Freaky Mom at the Swimming Pool

There's this great swimming pool about 30 minutes from our house.  It is a lovely spot, set far away from the city of Palangkaraya and tucked in a quiet village on the only hill for miles around.  We love going there on Saturday nights.  We order chicken curry and watch the kids swim.  I like to get in the tepid water for a quick swim and enjoy the little chill-bumps that raise on my skin when I step back out of the water into the fresh night air. 

Last time we were there, there was a huge storm rumbling as the sun set.  By the time the kids were in the pool, it was a downpour.  Our friends were with us, and while the kids jumped into the pool, we adults found ourselves a spot out of the rain where we could visit.

Every time the lightning struck, I'd glance nervously around, start counting the seconds that passed before I heard the thunder.  I was a worried wreck.  Five precious little people, including 3 of my own, were swimming in the midst of a storm.  The storm was quickly moving on and the men (pilots who are great observers of the sky and its weather) were totally unconcerned.  They knew and trusted what I couldn't - our kids were fine, the storm was moving on, the lightning was nowhere near us. 

But when one particularly strong and bright bolt lit up the night sky, I lost it.  I started screaming at the kids, "Get out!  Get out!"  I looked to the other adults wildly and shouted, "They have to get out of there!"  They blinked at me, slack-mouthed.  The kids, though very confused, obeyed.  Bless their little hearts.  And Sean, thinking I'd finally lost my ever-loving mind, let me rave on like a lunatic without trying to reason with me.  He knows when to chose his battles.

Two minutes after my tirade, there still hadn't been another bolt of lightning or even any thunder.  The rain had diminished to a fine drizzle.  Five soggy kids sat near us, begging to go back in.  After about 5 minutes, I was thoroughly miserable with myself and I told the kids to go ahead and jump back in.  We went on with a very fun evening but I just couldn't stop remembering myself acting like some hysterically parnoid mother on a bad sit-com.

Where on earth did that come from?

Sometimes, worry and fear get the better of me.  Bad news, scary world events, stories of accidents, and all that could go wrong whirl around in my mind and  make me do crazy things.  They make me stop trusting God.  I start to think that it is somehow up to me to predict and avoid all that could possibly go wrong.

I fight fears everyday.  Some days I win, other days I flail my arms and freak out and totally embarrass myself (and my husband) at swimming pools. On bad days, worry feels like the way I love my family. If I worry enough about everything, nothing bad can happen to them. If they won't be fearful, I'll be fearful for them.  I try to predict every possible thing that could go wrong and I do my level best to squeeze all the danger fun out of living. I can do a pretty good job of it.

I don't want to be that kind of mom. And I don't want to live a life that denies my faith - a life that shows distrust in a Soveriegn God and puts greater faith in my own faulty, human attempts to avoid disaster.  What do I know that God doesn't already know?  Is God not good enough to protect those I love and give us the grace in situations we couldn't have predicted?  Do I really believe in a good, loving God...do I really trust Him?

Trust is a funny thing.  It must be put into practice daily.  It is a skill to be sharpened, a favorite sore spot for the enemy to pick at, certainly a weak spot for most mothers.  When your flesh gets the best of you and you totally - like totally - flip out, you have to get back up and try again. So, I'm back up and I'm learning to trust...again.

Do you struggle to trust?  Does worry feel like your ministry to your loved ones?  Do you ever just think that if you go ahead and fear the worst, that will somehow prevent it from coming true?