My Greatest Fear

My greatest fear is...

someday I'll be like my mother.

Fear: An emotion that prevents us from moving forward and keeps our eyes looking back. An emotion that entangles, and sometimes, strangles us. 


A fellow mom who is expecting her 3rd child asked me how I do "it." (Getting 3 preschoolers in the door while pregnant with a 4th). She said I make it look flawless. If you have been reading my blog for anytime at all, you know I hate this perception! While I do take it as a compliment, I felt like it is time for an open-book moment. Today, it's to share my greatest fear. 


When I was in elementary school, I suffered- and I mean SUFFERED- from stomach ulcers. I was a mere 10 years old (and all ages surrounding). I didn't have a weak stomach. There was no family history of ulcers that made me susceptible to developing such pain. I took medication to keep the inflammation down, but I worried so much that the medicine didn't really help that much. What helped sometimes, was going to our school counselor's office, Mrs. Long, and letting her hold me. Or, sometimes Mrs. Davenport. She was snuggly, too.


Worry was the root of the pain. Not even a teenager, and I was a chronic worrier. I couldn't sleep because in the stillness of night, I would lay awake, thinking- dwelling- on all the bad things that could happen to me. Things no child should sit and fear. We tried counseling, but that didn't help. 


Once I was in high school, teenage drama somewhat took the place of things I traditionally worried about. I began to heal a bit and see worry from a Biblical perspective. It's sin, by the way. By the time I was in college, I began to feel free from the bondage of worry. I began to understand what placing my worries, my fears, my cares, at the the feet of Jesus really meant. Several years went by. Got married. And then.... I had a kid. 


As a child,

• I was deathly afraid that the man who killed my father would ask one of his friends who wasn't in jail to find us and hurt us. Afterall, in my mind, we were the reason he was in jail. Not just jail, Death Row.
• I was deathly afraid that someone would break into our home and harm us. I loved it when it rained. No one broke into homes when it rained because they probably wouldn't want to get wet in the rain, you know. To this day, night rain has a special comfort to me.
• I was deathly afraid something would happen to my mom. She was all I had. And, she had been through so much. I worried that being a single mom would be too much for her and she'd leave us. I had absolutely no reason to believe this, but it's what I manifested in my head! If she were ever late picking me up or showing up to something, I just knew, I just KNEW, she'd been hurt in a car wreck.
• I was deathly hopeful that my father would walk into our home. Deathly hopeful. Strange combination of words. I thought about this as often as I thought about everything else. I'd lay in my bunk bed at night and stare at the door. With my heart pounding, I'd imagine him standing there. And see, what had happened is that they were wrong. It wasn't him that was shot. They just thought it was him. He'd been lost and finally found his way back. Or, sometimes, I thought that maybe he'd not really died, but that we'd mistakenly buried him and he got out of his casket. Trust me, he had alot of explaining to do.

As an adult,
I am deathly afraid that I'll become my mother. Not for all the reasons one typically has this fear. My mom doesn't nag, she knows her boundaries, respects my marriage, encourages me in parenthood, and loves unconditionally.

So, why the fear?

She was widowed by the time she was my current age (28). Widowed with 2 young children to raise. Alone.

Her fate- the story behind who she is today- has petrified me since the day I wed. I've become even more petrified with this idea since becoming a mom myself. It's one of those secret fears that I've never shared with anyone. Not even my husband until recently. I figured it was time I explain why I bark at him to put his seatbelt on or to be careful doing basic things (like mowing the grass). I often lay awake at night gripped with the fear that because she lost her husband to death at a young age, I'll lose mine, too. 

My only defense to these worries is reading, reading, and re-reading Matthew 6:25-34.


As the confessions continue, you must know that there is still something about nighttime that gets to me. There are nights that I lay awake for HOURS, sometimes till the not-so-wee-hours of the morning. I lie awake in bed, body stiff as can be, imagining the "what ifs" of my children's lives. Z has recently grown tall enough (and smart enough!) to unlock the door. On more than one occasion, she's run out to look for her daddy. We live right next to a church parking lot. You know where my thoughts go for that! My son is just barely 5. He's developing intuition. But, he's still young enough that if someone said, "Your mom said to come with me," he might go. Oh, the awful things I've imagined! Being hit by cars, kidnapped, lost, drowning,  the list goes on. And, of course, none of these worries are warranted. I trust God a great deal during the day. But at night, I'm like that little girl laying in bed worrying about her parent. Only this time, I'm a big girl worrying about her kids.


Can you relate to this? I trust God with matters of life. I get sketchy around matters of death. I manifest these CRAZY scenarios that are more than likely, not even possible. These thoughts rob me of peace and rest. While I trust God with the reality, the possibilities are what I struggle to give up. I mean, if my kid gets sick, really sick, I don't really worry. Concerned, of course, but I said it once, I'll say it again, HE loves them more than I do. While I know this to be absolutely true, I still have to fight off the sin of worry and actively place my trust in Him. 


For everything... all matters... life AND death.


And for the record, my mom rocks.