The Strongest Emotion

We are almost to October, which if you have been following for any length of time, you will know is my favorite month. October is beautiful. The month stretches out with days of perfection and many fun annual activities. My least favorite part of October is the endless parade of gory decorations and details. Haunted houses. Haunted haywagons. You name it. It's everywhere. I have never understood the apparent fascination with haunted activities which incites internal fear and preys on it for fun.

Now, I have been to some haunted houses in my day. To young adult males it seems like the perfect fall outing. The logic might go something like this..."If I take this young lady out to a scary place, she'll instinctively cling to me in reaction to the fear she feels." Men are naturally protective, so in addition to the thrill in the young teenaged heart at being close to another, there is also the validation of manhood. Of protection. In my case, however, it does not behoove a young man to take me to a haunted house. My experience will be one of stark reality and not as an outsider looking in on fearful proceedings. I would make you go first, potentially I would cling to you, but I will be closing my eyes while you drag me through seven floors of terror. Your reward for such amazing physical stamina will either be a good smack or the silent treatment for having such a stupid idea. Save your money and let's eat pizza.

Fear.

Out of all the emotions, fear might be the most powerful. Fear is often even stronger than love. It motivates. It warps. It catalyzes. It cripples.

I have a fear of heights that seems to have increased as I age. On my recent vacation, I hiked up a mountain trail that winds always upward, always right near the edge of the cliff. Friends, I barely made it. Sheer panic overtook me at every turn. The tickle in your throat that becomes a full blown inability to breathe clearly. It's crippling. The more you try to calm yourself, the more quickly the panic rises. In my case, I feel like such an idiot that it stimulates the tear ducts. So. There I was. On the side of the mountain, clinging to the cliff, crying, gasping for air for now two reasons, while people passed me by. It was humiliating.

Fear. There are many reasons we encounter it. By far, the worst is when we feel unable to control what causes it or have a resolution for the situations that inspire it. Just this past week, I received news that again made me experience fear. Full-blown. Struggle-to-breathe fear. I sat in my car and gasped for air as panic rose in my throat, cutting off my airway. My reaction was instinctive because I felt I had no control.

I do not think it is a coincidence that in Scripture fear is discussed multiple times. We are encouraged not to fear. We are encouraged to know God is near to us. There is much to fear. People. Experiences. Loss. Tragedy. I'll just say it...haunted houses. The reasons for fear are ever present, but I have no greater consolation than the fact that Jesus walked this earth and understands my fear. He understands that the actions of others cause me fear. He understands it is difficult to get past the fear and pain of past experiences. And he says....trust me. I understand your fears, but I also see the end and everything in between. And my greatest promise is this...and, lo, I am with you, Angela, even to the end of the age....

Uniquely Gifted

I am uniquely gifted, you guys. I hope you are listening closely. I have the rare gift of brilliant, shiny, stubborn independence. Take note here. I would rather die than ask for assistance of any kind. Do not help me. I do not want your help. I have all the things under control. All the time.

I did think about learning my lesson one time...

In the fall of 2009, Ryan was slated for a twelve month deployment to Iraq. Aaron was not quite two years old, and he still rather refused to sleep through all the nights. One particular night in early October, I was returning him to his bed without the assistance of light for my path. I thought I was on the landing and firmly planted my right foot, but unfortunately I was midstep on the stair and started to trip. I quickly turned my body so I wouldn't fall directly on my son and together we fell to the landing. I instantly knew something was not right. Pain. In my right foot. Instant nausea. Aaron, smartly, ran off to bed while I proceeded to roll around on the floor for awhile like all reasonable people do at 0300. I then painfully, gingerly, hobbled/crawled back to bed. Later that morning we would find out that I had my first broken bone.

Ryan left us 7 days later.

Now. What is a single mother of two children under the age of four going to do in a multi level house with no relatives and a broken foot?

If you answered - "Go crazy." Yes. Certainly that is quite right, quite right.

If you answered - "Cry." Certainly tears were shed over the situation.

If you answered - "Ask for help." I'm going to have to go ahead and give a thumbs down on that one.

I asked the doctor for a special shoe so that I could drive the short distance to the store for groceries. He wasn't keen but he acquiesced. He said I needed to use my left foot for both pedals. Hum, quite a conundrum if you've never tried it.

I parked myself on the middle level for sleeping.

I bought a stool on wheels from Harbor Freight to support my right knee and zipped around the main floor which housed the kitchen, laundry room, the boys' bedrooms and a full bathroom.

I decided absolutely unequivocally I would proceed to potty train Aaron because I have strict, very strict, rules about waiting a day past 24 months to begin. Oh. Mylanta. Aaron's will is almost as strong as my own. (Hence why you do not wait past 24 months because children know it is a battle of wills at this point rather than simply accepting the fact that humans void on a toilet and not in our pants.) I chased that naked-from-the-waist down boy all over the place while he gleefully left a trail of pee for me to roll through; simultaneously, unbeknownst to me, Noah sprayed Pledge all over the kitchen floor.

Do you know how slippery that might possibly be?

Yeah. Me neither.

Until I sailed after Aaron, crutches tap tapping.

Crutches went opposite directions. Stool continued without me. Ohmaword. Just. Ohmaword.

(But. That boy was fully trained in two weeks time and we never had to look back.)

A few days later it was the first of the trash days. Now. Our house sat lower than the street which means the bin would have to go uphill. In hindsight, I would have definitely attempted this under cover of night but that is what got us in this mess to begin with. I can only imagine the field day the neighbors had watching this. Popcorn for ten.

I contemplated the stool, the bin, the crutches.

Strategy locked and loaded.

Attempt #1 - terrible.

Logistics are not a strength. Duly noted.

Attempt #2

As I approach the incline, I realize that I can't actually push the bin, while using the stool and one crutch. It would have to be a pulling strategy. But how to propel myself forward while balancing and pulling the bin at a tipping level but not too low....

Lost the bin. Fail.

Sit down on the hill. Rethink my life to this point.

I will not be bested.

I reclaim the bin and contents and drag that puppy up like a boss. And when I say "boss" I mean like an angry, stool-less, crutch-less rabbit hopping on one leg. Bless it.

I will leave out the part of the story where next all three of us got the flu.... Vomit. Lots of it. Pee. Gnashing of teeth. Double bless it.

I'd like to say I completely learned my lesson.

Ask for help. Accept help. And all the people said "Amen."

But, no, I'm still struggling. Still. Help me out, friends, wordlessly come alongside and just do what I'm doing. Hop, slide, chase. I'm not brave enough to ask you. You will have to be brave enough for the both of us.