Band-Aids

Our two year-old Josh has a thing for band-aids. No "owies" in sight, he can still be found climbing on the bathroom counter in search of band-aids to decorate his body. We shake our heads and I make a mental note to buy another box from the Dollar Store (and put the good ones in a new hiding spot), assuming this is a stage that will pass in time.

This morning at church I was convicted of the ways that I'm not that unlike a two year-old obsessed with putting band-aids on uninjured skin.

Our pastor focused on fear in his sermon, reminding us of how its presence in our lives is a hindrance to our faithfulness. Fear paralyzes us, fuels sin, and separates us from others.

I have to admit that at the beginning of the sermon, I sat quite comfortably, thinking "I'm not a fearful person." But as the message moved on, I started to squirm inside as I was confronted with all the small ways I let fear replace faith in my life. I started to see the ways I worry, foolishly spending energy covering up my own inadequacies, rather than surrendering my thoughts and worries to walk a more meaningful path. I patch my worries with worthless band-aids, instead of seeking true healing and peace from God.

Eight weeks away from my due date, I admit to those moments I've worried about this baby I'm carrying, fearing complications, fearing worst-case scenarios. These are the kind of doubts I don't want to talk about out loud, thoughts that I bury deep inside, as if God isn't already aware. There are prayers that I avoid because they're whispered more out of anxiety than a true desire to seek trust and peace.

I admit to lying awake in the middle of the night, worrying about my job -- questioning whether I'm doing enough for the students in my classroom, adding the tasks on my to-do list, wondering if I'm meeting expectations. Quite honestly, the last several months have been hard ones to be a teacher -- with public criticism of our profession at an all-time high, and as much as I try to close my door, ignore the politics, and focus on what I consider to be my calling, I worry.

And, (please assure me I'm not the only one...) I worry about all the things that don't deserve any more energy than they already take -- the empty fridge, the overflowing laundry room, the stretch marks on my stomach, the way my pregnant outtie belly button is impossible to cover up. (And no, well-intending person invading my comfort zone, you can't touch it.)

In larger ways, I can admit to the ways fear keeps me from listening to God's prodding in my life. I avoid hard conversations, reconcile missed opportunities to serve, and find excuses for not pulling away from life's busyness to sit still and listen.  I shy away from writing because I know it's often the way I'm challenged to think a little harder about what I believe and why. (And because people might read it -- and being vulnerable is scary too.)

I recently read that fear is equivalent to a vote of no confidence in God. And I'm not sure if much makes me feel more out-of-balance than the fact that I often try to carry my own burdens when I have the power and peace of the creator of the universe waiting for me to drop them at His feet.

So, today, I'm committing myself to pull off those useless band-aids of worry and anxiety, and to reveal the dark corners of my life where I need to trust more and fear less.

(Luckily, the band-aid wrappers Josh has scattered all over the house will help keep this commitment fresh in my mind.)