Fear.

I've always been a fearful person. When I was younger, this fear was lived out mostly in the midst of storms. I have very clear memories of putting on my bicycle helmet and getting in our hallway whenever there were any tornado watches.

Last year when we moved to Hattiesburg, my fears got obsessive. I felt like I no longer had control over my thoughts. I couldn't sleep at night. I had panic attacks that came out of seemingly nowhere. I was imagining the worse case scenarios in absolutely every moment. When I was driving, I was picturing what it would be like to crash. When I was in a grocery store, I was thinking about a shooter coming in the building and where my nearest exit would be. When we were eating, I would imagine Wilson choking on his food. When we were in bed, I was thinking of our plan of escape if a burglar entered our house. And at the sound of every helicopter flying, I just knew they were coming to drop a bomb.

I know it sounds crazy. In the midst of my thoughts, I knew they were crazy. But what was so frustrating was that I could not make them stop. It was an obsession. An idol. Fear was something that I was worshiping... because it gave me a perceived sense of control.

I wish I could tie up this story with a nice bow and say that fear no longer has control over me, but that is not quite the case. I'm still in the mess of it. But there have been some sweet stories of rescue in the midst that I wanted to share. Jesus has continually been rescuing me from myself.

In November we had a miscarriage. It seems strange to say this, but in a way it was a rescue. There was a two week time period where we were not sure if the baby would grow or not... and looking back, I realized that the waiting and fearing was worse than the losing. In a book about fear, "Running Scared," by Ed Welch, he talks about how when we fear we are factoring in everything but grace, the most true thing. The miscarriage was an alter for me to remember that God's grace was truly sufficient for me. Everything bad that I had imagined, did in fact come true... but I didn't imagine, couldn't imagine, how gracious He would be to me in the midst of it all.

And then there was last Sunday. You do not truly know me until you see me during a tornado watch or warning. The first warning at 2:30 had me pacing, biting my fingernails, shaking... Andrew finally said, "Let's go to a sturdier building so you will calm down." We got Wilson up from his nap and drove to the USM library, me checking on my phone on the way to make sure it was open during the Mardi Gras break. It was open until 6. Inside, I felt calm and safe. We went back home. Second tornado warning. Wilson was back asleep for his second-try nap. I didn't want to inconvenience the family because of my fear idol... but oh did I long to go back to that strong building. Andrew saw it in my eyes (and pacing, and shaking) and he said, "Let's go." On our way out the door, we heard the weatherman say it had touched down and could be a mile wide. That's when I started saying "Jesus"... I've never said his name so many times in 15 minutes. We left our house to drive the mile to campus... just missing coming face to face with the tornado by maybe 15 minutes. As I said Jesus' name over and over on our drive, I heard in my head "The name of the Lord is a strong tower, the righteous run into and are safe." Inside that library I felt like nothing could touch me or my family. The lights flickered for a minute, and we had no idea that the tornado was ripping through the campus right in front of us.

Now, I am still very much broken. But Jesus did something in my heart on Sunday that I hope I will never forget. He reminded me that fear is a flimsy a shelter... but His name: Jehovah Jireh (God who provides), El Roi (God who sees), El Shaddai (God Almighty) is a Strong Tower. In the same way that I longed to run back to the library on Sunday (because I had tasted the feeling of safety I had there), I am hoping that moments of fear will bring me to a place of running into the safety of His Name. And that is my ongoing story of rescue... may Jesus keep rescuing me from myself.