About a half-hour ago, I sent a text message to my husband, informing him that there was a HUGE bug in the kitchen and that he needed to come and get it. (I didn’t actually expect him to leave work, but one always hopes). He told me to trap it under a glass and that he would dispose of the vile thing when he got home.
My friends, he doesn’t get home for another three hours.
Trap it under a glass, he says. So casual. So simple.
Little did he know that such a process would involve a chair, a wooden spoon, a large plastic cup and a flyswatter – and a full 20 minutes of psyching myself up for the battle.
I don’t like bugs. Anything that creeps, crawls or can jump in my face is on my perpetual poop list. Yes, I know that God made these creatures, but I am convinced that the Fall worked some sort of specialized curse upon them. I mean, really. Just as I was about to plop the glass on top of the bug, he raised an antennae at me as if to say, “What up? I will eat you!”
Courage comes in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes it means you admit to a problem and seek help. Other times it means you have that difficult conversation you’ve been dreading. Maybe it means you apologize.
And sometimes it means you come closer with a bug than you would like.
Grace and peace along the way.