One of the unconsidered joys of living in an old farmhouse surrounded
by horses and fields is the occasional mouse that comes wandering in
looking for shelter. I guess I figured they were probably around, but lately it’s
become more than obvious (i.e. - when
one stops right in front of me and stares for a while).
A few months back,
when I saw the first gray blur scurry past me one night, I screamed so loud that
I woke the kids, and Baileigh came running downstairs. I was standing on top of
the dining room table, so she just joined me. Doug was out coaching that night,
and we actually stood and even slept on the wooden table for almost 3 hours
until he got back. After that incident I hadn’t physically seen one in a while,
but just the other week, Doug and I rented a movie, sat down to relax after the
kiddos were down, and this then little
guy ran out in front of us then ran away then came back again. I stood on top
of the couch hysterically crying, covering my eyes, yelling at Doug to just
tell me when it was over. (We ended up waking up the kids and sleeping at Mima’s
that night because Mommy was unstable.)
So needless to say, this has always been a horrible phobia
of mine. It might have slightly settled down a bit once I became more acquainted
with these guys. But if being 8-months pregnant isn’t enough to keep you awake
at night, a chilling scritch-scratch sound behind the old walls will certainly
do the job. I’m exhausted. After trying every humane, home-remedy (traps, oils,
buzzing machines), we finally taped up the gaping farmhouse holes and got an
exterminator. So I’d say the problem is finally under control, or at least
we’re on the winning side at this point in the game. Plus, literally facing
this fear of mine has toughened me up quite a bit.
Of course, even mice issues bring me back to God though. At
some point, I realized there wasn’t much my husband could do to protect me. I
had spent at least 100 bucks on “best-selling solutions”. And the exterminator, while a relief, said after
his 10-minute treatment to “give it a
week or so.” So who was going to help me? I wasn’t sleeping. I was completely
paranoid, even out in public. And my day-to-day essentials, like going to the
bathroom or cleaning around the house, were becoming an exhausting mental
battle.
So I got down with some raw, impromptu prayer - no fancy
words, not on my knees, not even with my eyes closed (they haven’t been closed
in weeks, this was no exception, too vulnerable). Think wide-eyed, slightly psycho-sounding
mumblings instead.
· “Jesus, protect me, protect me. Give me
protection.”
·
“Give me peace of mind, Lord. Calm me down. I’m
freaking out!”
·
“Help me function. I’m running on nothing. Please,
God! Please, please, please.”
And while they may just be mouse-in-the-house type prayers,
they were some of the realest prayers I’ve prayed in a while because I was so
desperate! I’ve personally seen time and
again that out of desperation, God delivers. I’d also say it’s a humbling
state to be shaking over something furry and smaller than my fist. Humbled and Desperate makes for good
prayer!
I realized too that
everything I was praying for at 4 a.m. was Bible-backed, God-guaranteed.
·
Protection
·
Peace
·
Strength
…some of the main promises of God. And when I cry out to Him for these things,
in desperation and with expectation, I
know I’ll be heard and answered. Thank goodness. I just don’t know why I
far too often go to Him as my last resort. After I tell the hubby, after I
browse the internet, after call the professional, then I think, oh hey, did I even take this to God yet? He needs to be my number one emergency contact,
regardless of the emergency. God cares about something as small as a mouse in
the middle of the night because it’s big to me and I am His child.
“Cast all your anxiety on Him
because He cares for you.”
~ 1 Peter 5:7
