Over the past few years several people have told me that I would make a good pastor. While I'm flattered, I really don't think that's the direction God is calling me in. That being said, however, I find myself agreeing with them to an extent. The idea of having a captive audience for an hour every week does sound appealing to me. Plus, I think I have the proper skill and finesse to offer up the prayer for the church potluck after the service. Let's see, what else. Oh-I love the taste of communion bread, and I'm really good at finding the right hymn number quickly as the organist plays the intro to the song.
But I think what makes me most like a pastor is that I can find a sermon illustration in literally everything. Maybe actual pastors can relate; it's like I really can't help it. A little incident will happen like a butterfly landing on a flower or me tripping over a branch on a sidewalk and suddenly I have enough material in my mind to speak for twenty minutes straight. Once in college I joked about giving a sermon comparing the body of Christ to the piece of chicken I was eating for lunch. Maybe it's a gift, or maybe I think way too much. Either way, it is what it is.
And that's why two nights ago as I was squirming and shuddering while I swept up the cockroach I had just killed, this post popped into my head. Of all the things, a dead cockroach was able to give me spiritual insight. I think I have a problem. But I might as well share what I learned.
It was the biggest cockroach I had ever seen; I'm talking prehistoric size. It's back was so unbelievably wide I could probably have set a cup and saucer on top of it as it it were a coffee table. Like it was so big I was actually offended as I watched it amble slowly across the curtain rod hanging over my bedroom window. Normally these agents of hell move pretty quickly when a light is turned on suddenly. Not this guy; he knew his girth had rendered me motionless. He had all the time in the world.
I put down the things I was holding and began live-texting the scene to my best friend so someone would know the battle I was currently engaged in (and just in case it ate me someone would know where to find my body). I think I remember lamenting not having a husband to take care of monsters like this. When I came back into the room after leaving for two seconds the beast was gone, and I learned what real panic feels like. For several seconds I debated leaving the room and pretending I had never seen him, but I knew I would never get to sleep again if I left him to his own devices. Slowly and with calculated movements I picked up a shoe, sent my last text to my friend and then put my phone down so I wouldn't drop it in a moment of terror and have to explain later how a run-in with a bug cost me a brand new cell phone.
Inch by inch I shuffled forward, looking around at all angles to make sure he wasn't planning an aerial assault while my back was turned. After an eternity I found myself right next to the window, studying the curtains blowing lazily in the breeze, as if they weren't concerned at all about the villain that was currently inhabiting their threads. And suddenly-there it was! He appeared unexpectedly from within the billows. Fear gripped me, but I knew if I didn't act now I would lose him. With an embarrassingly girly squeak I slammed my shoe into the curtain and the beast fell, defeated. I couldn't wait to pick up my phone and safely brag to my friend about the kill.
What happened next was so disappointingly anticlimactic.
The cockroach ended up on his back, as most dead cockroaches do. And you know what I saw beneath his giant covering? I saw the smallest, weakest, puniest cockroach body I have ever condescended to squish. His outside shell was just to throw me off-this cockroach was pathetic, and it was all too easy to destroy him. All of that stress and build up for nothing.
As I swept him up and deposited him outside I couldn't help thinking of all the other times in my life when I was faced with a problem that seemed too big to deal with, too scary to try and tackle. Most of those occasions I ended up realizing that it wasn't so hard after all, once I took that first initial step. How much stress would I have saved myself if I had just went straight for the shoe to take care of the monster, instead of letting fear paralyze me? Yep, that's a metaphor for real life.
Now, if I were a pastor I would probably take this opportunity to turn us to the Bible, and mention the verse from 2 Timothy 1:7-"For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline."
Most challenges in life are much less challenging than we initially think. And if we start practicing handling those little problems masquerading as big problems, we will be much better prepared to handle the actual big problems when they come around.
Don't let fear stop you! You got this, guys.
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