Darkness

Darkness. I've always been afraid of it, of the unknown lurking out there just beyond what my eyes can see. When I was a little girl, I shared a room with my older sister for a while, and I remember night after night lying in bed and looking over at her. Watching her sleep, I would think to myself, "When I'm big like her I won't be scared anymore."

Only, growing up didn't automatically take away the fear.

I am naturally prone to worry. I don't know what it is about our genetic makeup, but that seems to be a common trait in my family. I'm at least third generation worrier. But I had no idea how fear could control a person's life until I had children of my own.

My mom thinks it stems from an experience I had as a young child, and I think she might be right. When I was four years old, my baby brother developed spinal meningitis. He spent several nights in the hospital, and he was not expected to live. Praise God, his little body was miraculously healed and today he is a healthy guy with two boys of his own. But as a four-year-old, realizing my little brother was so sick he could die was a pretty traumatic experience. And although my parents and grandparents tried to protect my sister and me from the bleakness of the situation, I think we were quite aware of what was going on.

It makes sense, then, that when I had my own children I was terrified of every little illness. It all came crashing down on me when Lukas was about five months old and Stefan was two. A stomach virus went through our family, and I completely freaked out. For months afterward my nerves were on edge. Would they get sick again? What would happen if they did?

I couldn't sleep; I would just lie there and listen for any little sound over the baby monitor. I would get up repeatedly throughout the night and go into their room, just to check and make sure they were okay. I would hover over them during the day, my heart racing at any little out-of-the-ordinary thing I might notice. Or think I noticed.

Then the panic attacks began. My heart felt like it would pound right out of my chest. I could hear the ocean in my ears, like I was holding one of those shells up to both ears, only magnified a thousand times. I would get so hot that I would actually get sweaty as though I had just been working out. And my stomach would be in knots.

The most frightening thing about a panic attack for me was the complete loss of control. As much as I told myself the boys were fine, I was completely overreacting, I could not talk myself out of what I was feeling. I could not calm myself down. There was a physical response to my emotional stress that was beyond my ability to control.

As a result of all of this, doing things and going places became frightening to me. What kind of germs would my boys come into contact with? Would it make them sick? It would have been so easy for me to lock myself up in our house and never go out again.

There were times when I did lock myself in the bathroom and sit in the bathtub, crying. I didn't even want to be with my children anymore, because by my irrational way of thinking, the only way to stop worrying about them was to get away from them. It was, without a doubt, the darkest time I have ever experienced in my life.

And then, one Sunday, our pastor spoke about those whining and complaining Israelites. They mumbled and grumbled about having no food in the desert, so God sent them manna from heaven. The strict command was to gather only what they would eat in one day, except on the sixth day. That day, they were to gather enough for the seventh day as well, so it could remain a day of rest. Well, some of them obeyed God's command, but others hoarded the manna, gathered too much and kept it until the next day. When they awoke, the manna they had kept was full of maggots.

I thought to myself, "Those stupid Israelites! God told them exactly what they needed to do. After all the miracles they had seen him do, didn't they trust that he would provide for them the next day, too?" Then it hit me, right between the eyes. I was just like they were! Here I was, passing judgment on them, when I was not able to trust God to provide, protect, and care for my family day to day - even after I had witnessed His care and provision time and time again.

It was then that I realized I was in the midst of a spiritual battle. Satan was trying to destroy my family, and at that point, he was winning. I resolved that I could no longer live in darkness and let Satan have the victory over my life and the lives of the people I loved the most.

I had no idea what to do, but at least I knew I had to do something. I was ready to run into the light and never look back!

(To be continued...)