Thursday, October 30, 2014
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
It's Not About the Ants
I've never been one of those squeamish girly girls. I don't particularly LIKE spiders and snakes and mice, but I've conquered them all when the need arose in my life - from field mice to rattlesnakes to black widow spiders- all have suffered at the hands of a protective mom guarding her children from germs, pain, poison and death! Logically, I know these are just creatures and I have the God-given right to rule and reign over their place in my life.
But lately, I have found myself profusely affected by these creatures- bugs in particular- and have decided they are representing a physical manifestation of an emotional struggle I'm battling. Mentally, I know that those tiny ants can't hurt me. They don't spread germs, or really even spoil food. They don't bite or sting or stink. And they're pretty easy to kill.
The problem is, they sneak up on you. Last night I opened a cupboard - the peanut butter one- and saw a few ants - yuck! When I moved the first jar (we are a multi-peanut butter type family), I saw them all - hundreds and hundreds of ants, climbing over the honey jar, covering the shelf that, admittedly, was sticky from sloppy storage of it's contents. Large groups of these black critters clustered around choice puddles of sugar-coated goo and I just could help it - I gasp in horror and screamed for my husband!
"You are capable of handling this," was his irritated response. He had just fallen into a deep sleep and wasn't nearly as put off by the situation as I, obviously. He handed me the can of Raid and went back to bed. I took a deep breath and started unpacking the cupboard into the sink, fighting the panic that kept threatening to suffocate me.
Fear is fear is fear. Everyone can understand and appreciate some fears- like facing a lion unarmed, in the jungle or falling from a cliff. Other fears are particular to a past situation. For instance, for someone having been in a car accident, a certain traffic event might cause fear. But sometimes, we can't even explain why we are afraid of something, like ants. It seems silly even, to let myself get so worked up about them. And so then I feel weak and ashamed and vulnerable... again.
Because it's not about the ants. It's about this other thing... this mental, emotional black thing called depression that keeps catching me by surprise. It invades my life when I'm not looking. I'll feel safe and happy and full of good feelings and then, I'll open a cupboard and find it crawling all over my life again, reminding me that I am apparently not in control of it at all. It takes my attention, my time, my mental and even physical strength to fight it off. And even then, when I think I've gotten a handle on it, I'm never really sure it's gone. It's still there somewhere, creating a new colony of warriors and new plan of attack.
My fear is not the ants. And my solution is not as easy as a can of Raid. My fear is that I'll lose my faith in "Christ in Glenna, the hope of glory". My real fear is the loss of the belief that there is still hope for me.
But lately, I have found myself profusely affected by these creatures- bugs in particular- and have decided they are representing a physical manifestation of an emotional struggle I'm battling. Mentally, I know that those tiny ants can't hurt me. They don't spread germs, or really even spoil food. They don't bite or sting or stink. And they're pretty easy to kill.
The problem is, they sneak up on you. Last night I opened a cupboard - the peanut butter one- and saw a few ants - yuck! When I moved the first jar (we are a multi-peanut butter type family), I saw them all - hundreds and hundreds of ants, climbing over the honey jar, covering the shelf that, admittedly, was sticky from sloppy storage of it's contents. Large groups of these black critters clustered around choice puddles of sugar-coated goo and I just could help it - I gasp in horror and screamed for my husband!
"You are capable of handling this," was his irritated response. He had just fallen into a deep sleep and wasn't nearly as put off by the situation as I, obviously. He handed me the can of Raid and went back to bed. I took a deep breath and started unpacking the cupboard into the sink, fighting the panic that kept threatening to suffocate me.
Fear is fear is fear. Everyone can understand and appreciate some fears- like facing a lion unarmed, in the jungle or falling from a cliff. Other fears are particular to a past situation. For instance, for someone having been in a car accident, a certain traffic event might cause fear. But sometimes, we can't even explain why we are afraid of something, like ants. It seems silly even, to let myself get so worked up about them. And so then I feel weak and ashamed and vulnerable... again.
Because it's not about the ants. It's about this other thing... this mental, emotional black thing called depression that keeps catching me by surprise. It invades my life when I'm not looking. I'll feel safe and happy and full of good feelings and then, I'll open a cupboard and find it crawling all over my life again, reminding me that I am apparently not in control of it at all. It takes my attention, my time, my mental and even physical strength to fight it off. And even then, when I think I've gotten a handle on it, I'm never really sure it's gone. It's still there somewhere, creating a new colony of warriors and new plan of attack.
My fear is not the ants. And my solution is not as easy as a can of Raid. My fear is that I'll lose my faith in "Christ in Glenna, the hope of glory". My real fear is the loss of the belief that there is still hope for me.
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