Fear can be quite insidious.
It creeps up on you without you realizing it is happening and then....BAM! You are thinking all kinds of crazy things.
Take for instance me and my vivid imagination.
All it takes for fear to creep in is my husband coming home late.
I like to think of myself as a usually easy-going person. I like to give my husband space. I'm sure the poor man doesn't want a nagging woman asking the five W's like a seasoned reporter the minute he walks in the door.
Of course, I'm yelling in my head at him all the same. After all, he didn't come home just a little while after his normal time.
We're talking LATE, people.
It was dark outside. The kids were getting ready for bed. I was starting to think about calling hospitals.
Of course, I'm telling myself not to worry. It's a sin to worry after all. I'm not putting my trust in God. I have to trust that my husband will be alright and nothing bad is going to happen to him. Everything is just peachy.
And then that insidious voice of fear says, "Yeah, right. He's probably all mangled up in his tiny, little unreliable vehicle after having been smashed to smithereens on the highway by a truck driver who fell asleep at the wheel."
Oh, I have all kinds of scenarios running around in my head.
By the end of the night, I had the man's funeral planned out.
Not kidding.
I had to give myself a good smack in the face after that.
It creeps up on you without you realizing it is happening and then....BAM! You are thinking all kinds of crazy things.
Take for instance me and my vivid imagination.
All it takes for fear to creep in is my husband coming home late.
I like to think of myself as a usually easy-going person. I like to give my husband space. I'm sure the poor man doesn't want a nagging woman asking the five W's like a seasoned reporter the minute he walks in the door.
Of course, I'm yelling in my head at him all the same. After all, he didn't come home just a little while after his normal time.
We're talking LATE, people.
It was dark outside. The kids were getting ready for bed. I was starting to think about calling hospitals.
Of course, I'm telling myself not to worry. It's a sin to worry after all. I'm not putting my trust in God. I have to trust that my husband will be alright and nothing bad is going to happen to him. Everything is just peachy.
And then that insidious voice of fear says, "Yeah, right. He's probably all mangled up in his tiny, little unreliable vehicle after having been smashed to smithereens on the highway by a truck driver who fell asleep at the wheel."
Oh, I have all kinds of scenarios running around in my head.
By the end of the night, I had the man's funeral planned out.
Not kidding.
I had to give myself a good smack in the face after that.
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