Have you ever been around a loud chip getter? Notice my choice of words. I didn’t say loud chip eater. Chips are crunchy and I expect there to be some level of noise when someone is eating them. What bothers me is the sound the bag makes when they are retrieving the chips.

Rustling. Crackling. Crumpling. And totally annoying. I would put it on my list of top five horrible sounds. Right under children whining and people who talk while brushing their teeth.

The other night my husband was eating chips. Clearly he was on a quest to find the perfect one because his hand was jostling in the bag for a solid 3 minutes and I ’bout came unglued. I literally threw a bowl at him, begging him to stop the madness.

There was another time in my life when I was begging God to stop the madness. Nearly eight years ago I had my first encounter with anxiety. What began as one fearful thought quickly grew into a noisy bag of chips that wouldn’t stop rustling in my head. It started when I was riding in the car. All of a sudden I felt nervous and couldn’t breathe fast enough. When I did the air felt thick. My heart was beating fast and I just wanted to get out.

What I thought was a one time incident turned into several. I would slam my imaginary brakes in the middle of traffic and scream warnings at my husband. He refused to give into my irrational behavior and drive below the speed limit as I often suggested.

I insisted it would just be easier if I drove so I wouldn’t have anxiety and he wouldn’t have to listen to me having anxiety. Every time we were together I drove. This bought me a few months.

Then one day I was driving alone and anxiety hit again. If you’ve never experienced anxiety before, stop right now and say a thankful prayer because this stuff is brutal.

I did the smartest thing I knew to do. I bought a larger vehicle. An SUV sat me up higher and I felt much safer. But only for a few months.

I have zero problem telling my husband to stop making noise with a harmless bag of chips. Yet, I listened and tolerated the lies of fear for almost a year. Why?

Because anxiety is paralyzing. It wants you to be ineffective and miserable.
I hate anxiety. I hate it’s stinking guts. The frustrating thing about fear is you can’t outsmart it. You can’t outthink it.

The only thing you can do is smother it in love.

So that’s what I did. I read and prayed and asked God to fill me up with His love.

Ephesians 3:17-19
“Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand…how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully…”

When I filled my mind with the love of God, there was no room for anxiety. I flooded my thoughts and emotions with the greatness and goodness of God, and fear was pushed out.

My car anxiety eventually went away. But throughout the years it has tried to creep back into my heart and home in other areas. I have to be intentional about kicking it out the door before it tries to move in.

If you are struggling with any form of anxiety today, I’m sorry. I know how awful and isolating it can feel. Here’s what has helped me and my family:

1. Get out of bed. Don’t let fear keep you frozen.
2. Tell someone. Even if you feel embarrassed.
3. Flood your spirit with worship and the word.
4. Identify your triggers and avoid them if possible.

I’m praying the rich love of God over your heart.

We were newly married and lived in the sweetest and smallest apartment you’ve ever seen. Our kitchen was 7 square feet, and that’s pushing it. But I loved our cracker box home because it was our first, and less square footage means less cleaning.

One night as we were getting ready for bed we heard a strange noise coming from below the window. Why does clanking sound scarier at night? My brave husband went outside but didn’t see anything.

The next day I investigated and found a foil pie pan inside the vent under our building. I threw it away and felt satisfied knowing I had solved our noise problem.

Only I hadn’t solved our problem because we heard the same clanking noise again at bedtime accompanied by scratching and now meowing. The next morning when I checked there was ANOTHER pie pan. Ummmm….are ya’ll freaking out yet? I had a mini panic attack because it felt super creepy knowing someone had been outside my bedroom window in the last 24 hours and not only that, they had replaced the pie pan!

I packed our tiny apartment in three hours and called my husband insisting we HAD to move because I was not about to die at the hands of a pie pan killer. Actually what I did was throw the second pie pan away and set up a sting operation.

Late in the afternoon I heard rustling and footsteps outside our porch. I waited until the noises stopped and quietly slid open the door. A quick look under the vent revealed a THIRD pie pan and it was full of cat food.

I looked down the parking lot and saw a little old lady with a tall bag. I watched in shock as she visited nearly every apartment in the back of the complex, putting cat food in pie pans under the vents.
What. the. what.

I’m usually not a confrontational person. But Granny had crossed the line. I grabbed the pie pan and followed her. I started the conversation with a sweet tone.

“Excuse me, ma’m. Is this yours?”

No response.

“Ma’m, are you feeding cats under the buildings?”

No response.

She just stared at me looking guilty. And sad. But also a little bit crazy and scary.

I handed her the pan and said in my firmest tone, “Stop feeding the cats under our home. I’m going to tell on you.” Then I walked home and called the apartment manager.

We never saw a cat, a pie pan or the crazy cat lady again.

It’s been 15 years since I confronted the cat lady. Off and on I have thought about this story and laughed. We no longer live in a shoe box and I no longer hear scratching at night. But other things are trying to keep me awake and disrupt my life.

Lies that tell me I’m not patient enough with my kids. Not talented enough to write. Not working enough with Jack. Not _________ enough. I could fill in the blank with so many negative thoughts. I know you could too.

It doesn’t matter what we throw away today. New lies will come tomorrow.

We have a choice to make. Are we satisfied to keep throwing away pie pans, or are we gonna tell Granny to hit the road? And if we are ready to confront this head on, how do we do so?

For me, saying Bible verses has been the most affective way to silence the lies in my head. I read it, memorize it and then pray it out loud.

“You are my refuge and my shield;
    your word is my source of hope.”
Psalm 119:114

“I am always aware of the Lord’s presence; he is near, and nothing can shake me.”
Psalm 16:8

The enemy of our soul is a liar. His job is to make noise in our minds and steal our peace.
Speaking the truth will shut him down every time.

I’m ready to give the devil back his pie pans and his janky cat food and his awful lies.
Anyone else with me?

As a teacher I’ve sat in countless meetings where it was decided a student should receive special education services. I have comforted parents who were upset and assured them this was best choice for their child. Today I sat in one of those meetings.

Only this time I was on the other side of the table.

A group of therapists, a psychologist and a teacher assured me special education preschool was the best option for Jack in the fall. I know this is true. I’ve known for awhile. But it was still hard to swallow when they showed me his scores on a “typical” score sheet. He fell below “average” in five of six areas. I cried a little and everyone was so kind. The rest of the meeting went well and I was able to tour the building. His teacher seemed amazing and I left feeling like it was a great place for Jack.

But I went in the parking lot and cried for a few minutes. I allowed myself some time to just be sad. To grieve. I prayed and ask God to help me let go of what I thought life would look like. To accept that the twins won’t go to the same school next year.

As I drove to pick the twins up I wondered who could I call who would understand? Who has been in my position and knows how I feel? The list was quite short.

Why don’t more parents talk about this? What if we started posting pictures of IEP meetings and developmental therapy sessions on social media? What if special ed was something we celebrated instead of whispered about?

A dear friend told me to let go of the grief. Because it’s mine, not his. Jack doesn’t know he’s below “typical”. He doesn’t know he qualified for special ed or that the people who play with him are therapists helping him catch up to “normal” kids.

This whole process with Jack has changed my attitude and perceptions. I’ve decided to start talking about it openly, writing about it, posting updates of his journey and hopefully change your mind too.

Am I still praying he catches up? Yes sir.
But in the meantime I’m going to shift my thinking and remind myself I’m not alone. There is a village of people, equipped and willing to help. Instead of dreading the other side of the table, I choose to see the village. Instead of dreading a diagnosis or the future or what he may not be, I choose to see what he is right now.
Silly, quirky, cuddly and cute. Ridiculously cute.