Facing my fears

This past Christmas I stood on my moms kitchen, crying, talking to my two older brothers. I was talking about some things that I was afraid of and then seemed as if all my fears just came rolling out.  I remember standing at the counter, crying and crying and my brother standing across from me with sadness in his eyes.  I could see he felt bad for me, that he knew I was stuck in this fear and that I wanted out.

Ever since I was a little kid I have been a worrier. When I was about 13 my parents put me in counseling which really seemed to help me learn how to cope with the things I was worried about but never really deal with them or teach me how to face them. Standing in my parents kitchen this past Christmas feeling like a sacred little kid I made a mental decision that I just didn't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to walk in this life scared and afraid of things and never really living.  Determined to not be afraid anymore I prayed and prayed.  The same prayer I have prayed many times before, asking God to remove my fear.

I spent the next two months reconnecting with an old friend and helping her walk through one of the most difficult things she will probably ever face. I spent countless hours talking and praying with her, praying for her on my own and trying to help encourage her through a very difficult time. In the midst of her own emotional turmoil she was determined to make some changes in life.  I am so proud of her and inspired by her!  We made a deal just before I left for our trip to Alabama that she would face one of her biggest fears if I was willing to face one of mine.

Before arriving at our hotel here in Alabama I had called ahead and requested a room on the first floor.  It seemed like it would make sense, easier to get in and out every day with the girls, but also so that I wouldn't have to ride the elevator.  Upon check in, a very sweet southern gal handed me our room keys and said you're in room 317.  I looked at her, my stomach in a knot and said, "is there anything available on the first floor?" "No ma'am" she replied, "our bigger suites are only on the 2nd and 3rd floors".  Dang it.  And wouldn't God make it happen that way, not put us on the 2nd floor where I could take the stairs easily, but on the 3rd floor so that it would be more difficult to get in and out unless I was willing to ride the elevator.

Don't laugh.  I know what you're thinking.  An elevator?  That's your big fear?  Yes, it is.  I know it sounds silly but it goes much deeper than that.  It symbolizes so much and it's crippling. A few jobs in the past required the occasional elevator ride and most of the time I found a way around it.  I would always find the stairs or just stand there and wait until someone would get on with me.  I would usually have full on panic attacks while riding.  My heart would race, my hands would sweat and I would pace around. I hate elevators.  It's the feeling of being trapped, being alone in a small space.  Being totally helpless and dependent on others if I do get stuck.  And if I do get stuck, surely I would be forgotten and people would leave me there.  And therein lies the core issues.  Trust and the fear of abandonment. Without telling you my entire life story I can sum it up for you and tell you that trust was broken time and time again and I grew up believing I was not worth fighting for.  I learned early in life that you can only really trust yourself and because of that only you can really help yourself.  As an adult I can say I know this isn't true.  You have to trust others.  There are times to be cautious of who we trust and there are times when trust is broken and it has to be earned back but overall, I needed to let go of being in control and trust.

The first two weeks here were a total nightmare for me.  I was willing to ride the elevator when Dave was around but that was it.  When it was the girls and me, we took the stairs.  Picture this: me with two backpacks, a stroller with a baby in it, a toddler and often times her shoes that she would kick off in the hallway.  I would lug us up and down the stairs a few times a day.  It took a solid 5 minutes (on a good day) to get from our room to the main floor.  It was insane and my back was killing me.  I would try to ride the elevator.  I wanted to.  I would stand there and coach myself through it but could never muster up the strength to try it.

Back to my friend: we were on the phone one evening, talking for a few hours and then we prayed together.  I can't even remember the prayer but in the middle of it I clearly heard the Lord say to me, "why do you trust me to take away her fears but not your own?"  Crap. Fine, I thought, I'll do it.

It was Good Friday.  Dave came home from work and I told him today was the day I was going to do it.  He looked at me and smiled and said, "well ok then, let's go!" We took the girls and went out to the elevator and rode up and down a few times to practice.  I really tried to pay attention to every sound and I even timed the ride on my phone.  23 seconds.  Finally, Dave left me and the girls on the 1st floor and said he'd see us upstairs in a bit.  I know what you're thinking, I wasn't alone, I was with the girls.  True, but that's a huge step for me.  I have never ridden an elevator without a peer or an adult.  Ever. The girls and I paced around for a while on the 1st floor, both of them totally clueless as to what was going on.  The manager walked by me a couple times and I told him what I was doing and he just chuckled.  Finally, we got on.  I called Dave and made him stay on the phone with me the whole time.  I couldn't panic in front of the girls.  They need their Mama to be brave so I didn't want to show any signs of fear.  And what do ya know?  We arrived safe and sound on the 3rd floor, and the doors opened.  Then Dave said we should try it again so we went back down.  He snapped this picture of us as we got off.

I was so proud of myself!  Timid, I tried it again with the girls over the weekend and then Easter Sunday, in the evening, I rode it alone.  I was on the phone with my mom and she encouraged me to just do it.  She was so sweet and pep talked me the entire ride and as I walked off she screamed and cheered like I had just won a gold medal at the Olympics.  She knew this moment was big for me.  I had faced something I had feared for as long as I can remember.  And ya know what? It was freeing.  I felt like a huge weight had been lifted.  It's not just a 23 second elevator ride.  It's a lifetime of being afraid of things I don't have to be afraid of.  It's years of not trusting being healed.  It's knowing that even though my family and friends will let me down from time to time I can always trust in Jesus to get me through.  It's know that I am not alone, I am not forgotten.

To date I have ridden the elevator more times than I can count both with the girls and all alone. Sometimes I still get nervous and when that happens I just turn on some praise and worship music and force myself on.  Seriously, this is huge for me.  I am letting go and learning to trust. I know that I am important enough to be remembered should the elevator actually get stuck.  And odds are good that it won't!