When I was a kid, my grandparents had a cottage on a lake in Northern Indiana. I loved going to the lake. It was probably my favorite place to be. Trips to the lake were days of unlimited fishing, swimming, boating, and eating grapes (and Little Debbie snack cakes). I looked forward to going to the lake all year long. At the same time, I dreaded it with the deepest fear I’ve ever experienced.

I knew that the first night at the lake would be awful. My heart would pound. My stomach would churn. I would like awake in bed, certain that I was going to die. I would shiver and sweat for hours, waiting for the sun to come up. I repeatedly experienced “Hell” at my favorite place on Earth. Those first nights at the lake are my worst childhood memories.

Crazy, right?

I agree. There was no rational explanation for those feelings. Not at first, anyway. But eventually, I started to feel afraid of being afraid. I feared fear. Instead of looking forward to enjoying the sunshine and water, I focused entirely on the horrible panic attack that I KNEW was going to happen on the first night. I told myself to think of fishing and swimming but working to get rid of the fear only made it stronger. I started having panic attacks THE DAY BEFORE I went to the lake as well as the first night.

This happened every summer for several years. I didn’t tell my parents or grand-parents about my neurosis. I was worried that they wouldn’t let me go to the lake anymore. So, that was one more thing to be afraid of. But it turned out, THAT fear was the solution to my spiraling, irrational anxiety.

I was going to spend the first night at the lake in abject terror, but I wanted to go anyway. The desire to experience the good times was stronger than the dread of that first night. I decided that one night of panic was an acceptable price to pay for many days of joy.

And I never had another panic attack.

The moment I accepted it, my fear just disappeared. That was NOT what I was expecting. I was FULLY PREPARED to sweat and shiver my way through the first night. I was willing to suffer the torment as a necessary element of the lake experience. When I was willing to sit in those feelings, the feelings went away.

I was too young to understand what I was doing at the time. Now that I’m a bit more mature, I recognize that a child doing something that scares him is an act of faith. Facing fear is trusting God.

Emotions are wonderful. Emotions are horrible. Emotions are irrational beasts that contradict each other and that’s why I prefer logic. But it doesn’t matter what I prefer. My feelings don’t care about that fact. I can’t help how I feel. I can’t CHOOSE to feel differently. So I will accept these feelings and pray, “To God be the glory.”

“I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.”

– Romans 7:15