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Monday, November 20, 2006

If you can’t untie a knot roll, you might as well eat it whole

Monday. Today is Monday. It is a day in which I am supposed to be accomplishing much. It is a gray afternoon with a chill in the air – the kind of day which is good for self-examination, or brooding.

When I started this whole sleeping with bread thing, I determined, at least for the first go-round, to work through each of the questions. I have made it through eight of them and only one is left – one I have been avoiding. It’s all about freedom. And when I ask myself when I have felt the most and least free, two definite pictures come to mind. The soul-flying freedom of running barefoot over grassy hillsides with a forest line looming and the sound of a gentle rocky stream in the distance is the picture of freedom. Imprisonment is represented by the image of a girl, sitting in a chair in the dark corner of a crowded room immobilized by her fears.

Fear. I have always been good at fear. Though I know in the deepest part of me that God is holding me in His protective shadow, fears persevere. Though I read and logically understand those scriptures dealing with fear, the words do not always reach beyond my logic and into my heart. Over the past week, I have felt the least free every time I have turned my back on those things I should do and say simply because of fear. One particularly silly example of this would be my messy closet. You see, it is the time of year when mice sometimes come into houses. Shortly after moving into this house, we discovered that mice had been an issue here for years. We got them under control, but there is fear.

The house we rented years ago in the country was so infested with mice that you could hear them running above the suspended ceiling every night; you could reach in the drawer for an oven mitt and startle a mouse from his acquisition of pot-holder fluff bedding. Let me clarify. I am not afraid of mice (though I don’t like them to be in my house). What I fear is something jumping out or moving suddenly when I am not expecting it. Couple this with the fact that no one in this house is neat, and clothing tends to be dropped onto the floor of the closet when knocked from the hangers while searching for something to wear, add in a dash of “we must save all cardboard boxes until we know the product functions well and we intend to keep it” and you get the breeding ground for fear. But then, sometimes I think I lean on my fear as a security blanket, a familiar friend, and an excuse to avoid responsibility.

Ironically, I chose this example out of fear as well. My other fears are too raw at the moment, and revealing them yields the fear of rejection. Even the silly mouse thing brings that about (and btw, we have only seen one mouse so far this year, and the cat took care of that). What will you think of me if you know that *gasp* rodents have been known to enter my house at some time in the past? And there, I suppose, is the core of the matter. I worry too much what people think. Chains that bind. Hindrance of freedom.

Late at night, as I prepare for sleep and hear the not so gentle snores of my husband, fears want to come at me. But, even though I am still so bound by my fears – both unrealistic and well-founded – I can see evidence that I have learned to rely more on God through the years. I can now sometimes speak up when I feel strongly about something. I can talk to people I do not know, but the evidence is never clearer than in the still hours of darkness. God gave me a husband who exudes a very certain aura of protection. God also gave me a small portion of wisdom. So, last night after I startled awake (having fallen asleep on the couch), when I climbed into my bed, I remembered the headphones. Music, sweet music, especially worship music has, over the past week, become a healing balm (even more than ever before).

When have I felt the most free? The answer is quite simple. Freedom - soul-soaring, sunlight-dappled, pastoral landscaped freedom - has reached out to me through the power of prayer and worship.

After all, God is bigger than the Bogey man.



  • Okay T,

    Can I just cut and paste this so I don't have to do my own SWB post today?

    What is that old Dan Fogelberg/Tim somebody album? Twin Sons of Different Mothers. Dudette! Sometimes I think we are twin daughters of different mothers.

    Thanks so, so much for sharing every week. I look forward to it so much and often your SWB posts get me thinking or facing something that I need to examine.

    You're the best!

    By Blogger Mary-LUE, at 2:20 PM  

  • I don't like facing the mouse in my potholder drawer either. Things that sneak up on you and poof you're stuck in a glue trap you set for the mouse.
    Still thinking on the fear issues... thanks for the insights.

    By Blogger Lamont, at 2:43 PM  

  • Mary, sorry I wasn't around to give you permission. Of course, I really enjoyed what you wrote, so I'm glad I wasn't. I get that twin feeling sometimes when I am reading at your place too. LOL

    lamont, so nice to see you here. I have popped by your places a few times. Let me know if you need help getting out of the sticky trap. I'll be the one dragging my leg behind me. It was injured in a freak mousetrap accident. ;)


    By Blogger atypical, at 12:17 AM  

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