the-f-word
But transparency is really hard, especially when it hits those things that others aren't going to easily understand. There is a spectrum of connection out there. For instance, many get it when I can say that I am frustrated that my attempts to shrink my jeans size through diet and exercise are not having the results that I had hoped. That one has almost universal connectivity, at least among people my age.
There is a whole lot less of a connection when I say that the bounce house terrifies me. I don't mean, frustrates, or concerns me, I mean terrifies me. In the way where my jaw starts to clench, and the bile starts to boil up into the back of my throat. Yeah, people don't understand that one. Not exactly a common fear: a bounce house full of pre-schoolers.
This last week has been one where fear has raised it's head. From the things that I simply find uncomfortable, to things that are full blown phobias. And I have fought it: some days I've won, but other days the struggle has been a draw, and still others I've been beaten.
Some of them are somewhat understandable. I fear campers getting hurt. It's what drives me to watch the waterside or the wading pools on water day - to make sure no one collides, or is pulled under. It's what makes me confront parents who pull their campers from the safe zone to walk by the pond during morning drop-off. It makes me bark at my volunteers who are trying to use the carts as bumper cars. It's what makes me watch campers who are prone to running away like a cat watching string.
I fear not doing my job well. I am afraid of not finding the right tools to help, or reacting with the wrong response. Knowing when to pull out a firm voice, when to allow a camper to cry it out, when to contact parents, they are all difficult to answer when you are dealing with children who have special needs. I fear doing the wrong things, of not knowing enough, having the right set of experiences to draw on. I fear making a situation worse rather than better.
There is the fear of doing additional damage to the child misperceived as a problem, as disobedient and willful, when I know that it isn't the entire picture. When I know that child's brain is wired differently. That it doesn't ever take a break, that it spins in patterns and gets stuck there, that noise and light are assaults to be endured instead of the forms of input that the rest of us experience. And there is a fear of the damage that child can inflict unaware of right and wrong, needing a sense of pressure that drives the pushing, hitting, and scratching that we try to prevent.
I fear what others say and think of me. I know I shouldn't. I know it's narcissistic and broken. But it's there and something I grapple with. And I project the negatives from my own mind and past onto the quiet conversations in the corner, even though those conversations are probably about the distribution mechanics of hot dog day, not the failings that I see in my own character.
Then comes the march of the irrational fears.
In my youth I read of a circus strongman, who fearing that others would think his weights rigged, went to lifting human beings in the circus rings. That picture has made an indelible impression. A consciousness of weight loads combined with a highly over-active imagination makes crowds difficult. It gets added to the stories that soldiers could not march over bridges so that the resonance would not collapse them. Having a father whose own imagination helped him train schools after the Columbine aftermath brings an added dimension. I am cognizant of support beams, of doors and line of sight, and the idea of a shooter in a gym with six hundred children and four hundred adults haunts me. And then there's that horrid bouncy castle. . . I am beginning to dread Friday.
Sometimes the only way to stop the thoughts is to avoid the circumstances. So this week instead of watching campers show off their week in dances and artwork and cardboard armor, I moved the snack storage out of the sensory room in alphabetical order. Possibly because I have OCD tendencies, but also because that order was a little way of fighting back against fears I find overwhelming.
There is a fable about two wolves.
One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.
He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all.
He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves inside us all.
“One is Evil – It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
“The other is Good – It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather: “Which wolf wins?”
The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”
I find that this parallels some Biblical advice: "Whatever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely, with good recommendation, virtue, and praise - think about these things."Funny thing is that verse is sandwiched by others that talk about the presence of "the peace of God," and "the God of peace" in our lives. There is a way to combat fear, that which is rational and that which is not. And it isn't in my own strength, but in remembering the God who holds the oceans in his hands. So I am making an effort to leave my fears in those hands through prayer. And I am attempting to feed the things in my life that are true and good.
I have to remember that it is better to try and fail with children than to not try at all. That failed attempts mean we are just learning what doesn't work. I need to remember that the imagination that sees shooters in the shadows also can come up with camp themes by the dozen and game and craft ideas with ease. And that walking a line close to the things we fear helps us see how to keep things safe. That line is a slippery one so to keep from slipping over into paranoia, I am going to focus on the words of a very wise young camper.
His family was going camping for the first time and there were fears of the dark, so mom was explaining that they would have flashlights when our preschool camper smiled and said, "We don't have to be scared, God is always with us."
Truth from a 4 year old.
In a slippery, scary world, that really does balance everything out with the security we need doesn't it.
"Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9
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