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.