"Love So High..."

"Your love is so high,
Your love is so wide,
Your love is so deep,
Your love is so long...."

It's one if those worship songs that gets repeated ad infinitum during a service...you find yourself singing along, thinking that you get the point....then you get distracted...then you find yourself mindlessly moving your lips...and then you realize that you've just checked out, and are basically doing Christian karaoke in a group setting. Not. Cool.
I caught myself doing that today, and God knows how many times I've been guilty of it in the past...Worship is so dear to me; it's my love language with God, so when I blow it, it really resonates. God caught my attention back pretty quickly, though, and the words to this song started to hit home.
When we (or, maybe it's just me) sing this song, where's our head at? Are we actually considering physical distances? People do these little hand motions-really?! (I'm too cool for choreography, LOL!!!) Are we really thinking about what those words encompass?
"Your love is so high"
How high are we willing to go, to test the limits? Are we willing to drop the baggage, and let Him take us to the secret places? Or do we trust Him so little that we'd rather be weighed down?
"Your love is so wide."
We stretch out our arms...because that's as far as we can think. "As far as the East is from the West..." I'm directionally-dysfunctional, but even I know that East never meets up with West. That's the grace of God. It's so endless...we can't comprehend it. I get angry, I hold on to things. I stay mad....I recently recalled an upsetting conversation that happened in November, and was surprised to realize that my anger is still palpable. I'm still mad. My love, evidentally, is not very Jesus-like...it's pretty thin. I need to learn how to have wide love. :)
"Your love is so deep."
This is the phrase that God stopped me on: "So deep". We think of metaphors like "deep like a river," or "deep like a well." He challenged me this morning--"How deep do you think I can go?" We think of depth as being something that's 3-dimensional.....we're wrong. Specifically, I'm wrong. God's love transcends space and time. I'm kind of a closet sci-fi geek, so time-travel things really pique my interest. He caught me on this one, when He asked me if I believed that His love was deep enough to untangle the past. Is it deep enough to undo the hurt? Is it deep enough to restore faith, deep enough to cast Light in the shadowy places? Deep enough to love me when I face the failures, the doubt, the anger? Is His love deep enough to wash it all away and heal the rawness underneath?
Do I trust in that Unfailing Love? Can I let Him in?
I've had to face some real ugliness this year, & it's only just begun. I find myself blocking off the love of God, of wanting it so desperately, but of thinking that I'm too disgusting for Him to give it to me. I hang on to phrases like "He delights in me" because I want Him to so badly, but I know that I'm not good enough for it. I know that this is an attack, and that I've struggled with this for decades. I know that He loves me, but I get in my own way so often-I don't trust that His love is deep enough to dive into. I consign myself to a shallow limitation.
So...in essence, I tell God that He can't handle me.
Wow.
We all limit His love in our own ways. How deep do you see His love? Deep enough to fix you? Or deep enough to take you down to dirt and clay, to create something entirely new?
Finally, "Your love is so long."
To go back to the space-time-sci-fi thingy, we can't consider that this is a measurable distance. If the depth of the Father's love corrects and renews the brokenness of the past, then surely the length of His love protects and saves the future! I can't see what is to come. I have my hopes and my heart's desires, but no knowledge. What I have, is trust. Although I struggle with my present state, and my past mistakes, one thing that I am sound on is believing that He has the future prepared. I get impatient...I want things now. But I believe that I have to trust in His timing more than anything else, and so I will wait. I trust Him. I trust in the length of His love....
The height: the chance to be free and soar
The width: the chance to be fully embraced
The depth: the chance to be renewed
The length: the chance to be secure

Strange, how a simple verse or chorus can blow your mind, when God gets a hold of it...

Restoration...

I should so totally be asleep right now. My soft music is playing, I've had my kiss goodnight, and all is peaceful on the surface at the Cooley household...but here I am.
Fragments and filaments of failed relationships are keeping me up tonight. Memories of things said and unsaid are pestering me, and though I'm praying for restoration, my heart longs for a speedier resolution than what I'm seeing. My failures are driving me crazy.
A lack of communication...a misundrstanding that got ugly...I've prayed over it for 8 months now. Another fail, a total ignoring of/by someone else--2 years, and it's not right. College relationships and wrong impressions...total losses of integrity....compromises that never should have happened...These are the things that piledrive me at night.
My relationship with God is one thing. I ask for forgiveness--He gives me beautiful grace. But the people I've hurt? I don't talk with most of them. I'd love nothing more than to hear them say that they've forgiven me....that everything is okay.
I'd love to hear them say that we are restored. Everyone makes mistakes, yes, but how great would it be, to hear that it's all been cleared up? I hope I never run for office or write a wildly popular book. I have serious fears that people would come out of the woodwork to announce my shortcomings. I can hear it now: "She can't lecture on God's grace!!!! I was there when she took that shot of Jaeger in 1999!!!!" (Disgusting stuff, BTW.) Or, "She can't write a children's book! She was mean to a co-worker in 2011!!!!" (More than once, I'm afraid)... I don't know...these are not only relationships that have gone south, or examples of stupidity; they're also the ammunition that the enemy uses to keep us from doing the plans God has for us. Restoration is amazing, because it's God making something so whole again, that you can never tell that it was ever broken. That's what I want to see...in relationships from my workplaces past & present, in my family, and in those old friendships that one never truly forgets...that's one of the areas I'd like to see God move in this year...
So, if you happen to have an issue with yours truly, please talk to me. Because you might be the reason that I can't sleep tonight.

To be a child.....

"See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should called children of God, and so we are. " 1 John 3:1
To be called a child...what does that mean? I suppose that depends.
How was your childhood? Who were your parents? Did you like them?
Did they like you?
Did you like you?
Were you happy, as a child?
Maybe not.
Maybe the thought of being taken back to your childhood is enough to send you running in the opposite direction...the thought of being in the position of a child--helpless, dependent, resourceless--makes your gut clench.
Maybe your childhood was idyllic. Maybe you had the Barbie dreamhouse and a pony, I don't know.
Maybe you spent your childhood just trying to survive.
When we read certain passages of Scripture, we get really churchy. We forget that our association with certain words and phrases isn't necessarily "the norm." We have blinders on, and we forget the brokenness around us, even with our own people. I forget it even with myself; I find myself hurtling through Bible verses, forgetting to stop and to breathe it in. I forget to let the Word sink in and penetrate into the cracks and into the broken places....to let it seep in and flood the devastated places (and there are so many...more than I could possibly know).
We do our duty...we read the Word, and we bypass the sting. Take a breath, though.
Think about it. What does it mean, to you, to be called someone's "child?"
I could tell you about my childhood, but the truth is, I don't remember a lot of it. What I do remember, I've been told, isn't always correct. I am not going to sit here and relive the highs-and-lows. It's too tangled. Also, thanks to a ridiculously vivid imagination and a tendency to have incredibly life-like dreams, my childhood memories are a conglomerate of confusion.
I'm 34, but to my mom, I'm always going to be her baby. I have proven myself to be mouthy, narcissistic, pretentious, and kinda crazy. She still loves me. She still wishes God's best for me. She supports my marriage, she loves my husband, and she is there. That's what it means, to be the child of Donna Petrini. It's not always easy, but I am always loved--even when she doesn't agree with my choices.
I wish I could have grown up with that understanding. I wish I would have understood that I was loved, as a child, but I didn't get it. It's not anyone's fault...I just have a weird "love language" than my mom, and we had a lot of communication issues. It's why I struggle with feeling heard, why I constantly feel the need to be reaffirmed. I grew up feeling like no one spoke my language, and as a result, I spent a lot of time in a book. My imaginary worlds spoke fluent Cassidy, and conflicts were few.
So, what does it mean, to me, to be called Someone's child? It means that I know retrospect will be kind to me. It means that right now, I am having communication issues with my Father. It means that I have to pause at verse one of this chapter, and that I can't go any further. It means that since Christmas, that I can't stop asking the question, "why would You do this? Why in the world would You pick me? Why did You choose me, why do You choose any of us? What is this for? I struggle with insignificance, with laziness, with a lack of follow-thru. I am ordinary, whiny, and at the basest level, God, I am a failure in every possible area of my life....so Father, (You have put Yourself in that position), why did You pick me?"
We sing praise...we worship, and I know in my deepest of hearts that through it all, I choose Jesus. But why in the world did He choose me? I cling to phrases like "He delights in me, " but battle with a barrage of "if He liked you, you'd be pregnant." "He likes her more, she pleases Him more." The Word says that He calls me His child....it says that He wouldn't give me a stone if I asked for bread....but I'm starving, and my pockets feel like they're full of rocks.
Being His child means that the things I see right now are not what is. It means that I shake off the reality for the supernatural. It means that I cling to the vision when all I feel is blindness, when my communication with my Father is on the fritz.
I could disown my mother; she could disown me. She could write me out of the will and close the doors of her home;I could walk away for the rest of my life. It wouldn't change the fact that I am her daughter. It wouldn't change the fact that she is my mother. My heart would always ache for her acceptance, and (I know this to be true) a mother never, ever gives up hope for her child. Once you belong to a parent, you are always connected.
I belong to Him.
I am His child....a child that is entirely dependant, entirely defenseless, entirely at His mercy. He has called me His own, and it's not like reliving the confusing childhood that I remember. Being His means that He knows when He's not getting through...so He puts people in my life to pass His love along. Sometimes, He even lets me pass it along to someone else.
"We should be called children of God...and so we are."
It's as simple as that, in spite of how I (how we) get it twisted. The enemy tries to get in, to say it's not true...that He doesn't like me or you. The enemy preys on my childhood perceptions, and it's so hard for me to break through. He has me in my weakest places, and it's such a battle...but the Word says "and so we are," so I have no other choice but to believe it.
I belong to Jesus.
God is my Father, and in spite of my childhood fears and inadequacies, He loves me. It doesn't make sense, but He picked me. He picked you, too.
He chose all of us.

Waiting...

I spent some time as a teenager going on various mission trips with an amazing youth group. The running joke amongst all of the trips, was "Hurry up and wait!" It seemed like everywhere we went, no matter how hard we tried to stay on time, no one else could be bothered with something as simple as punctuality.
(My neuroses with punctuality is a whole 'nother blog. Get me started on the subject, and you may walk away with your eyebrows singed.)
We would hustle and bustle to get our group together, we'd get to our destination, and then...we...would...wait...a...really...long...time...before...anything...would...happen.....
Sigh.
"Hurry up, and wait."
It's been a long time since I've been on the mission field. I can't say that I miss the spiders, sleeping on concrete, or eating unidentifiable foods; I can most definitely say that I miss seeing other cultures, and their reactions to receiving the Gospel. We're so calloused here in the States...Other countries, it's almost like you can see a wave of peace wash over their faces. The transformation is visible in places that are open to the supernatural. Anyone who has been to a third world country knows what I'm saying--for some reason, nations that live in poverty receive the truth of the spiritual so much more quickly than those of us who are drowning in materialism. We think we can do everything ourselves--they KNOW they need help, and aren't afraid to accept it.
Doing the small amount of mission work that I did, taught me a lot. But, I have to say, the concept of "hurry up and wait" has probably been the one that's stuck with me the most.
Women that hope and dream of having a child are fighting a near-constant battle that is so personal, they rarely want to talk about it. I actually don't want to talk about it (yet it's AMAZING how many people ask me that persistent question--as if it wasn't a theme running through my head). However, it's the end of the year--what I thought was supposed to be MY YEAR, and there is no little one in my arms. I find myself teetering on a ledge that I've been trying to ignore all year long.
"Hurry up..and wait."
We were given the "all-clear" in April. I finally have the team of specialists I'll need, and the answers I was missing. The right tests were finally ordered, and the results were conclusive: I have a blood disorder called "antiphospholipid antibody syndrome." It's only an issue during pregnancy; it's treatable, and it's why my heart when wonky (scientific term) in 2006. I have the right doctors to treat it, the right medications to counter it, and all we do now, is wait...
Waiting on God can be so annoying (she laughs)...We've had this conversation before. David and I have discussed both natural birth, and adoption, with both options being open. We're both in "wait and see" mode. Yep--we spent 5 years waiting for answers, we finally got them, and now...we...wait...
I'm not known for being a patient woman.
The monthly struggle that women in this stage go through...waiting...anticipation...disappointment...waiting some more...anticipation...disappointment...It's this crazy cycle that I don't think that guys understand. Once a month, our body does this ridiculous circus that pains us physically and emotionally, and after a certain point, spiritually. Like, my flesh tells me I should be aggravated with God because there's no baby yet. "Darn it, haven't I been through enough? When is it my turn--I mean, I'm not getting any younger!!! I've waited long enough!" There's the counter-conversation: "It's not in His timing yet. I'm not risking anything because I wasn't patient enough for the Lord. This is in His hands. The only thing I can do is trust, pray, and wait."
"I'm Waiting!!!" (Princess Bride reference: 200 points!)
Grown-Up Cassidy is winning the conversation at the moment, although my inpatient alter-ego makes an appearance at least once a month. If it wasn't for the amazing faith of my rock-solid husband, I think that I'd be tearing my hair out.
This whole cycle that women go through--I've only been going through it for 6 months. There are women who go through this for 10-15 years. I don't understand how they do it. It's a roller-coaster, and it's difficult. Guys don't really have a grasp on the intricacies of the physical/emotional/spiritual craziness that we go through, but they do have to endure our flux of states. I have to give them some credit for going through it vicariously. It's a delicate waiting game. I frequently find myself wondering what in the world is wrong with me, questioning God, feeling defective--it affects so much of your heart and your life.
So, we wait...
It's exhausting, to sit and wait for what feels like ages...to be so close, but to not be able to catch the prize at the end. If people knew how many times a day I pray for the little one that I truly believe is on the way--they'd think I was crazy. I pray for the small one...I pray for David, for strength...I pray for me, physically and spiritually...I pray for my family, because I know they're terrified that we could go through that valley again...
Most of all, I pray for God's timing. Anything done outside of Him--even this--is not worth doing. I stand on that--on knowing that more than anything, this is in Him. I had hoped that 2011 would be our year for Baby, but it has turned out to be a year of answers, and of change...so...I am not going to look at this as a disappointment. If it wasn't for the answers we were given in April, I wouldn't have the hope that keeps that fire lit.
We will wait.
We will pray.
We will love.
And we will wait some more...
Until He says "It's time."
Which could be any day now...(she laughs!) (No, really, Lord! Any day now!)
:)

The Merry Christmas Blog...

(Pardon any typos--I'm posting this off of a pdf, which I'm still figuring out how to maneuver. :))
I always love getting those interesting letters from other families, this time of the year, to update us on the adventures of the people that we know. I rarely write one myself, because frankly, I don't think we're all that fascinating. We're just two people--and a dog-that are finding their way through life.
Then again....
Maybe things aren't as mundane as I think they sound.
I heard a song this year by some 'tweener band that contained lyrics they were no doubt too young to fully comprehend: "We all have a story to tell."
Everyone is interesting.
Our story might be kind of cool, but YOUR story is probably awesome. By the time all's been told, to see how the hand of God has touched all of our lives, is a common ground that we can share. "We all have a story to tell.” It’s true.
The retelling of childhood incidents is pure entertainment. I'm fortunate enough that I have both of my parents, my sisters, and my brother, and even my biological dad. David has both of his parents and all of his siblings, too (although he's lacking the fascinating hybrid of steps-and-bios that I have), and we
get together with all of them that we can, this time of the year. There are so many funny stories with my mom and dad-they're passionate people. No emotion in my household was ever expressed halfway (must be where I get it©). I can see the good and the bad in that. Fortunately, in my adult life, I appreciate the good in it more than anything else. Any joy that we celebrate, any loss that we mourn, has been centered around the love of God. That’s the greatest gift my family, and that David's family, has given us: They've shown us Jesus.
Life experiences have taken the childhood stories of Christmas and forged them into our hearts. Even as a kid, I knew the things I was reading in the Bible were not a fairy tale-1 was raised to believe in the Word as truth. There is no story greater than the one we celebrate this time of the year...Every story in our lives that we tell, comes back to This Story...A Virgin (a teenager!), a brave and faithful betrothed, angels that bear no resemblance to a Precious Moments figurine, a journey, a wicked king...a miraculous birth in a stagnant dirt-heap of a barn...The Greatest in Heaven and Earth, condensed into the
tiniest and most helpless of beings...
All of history revolves around This Story...
The Nativity scene in my parents' home is a little bit avant garde...I'm pretty sure there were no penguins in the manger, but they find their way into the barn every year. The Nativity set in my house is a tiny glass set that belonged to my late step-mother, and it stays up year-round. I've seen Nativities made of Looney Tunes characters, VeggieTales, Boyd's Bears, and just about every Enesco figurine you can think of. I'm not sure of the "proper-ness" of these renditions, but I don't really think it matters.
The time of year for our Christmas celebration, is off...our calendar is Constantinian (or something like that) and twisted with pagan religions...the tree is a pagan altar, the globes on the tree mimic Egyptian celebrations of the sun gods... Every celebration or tradition that we hold dear can be twisted into representing something we don't want it to represent. Even Christians attack various Christmas traditions for one kind of reason or another. WHAT. EVER. It’s a time that the whole world, sets apart to celebrate The Story.
This Story-A Savior Who came to this ridiculous earth, in the most undignified method possible-This Story, these facts. are the heart and soul of the salvation of man. This Jesus, this Messiah-He holds our broken hearts in the very palm of His hand, and He makes us new again by grace...Amazing, uncomprehendable Grace.
That’s what makes every story interesting.
We're two people--and a dog--who have been knocked senseless by Grace. We mess up; we fall down. He picks us back up and cleans us off by Grace. This is why we worship, this is why we sing-this is why we breathe. Grace.
This Christmas, that’s our prayer for ourselves, and for you: That you would be met face-to-face by Grace, and by the love of Jesus. That we would all understand just a glimpse of why He is worthy of whatever sacrifice He asks...that He is holy, and that He is trustworthy. That’s a lot.
2011 has been an interesting year. Things I thought I would see happen, haven't happened...so, we wait. David and I are both gainfully employed (for which we are INFINITELY grateful); he, at Convergys, and myself, at the University of Missouri-St. Louis. I am hoping to go back to school in 2012; we'll see where God takes us. Holly the Boxer continues to keep us entertained, in spite of mysterious back injury. It’s the three of us, the day-in-day-out routine, and the little things in life that never let it get boring. ©
I continue to attempt my takeover of social media, on Twitter and Facebook...@CassidyCooley. If you've found me, then you know I tell most of my life updates on there, as opposed to on actual non-environmentally-friendly paper products (because as you can tell, if I wrote on REAL paper, I'd kill a lot of trees}. Life is...life, and it doesn't stop. Fortunately, neither does Grace.
'Merry Christmas to you, friends and family. May we all run headlong into the Amazing Grace of our Savior this Season...may 2012 find us knocked
senseless by a Love we simply cannot comprehend...While the world goes crazy, may we all find a Peace that others find unreasonable...and may we all be given the chance to explain where that Peace comes from....
Merry Christmas, y'all...
Love, David and Cassidy Cooley
And of course,
Holly the Boxer

Milestones...

In the middle of worship this morning, the lyrics hit me like a ton of bricks: "You give me Beauty for Ashes, and Joy for my Mourning."
Brick.
In.
The.
Head.
I seriously almost doubled over.
I realized, "Hey, here we go--yet again, Cassidy's going to lose it in front of a bunch of people." I started praying, "God, please don't let me embarrass myself like this again. Please..."
I start to see four walls closing in on me...Yes, I'm still singing, but in my head, a tremendous tug-of-war is happening. I felt God say, "Stay. Play it through." It was a whisper...it was clear. "Play it through. Bring Me the sacrifice of praise."
The walls were closing in...I kept singing.
In my head, I see myself put my hands on the walls, and push them back. The heaviness that started to descend on me--the bitterness that began to creep in--lifted, and worship, in my heart, began again. I've been through this process before, but I don't recall ever seeing it quite so vividly in my head. Granted, I have a pretty vivid imagination, but I'm pretty sure this wasn't something I made up. There was a battle for worship this morning, and I don't know that it involved just me.
I really feel like a lot of us in the church struggle with the holidays--we have Missing Persons syndrome. For me, this weekend is particularly hard, true--but the whole season gets affected. It's not "what is"--we know our loved ones are in Heaven. It's "what isn't." The "what isn't (s)" are the things that hit me out of nowhere--would my five-year-old be dancing in front of the church, with the other kids? Ouch. It's a beautiful thing to see, but bittersweet. This morning (and it's happened before), it caught me in the gut--no warning. Grief sucker-punches us, but we can't let it knock us out.
It sounds so easy, when I put it in writing...
We bring a sacrifice of praise...praise when we're going along just fine, when we get what we want, and life is wonderful...and praise when the bottom falls out, the world is pear-shaped, and we can't see any Light through the fog that's buried our hearts. I've always said that for me, worship is when I feel the closest to God. It has nothing to do with singing (thank God); it has nothing to do with the aesthetics. It has to do with the fact that when we worship God, we open up that which we close off to the world. We walk around this grimy, dirty world, and we guard our hearts so closely...We are a jaded, bitter species. But when we worship, we take the bars off of the windows, and we connect, heart-to-heart, in intimacy with the One Who loves us (dirt and all).
This is a really, really tough time of year for many people. Tomorrow marks, for me, the fifth anniversary of my daughter's death, and I'm not going to sit here and tell you that I'm fine. This sucks. Just because I love Jesus doesn't mean this doesn't hurt--again, yes, I know she's in Heaven. I'm still missing a baby that came from my body--I have scars that are supposed to be reminders of the happiest day of my life...they hurt to look at. This is hard, and anyone who would say otherwise is kidding themselves. He doesn't make the pain go away. I saw a movie tonight where a Rabbi was talking about the death of his daughter. The interviewer said, "Weren't you mad at God?" "Furious!!" the Rabbi replied. "Didn't it affect your faith?" "Absolutely. But, I was thankful--thankful that I had Him to cry to!"
He doesn't make the hurt, the longing, the ache--He doesn't make it disappear, even though He could. I don't really understand why we go through this pain; frankly, even though I know it prepares us for other things in life, anesthesia sounds lovely. What He does do, though, is give us Someone to cry to. He gives us more than just a shoulder to cry on...He carries us in His arms. He shines His light on that "dark night of the soul," and He provides us with a love that handles the worst of our temper tantrums. He understands our grief, and He bears our sorrows.
He knows that if we understood a tenth of "what is" as opposed to our grasp of "what isn't," all of the selfish desires we have to see our loved ones again on our terms, would wash away. I believe in Heaven with every fiber of my being, and I know I'll see my baby girl again. If I even slightly grasped a corner of what it's really like, though, my heart would never ache for her on this planet again. I would be completely satisfied and at peace with where she is.
I don't get that knowledge, though--I don't get to see Heaven. I get to have faith that He knows what He's doing, and that I'll get there eventually. Faith, hope--that's the key.
That's why we worship. Because we have faith that He hears us, that He is, above all, GOOD.
This season, I hope that you see that He's good. Even if you're struggling with a loss...even if what/who you're missing is weighing on you so heavily--please know that He is good. Saying that, in the midst of grief, is one of the hardest things you'll ever say in your life, but it's so true. He is a good God, and you will make it out of the valley. Worship God, even in the midst of it. Praise Him for the extra measure of grace and peace that He'll drop on you if you ask. I know that's my prayer: "I need grace...I need peace. I need a reason to keep hope going, to keep hanging on." That's where I am...desperately clinging to grace and peace, and making myself hang on to hope. I cannot give up. He doesn't allow it, for any of us.
There's a song from the Muppets that I quoted on Facebook earlier today, anhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifd even though I quoted it incorrectly, I was pretty darn close. It's a season of "Saying Goodbye," but it's not permanent. Leave it to the Muppets to make you smile, and cry, all at the same time...
Grace and Peace to you this season...He loves you. He delights in you, even when you feel "un-delight-able."

Saying goodbye, going away
Seems like goodbye's such a hard thing to say
Touching our hands, wondering why
It's time for saying goodbye.

Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye.

Don't want to leave, but we both know
Sometimes its better to go
Somehow I know, we'll meet again
Not sure quite where and I don't know just when

You're in my heart, so until then
It's time for saying goodbye.

Somehow I know, we'll meet again
Not sure quite where and I don't know just when
You're in my heart so until then
Wanna smile
Wanna cry
Saying goodbye"
--From The Muppets Take Manhattan

La la la la, la la la la
It's time for saying goodbye
La la la la, la la la la
La la la la-la la la.

Driving Blind...

Jesus sits in my front seat.
No, really--I'm not kidding.
Before you run me off to the funny farm, let me tell you a story (as I'm so inclined to do):
I struggle with fear. I have my entire life--it's the secret, paralyzing force that waits until I'm vulnerable, and then it quite literally reaches around my throat and chokes the breath out of me. There is panic, blindness, loss of logic, profanity, and a total lack of ability to focus on the truths I say and believe in. This fear strikes me the hardest while I'm driving.
I hate to drive. I think that I speed so often, just to get the driving part of my day over with the fastest (somehow, I don't think that will ever get me out of a ticket). I drive almost an hour to work each way, and my fear of driving almost led me to turn down this job--this wonderful, blessing of a job that I am most grateful for. This job is part of my calling, it's a gateway to my calling, and for me to almost walk away out of fear is so like me. I'm so glad that I had a powerful force of friends who prayed me through making the decision to take this position, even though it was a difficult transition (hey, nice rhyming!). But the drive--oh, the drive.
A few months ago, a torrential downpour hit as I was driving home. It was sudden, ferocious, and a total white-out. I couldn't see to get off of the road; I pulled over 3 times on the way home, and I went ballistic. Crying, choking, full-blown asthma attack--by the time I finally made it through our door, I practically collapsed. I don't think anyone would ever guess that this is such an issue for me, but it is--I was genuinely petrified.
Dentists make me panicky, nauseous, and irrationally violent...rats/mice/ROUS make me cringe and squeal. But driving/car incidents make me incapable of anything. It's almost a separate personality that comes out. I'm literally unintelligible from the shrieking. I'm petrified.
I've thought of things I could do--I'm spiritually opposed to hypnosis, although it's crossed my mind (especially in regards to the dentist). I've prayed about it; when there's been an issue, though, I usually find myself so scared that I can't make the words come out. Then, when the words DO come out, they're nothing I would ever repeat to anyone (except David, who tries to talk sense into me while I'm freaking out--you should hear his "psychology" tone of voice that he uses when I've flipped like this. In a rational moment, it's kinda funny. I think he tries to sound kinda like my dad, because he knows it works).
My car began acting up on Saturday--we were at a restaurant, and it wouldn't start. We futzed around with it a little bit, got it to a Wal-Mart, and dropped in a new battery. Since I was with him (even though neither one of us is mechanically inclined), I was okay--no freak-outs. We knew that a cable was a little loose, but with some jiggling, it started, so I went off to work this morning (Note: We drove EVERYWHERE Saturday and Sunday without incident). I went to work, ran some errands, went to a visitation, and suddenly, my radio began to go off and on. Not a good sign. I pulled over, jostled the cables, restarted the car, and off I went--and got lost--and my headlights started to flicker. I called David, and said I was on my way home (mind you, he had just left to go pick up a piece of furniture). I got to the top of the hill in my very rural neck of the woods, and realized I couldn't see--when I went to turn on my brights
I got
Pitch
Black
Nothing.
No oncoming cars.
No lights from my vehicle.
And a very deep ditch off of the side of the road.
By the living grace of God, I got the car off of the side of the road without falling into the ditch--about 12" off of the white line--just enough for me to get out of my car.
I didn't even have my emergency lights going...I had no idea it could be that dark outside.
I called David, calmly at first, to tell him that I had a serious issue. He said to jostle the cables, and restart the car, and I'd be fine--except it didn't work this time. I messed with the car alarm--no help. The lights worked for a few minutes, then nothing. I keep a flashlight on my keychain, that I tried to use to call roadside assistance--EXCEPT THE PHONE NUMBER ISN'T ON MY INSURANCE CARD ANYMORE!!!!!--AND AT THIS POINT I BEGIN TO FREAK OUT!!!!!
@#$%@#$%!@#$!@#$!@#$!@$!@#^&^&^t#$tr!$!@#$!$r!%$!
DAVIDYOUHADBETTERSTOPWHATYOU'REDOINGTURNTHATTRUCKAROUNDANDGETHERE!!!!ICAN'TBELIEVETHISISHAPPENINGWHYINTHEHECKCAN'TWEFIXCARSWHATTHE@#@@#DOIDONOW?!@#$!@#$!@#$!#@$@ And that's the highly edited version. '
Oh, the shame...
Wherever he was, I didn't know how long he'd be, so I abandoned my beloved Camry and began a 1/2 mile trek up the hill from Hell. By the time I got to the top, between the panic, the blood pressure, the cold (BTW, thanks, Dad, for teaching me to always keep a light-colored jacket in my car. And for the mace.), the anger, or the very steep incline, by the time I got to the top of the hill I couldn't breathe. Full-blown asthma attack that I'm still trying to shake--and I have no one to blame but myself.
Couple that with the fact that David no sooner comes and rescues me, but he gets to my car and it STARTS RIGHT UP...and now I feel HORRIBLE.
Stupid.
Panicked-for-nothing.
And physically awful, because I know how dangerous asthma attacks/freaked-out blood pressure can be for me, but I still let myself get that bad.
Don't get me wrong-my car was messed up. He drove it to our house (1 mile away--so close!!), and as soon as he turned it off, it wouldn't start again without cranking down the cables. We'll cross that bridge tomorrow, during daylight.
Either way, like the rainstorm, it was another classic case of me being in a pinch, and rather than pausing/being rational (granted, I tried that for like, 30 seconds), or praying it through (which should be the first thing I do), I freaked out. I said mean, terrible things to my husband (which I feel like an @$$ over--especially since the car started when he barely looked at it), I didn't trust God, and I'm not even sure I properly thanked Him for keeping me from ditching my car. I let fear win--I drove blindly, without faith, and without responsibility.
David's already forgiven me, which says something about him, and I've totally forgiven him (I'm sexist--I think that just because he's a guy, he's Mr. Fix-It, which is not always the case). Fear is such a nasty thing, though--it sends you into such an awful tailspin. Grace gets us out of it--if we let it, it keeps us from getting into it in the first place.
I'm such an imperfect creature, and I hate it when I have that reminder shoved so glaringly in my face. Incidents like this are the ones I need to have the sense to reflect on, the next time I'm broken down, to keep me from jumping into that mudpit of fear, blame, and highly-consequential anger.
We are never "driving blind." Jesus is always with us, even when it doesn't look that way--that realization is the only thing that can truly conquer those paralyzing fears. I hope I get that through my thick head before my next driving-related incident!!! For David's sake, if not mine!!!!! (God bless David Cooley--I'm pretty sure he should be nominated for some kind of sainthood after this)...