A Phobia?

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Last night after I’d finished writing a blog about snakes, Birgitta and I talked about my snake-aversion. “Is it a phobia?” she said.

The dictionary defines “phobia” as persistent, irrational fear of something specific that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it. The answer is yes. But as we talked, Birgitta tried to dispel my fear by Googling a few facts.

She typed “Michigan snakes” into the search bar, forcing me to jump to a chair where I wouldn’t see the screen when pictures appeared.

Phobia for sure.

I know God is working on me, though, trying to rid me of it. Last spring Klaus found a dead snake (a blue racer) in our driveway, apparently run over by a car. As a joke he tucked it under Louisa’s windshield wiper. But wouldn’t you know, it was me who drove the car next, and of course it was drizzling. When the wiper blade shot up, the snake came with it, looking right at me and wiggling as if alive. I didn’t sleep for days.

Then last summer while walking Jack, I saw another run-over snake, this one brown and black. And last fall while riding bikes, we passed a yard-long garter snake traveling on the edge of our road. That’s 3 snakes in 3 seasons, a sure sign God is having his way with me.

Birgitta narrowed her Google search to SW Michigan and read aloud, hoping to prove my fear was irrational. But she kept coming up against facts she said I wouldn’t like, such as: many snakes have 30 to 50 young every year. My mind flashed a picture of snake-carpet covering our entire neighborhood, and my phobia strengthened.

Birgitta said, “When did your fear get started?”

We pinned it down to a 1951 family vacation in Florida. Mary (age 7) and I (age 5) had come across a poisonous coral snake in the yard behind our motel, and Dad’s reaction was uncharacteristic of him. “Stand back!” he yelled. “Get away!” as he attacked with a broom. That probably started my snakes-are-bad mentality.

Studying Genesis and “the serpent of old”* didn’t help, especially after I noticed that the snake was the only animal God ever cursed.**

Whatever the cause of my phobia, I know beyond doubt the Lord is offering to help. As I climbed the stairs to face another worrisome night, Google’s statement that snakes don’t do steps (since they can’t bend to 90 degrees) was reassuring. Then, surprisingly, as I crawled between the sheets, God gave me a tiny sliver of consideration for snakes: no hands, no feet, afraid of mankind, divinely cursed, and always eating dust. It’s not much of a life.

Cartoon snake

Maybe some distant day, we’ll even be friends.

This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength.” (Isaiah 30:15)

*Revelation 12:9, 20:2    ** Genesis 3:14

Trying to Trust

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Welcoming a new baby is an immense blessing, a gift from God unmatched by any other. Along with every newborn, however, comes a list of responsibilities that can scare even the most well-prepared woman. The buck stops at mommy, and it’s her job to make sure baby grows and thrives. But what about mommy?

Babies have erratic sleep patterns, and a cat-napping little one translates to mama-exhaustion. Worst of all is the middle-of-the-night, wide-awake baby who thinks it’s playtime. Although mothers usually thrill to a baby’s giggles and grins, during the night it’s cause for despair.

Snatching sleep

Last night, 6 month old Emerald did the playtime-at-night thing… for hours. When I came downstairs this morning and saw rumpled blankets on the living room floor, I knew it’d been a night of action with Birgitta eeking out bits of sleep in the midst of Emerald’s playground…. surely a mothering low point.

New moms, though, aren’t the only ones who battle sleeplessness. Sometimes when Birgitta is “doing a night” downstairs, I’m upstairs doing one, too, wasting precious zzzz’s tending to my worries.

Of course the struggle is all in my head but is no less real than what’s happening downstairs. Yesterday, for example, while climbing a small dune, I stepped over something frightening: a long, winding snake track in the soft sand. Fearful of snakes, I froze, wondering if the track-maker was nearby. My eyes followed its trail till it disappeared into the woods, and from the markings, I could tell it was a big one.

Snake track

Then last night, as I put my head on the pillow, I asked God to spare me from snake nightmares. He did, but I forgot to also mention stray thoughts. About 3:30 am I was awake and wondering:

  • What would make a snake cross an exposed sand dune like that?
  • Did it come out of a hole close-by?
  • Were there others lurking about, maybe a nest of wriggling babies?
  • Might snakes be in the woods outside my house?
  • Could a snake get into my house? Could it climb the steps?
  • Would a snake try to bite me?
  • Would it be something I could ever forget?

Birgitta’s sleep deprivation wasn’t her fault. Mine was.

As a Christian with an invitation to access Christ’s power, why did I lie awake and agonize as I had? Didn’t I trust God to take care of me? Haven’t I memorized Scriptures about pushing back fear? And the most poignant question, don’t I believe God would help me cope if I had a snake-encounter? [shudder]

Snake evidence

In the light of day, the Lord let me know the purpose of last night’s misery: he’s working on my trust issues. Although it doesn’t feel very good to be tested, the Bible tells me he’s going to do it again anyway, probably in the near future. I’m only hoping it won’t have to do with snakes, but….

*            *            *            *            *            *

All things considered, maybe Birgitta has the better night-time gig.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him.” (Romans 15:13)

Maximizing Minimums

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In yesterday’s blog we talked about taking advantage of teachable moments that pop up in everyday life, things like being given too much change at a store or not being charged for everything we bought. Rather than look at these moments as irritating inconveniences, wisdom tells us to view them as golden opportunities.

Mary and I, now in our late sixties, look back at our active mothering years and see lots of things we’d do differently if we could begin again. One of them would be to maximize the minimums, in other words, use small moments to teach big concepts.

This would include the obvious, like the extra change situation, but also less apparent chances to teach youngsters. Mary said, “One thing I wish is that I’d involved my kids more in giving to others.”

I reminded her she’d done a great deal, taking meals to people in crisis, driving Meals on Wheels for a hospital, tutoring children after school. She stopped me, though, and said, “But I didn’t usually let my kids help me. It was much easier to get it done without them.” We agreed these were still good deeds, but both of us had forfeited teachable moments.

As we talked, though, we did come up with two times when we did teach our young children through everyday circumstances:

Hot chocolate

  1. Mary and her carload of children drove the same route to school for years, always passing an elderly crossing guard who daily helped young children cross the street (to a different school than Mary’s children attended). She remarked to her kids about this man’s faithfulness to his task, rain or shine, and wondered how they might show admiration for this stranger. Her children decided, during a very cold winter, to bring a thermos of hot chocolate to him and a thank you for a job well done. Whether or not the old man appreciated it, Mary’s children learned to consider the effort of someone else and express thanks for it.

Leopard-lined gloves2. In driving my own carpool daily (to a different school), the children and I always passed an older woman bowed over with extreme osteoporosis. Gripping a walker, she inched along a particular stretch of sidewalk next to a middle-aged man, no doubt her son, painfully exercising at the same time every day. We looked for her as we came down the street, and my children wondered what we might do to encourage her. They decided to buy her a pair of warm winter gloves and deliver them with an original poem of admiration. On the day we stopped our van for them to jump out and approach her, I knew we’d accomplished something worthwhile in my kids.

Surely countless other examples could serve as ways to maximize teachable moments for children, whether our own or someone else’s. Jesus instructed us to be of practical help to others, not just for their benefit but for ours, too. He knew that would make everybody happy.

“How joyful are those who fear the Lord…. They share freely and give generously to those in need.” (Psalm 112:1,9)