After the first time I had the flu, the thought of vomiting gave me a visceral reaction. I would collapse into panic attacks—crying, screaming, sweating, shaking—anytime my stomach began to turn. This fear became so strong I struggled to eat or leave the house. I hated this fear and what it did to me, but I felt powerless to change it. It subsided in my life until my first pregnancy; though I never vomited, I was gripped with nausea, and everything from this childhood fear came bubbling back to the surface.
God, why can’t I be free from this, even still? I prayed. What kind of believer, what kind of counselor, what kind of mother am I if I can’t catch a grip on this single struggle even now? Yet, in the midst of this fear, God has taught me that He is still faithful to us even when we have yet to conquer our greatest fears.
As I faced this struggle anew, I questioned God’s love and faithfulness towards me. Maybe his love for me has waned because I continue to give way to anxiety. If I were God, I would have given up on me a long time ago.
Thankfully, God is not like me—or any of us.
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