panic, princesses and parenting in fear.
Sometimes I let my soul get away from me. It picks up too many germs, from other people, from negativity, from differing theology, from insensitivity, and other souls that simply don’t understand. And then Florence will do something new, something that might scare me and I will let myself wander into the “What ifs…”
Suddenly I’m in the emergency room and she’s not breathing and the neurologist is there saying, “I told you so” and I’m screaming in pain because….
And that is what fear does. It thinks the worst, it imagines it so quickly, we are swept off our feet by it.
Those germs aren’t properly scrubbed off, I forget to wash my soul clean in the blood of Jesus, blood that was shed for a moment such as this. His blood was shed for our sins, for our sicknesses. We can swallow the fact that he died for our sins, but somewhere along the line, healing became a maybe, if you’re good enough, if it’s His will (it’s always His will for us to live an abundant life).
Perhaps we sit by, passive in our faith.
Jesus came to cleanse us, to heal our broken hearts and bodies.
I wish we’d just let Him do His job. And I wish we’d pick up our crosses and follow Him.
But somedays it’s hard, because disbelief and germs tear us apart sometimes.
I ended up on the kitchen floor the other night, heart pounding, body numb. My stomach was tight as a ball, clenched, my head throbbing, my throat constricted, nausea pouring it’s wrath into my belly.
I lay there for ten minutes, staring at the creamy white floor, smelling the food baked in over the years, the slight hint of mint and rosemary left over from scrubbing the floor.
That old feeling, the panic, attacked me like it did after finding out about Florence’s diagnosis. The same feeling, ripping me to shreds. It is a feeling, though. I am ultimately in control of myself.
I know the truth, and if I let it, it will set me free. If I have eyes to see, and ears to hear the good news.
But fear is so easy to dip into sometimes. Justifying our fear, again and again. Fear that makes us sick. Fear that tells us God isn’t good enough, and bad thing happen to good people, and what if God wants to test me. But, in the midst of this pain and trauma IS HE STILL GOD and is He still good enough to cover me?
It takes me some time, but yes, I always come back to the truth, and I can eat again, and I can sleep, and although I can’t take back the day lost to fear, I can move on, chin held high, crowned in His Love, a princess, an heir to the throne, deserving of every good thing from the King, because I have been redeemed. And I’m dreaming “impossible”, supernatural dreams, that are simply natural dreams to the Father.
I am not unworthy. The cross speaks of His goodness and His grace and what he came to do on this earth.
This is from one of my favourite movies, The Little Princess. It is divine. Honestly, every time I watch it, I can’t help but be overwhelmed with tears and love. I feel like it speaks great volumes to my feminine heart, of God’s love for us.
I watched this clip and cried my eyes out. I don’t know if you can understand the symbolism, but it’s so clear to me.
“It’s a cruel nasty world out there and it’s our duty to make the best of it, not to indulge in ridiculous dreams.”
Well. I dream everyday.