Last week my friend Michelle who writes over at Correct and Continue posed the question–
What are you afraid of?
In the moments of quiet that find their way into my days and rapidly disappear, I have thought about this question.
And I have worked on my answer to that.
Spiders. Definitely. No doubt. I don’t play about that.
I have finally decided to find it quirky and embrace it rather than work through it. Family lore has it that when I was maybe four and Sister was nearly one, I started losing it over a spider I saw on the floor. Sister reached over and smashed it with her hand. She may or may not have then licked said hand. That bit’s a little fuzzy. Needless to say, I spent all my years after that, when I was living at home, calling her to my rescue. One of the reasons our front porch and front flower bed needs so much attention now is my arachnophobia. I’m done. My Fella knows, and he says we will do it together. I’m good with that. Spiders. Just. No.
Boogie Man. Well, who’s not, really? Am I right? The embodiment of all evil and darkness in the world. Don’t need him around either.
Something bad happening to someone I love. Been there, done that. But I don’t think that exempts me from a future without any more of this. When the littles get sick, like Cooter has been since last night, if I don’t block the door so Anxiety Girl can’t get in, I have to deal with her and all of her what if’s and panic-laden thoughts. I’m trying though. She and I really aren’t good for each other. At all.
Oh I could go on and on. Odd stuff. Thanks to the Tylenol tampering and subsequent deaths of 1982, I have a moment of stress when I open a new bottle/bag/container of something. I want to make sure that joker is SEALED. I unplug things that my Daddy taught me could be fire hazards before I leave my house. I double-check the locks at night. And when I’m leaving. I worry that I will lose my wallet. Or my phone. I’ve tried to do both a time or two.
But none of those can touch what I think is my greatest fear.
I am afraid of becoming comfortable.
I could, you know. I have the potential to do just that.
I could stay at home and hang out in my little world of times tables, Harry Potter reading, Lego building, cleaning up, cooking and feeding, and teaching and healing and kissing boo boos. I could do that, and it would be okay. It would be comfortable and the right thing and I would be taking care of business in my home, in my own part of the world.
But here’s a thought. One that speaks to my heart and calls me out. Something that I saw today on the Facebook page of Love Wins Ministries, which “shares unconditional love and friendship with the homeless and poor population of Raleigh, North Carolina.”
Yep. See, if I become comfortable in my own little world, oblivious and unaware and indifferent to the suffering and heartbreak and loneliness and brokenness of those who share this world with me, I’ve missed out. That is my fear. That I will become comfortable and unaware and indifferent. And if I do, an important part of living, of being on this journey will be gone.
I’ve learned this, through watching my parents and the example they set:
Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.
Fill in the blank with almost anything.
Just because you can–
eat the whole pizza at one sitting…..
get a new credit card…..
speak your mind to the one who cut you off in traffic…..
buy yourself a new purse, a new car, a new pair of boots……
doesn’t mean you should.
We are all connected. I can become comfortable and indifferent and think that any one of those things won’t affect someone else. In my own little world, I might think that what happens to “them” “elsewhere” doesn’t have one iota of anything to do with me.
And I’d be lying to myself, wouldn’t I? Because, as Martin Luther King, Jr. said:
“It really boils down to this: that all life is interrelated. We are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied into a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one destiny, affects all indirectly.”
What is my greatest fear?
Losing that sense of connectedness, however painful as it may be to be aware, connected. And living in my own little world, unaware and indifferent to the stories of those around me.
It could happen. It would be so easy to go there.
But for me, I can’t let it.
Because while I’d be comfortable, I wouldn’t be living the life I was meant to live.
And that’s what I’m most afraid of. Not living as I was meant to. Made to.
Love and a beautiful, uncomfortable moment or two to all.