For some reason, I scare really easy. It could be that I’ve had some scary things happen in my life. Or maybe it’s because I work in a field where I see bad things happen to people every day. Or it could be all the Dateline murder mysteries I watch. Who knows. But whatever the reason, I scare easily. Especially at night.
When I used to live by myself, I would literally close and lock my bedroom door and then drag a dresser in front of it so no one could get in. And that was after locking up my home and thoroughly checking each and every closet and under the bed and behind the shower curtains to make sure no one had snuck in somehow and would get me in the middle of the night. Ridiculous, I know. But hey – I’m still alive and that’s always been the goal.
Recently though, the fear has seemed worse. Every noise I hear at night freaks me out. The other night, Tom got up to use the bathroom and I heard something, so I stood up and went to go check the other room and saw him walking back into the bedroom. Our master bathroom has an arched walkway into it with a big picture window behind it, so when I saw Tom, all I could see was this huge, 6’4” shadow of a man coming toward me. Needless to say, my response was a completely terrified guttural scream. I mean, straight-from-the-depths-of-my-soul-with-everything-in-me scream. Thankfully I didn’t wake the kids.
I’d like to say this is the first time this has happened, when Tom has innocently gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and I screamed like a banshee because I thought he was a murderer coming to get me. But it’s not. It’s probably not even the second time. Seriously, I scare easy.
The next morning, Tom and I were talking about the situation and why I responded the way I did. Tom explained to me that if someone indeed did break into our home with some sort of malicious intent, they likely wouldn’t walk past us into our master bathroom, relieve themselves, and then casually stroll out. (He certainly has a point.) Yet somehow that’s exactly where my mind went. And in that moment, it genuinely scared me.
We then talked about how when we’d stayed at a hotel recently, I wasn’t scared at all. Or when we slept at his mom’s home for Easter weekend, I wasn’t scared there either. Ironically, I’m the most scared when we’re at home.
As I processed through my feelings a bit and realized how they seem to have gotten worse in the past little while, I started to consider that maybe part of the reason I’m scared is because I’ve been made acutely aware over the last five months that bad things do happen – even in our own home. Losing Benny is one of the worst things that I think could happen to us, and it happened right here in our home. Thankfully we’ve had some incredibly sweet and even spiritual moments in our home since, but that apparently doesn’t stop my mind from remembering the trauma that unfolded here back in November and that even in our beautiful home, bad things still happen.
Typing this now, I can see how almost silly it seems. Our home is safe. Our neighborhood is safe. Our city is safe. Even this state and country are safe. We are blessed to be generally very safe. I need to remember that. I don’t want to be scared. I don’t want to panic every time I hear a noise at night. I don’t want to prevent myself from falling asleep by reeling through the list of possible bad things that could happen.
But you know what I realized the night Tom and I talked about it? I can’t do it alone. Yes, I have to do my part, but if I sincerely want help, I need to turn to the Lord. (Such a novel idea, right? I feel like I’m a strong person of faith, and yet somehow the most simple, faith-filled solutions aren’t always as obvious to me as they should be.)
So I prayed. Well, first I decided to stop watching every Dateline episode that ever existed. Because I knew I couldn’t ask the Lord to bless me to not be scared if I wasn’t doing my part and filling my mind with things that scare me. So I stopped watching and started praying. And guess what? It worked. Goodness, has it worked! For the past week or so since I’ve been praying at night to not be scared, I haven’t been scared. I haven’t been scared by noises at night. I haven’t worried about Tom getting up and me not realizing it’s him. I haven’t kept myself awake thinking about what could go wrong. I just haven’t been scared.
Through so many experiences in my life, I’ve learned that the Lord wants to bless us, but we have to do our part and ask. He is right there waiting and willing, but we have to do our part, which includes reaching out to Him and asking for His help. Even though being scared is a silly issue, He still cared enough to hear my prayers and then help comfort me so I’m no longer scared. He cares about us. He cares about our problems, big and small. And He wants to bless us and help us get through them.
I’m really glad He’s helping me not be scared anymore. I’m even more glad He’s helping me process through the grief of losing Benny. For some reason, that’s been easier to ask His help with than being scared. Sometimes I think it’s that way – we’re quick to reach up when the big trial overtakes us, but in the everyday trials, we rely on our own strength to get through. I’ve realized though that I can’t get through this by myself – any of it. Being scared at night and the pain of losing Benny. I need His help. I need His strength. And I’m grateful that every time I’ve thought to ask, even if the thought came late in the game, He has been there for me and helped me get through.
I’m sure grateful I asked. And I’m even more grateful to know He is there.
