unknowns of the future.  I fear my past coming back to haunt me.  I fear the present and being forced to face the consequences of my decisions.  I typically do not dwell on my fears, or even readily admit them, but instead cover them up with overinflated confidence and valiant attempts at maintaining control.

My child needed someone she trusts, who loves her deeply and would never willingly cause her harm.  She needed such a person to walk with her and help her face her fears.  She trusted me to keep her safe.  She relaxed in my arms and let me carry her anxiety.  These days, I am feeling a little lost and wondering who I am.  I know what I do.  I am mom, wife, therapist, nursing student, learner, nature-lover, reader, writer, cook, laundry lady, taxi service . . . but apart from my roles and responsibilities, I am feeling a bit disconnected from the core of my being.  Who is God calling me to be?  What life is he calling me to live?  These questions scare me the most of all.  It is easy to define myself by a “to do” list.  It is easy to hide behind the check list of things I have accomplished.  But when I sit in the silence of my being, when I create space to listen to God’s gentle voice guiding me toward holiness and grace I find myself anxiously looking for an escape plan.  Work and responsibilities give me the perfect exit.  

As I reflect on what my child needed – a safe set of arms to guide her through her fears, I realize that is Jesus for me.  “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”  In Christ, there is perfect love.  There is no intention to harm.  This does not me there are not struggles and pain in life.  But I must remind myself that I have the perfect guide willing to walk the path with me; a perfect guide willing to carry my burdens, my wrongdoings, and  my fears.  And like my child, I have the choice to trust that gentle Voice that calls me out of my hiding and into holiness, or I can continue looking for an escape route and flee.