Control Freak! June 23, 2011

It occurred to me some time ago that I am, at the very core of my nature, a control freak.  From the time I was a little girl, I’ve had an irrepressible desire to govern every aspect of my life.  If the reins of my life were in my hands, nothing negative would happen.  At least, that’s the way it was supposed to work.

Control, by definition, means to exercise authoritative or dominating influence over someone or something.  Used in a positive manner, it can be healthy.  However, when you feel the need to control every aspect of your life, YOU are the dominated one.  Unfortunately, we usually don’t realize this until we are captives. Incarcerated behind iron bars of trepidation and fear, we grasp at every shred of control we think we have.  Instead, we many times watch our lives unraveling, thread by thread, before our eyes.

See, that’s what happens when we insist on maintaining control.  We don’t “make” things better.  At least, I never have.  It all started when I was a little girl, I was sexually abused by a stranger.  I felt condemned, dirty, and “helpless”.  I realized as a four year old child, that I didn’t like feeling “helpless”.  Thus began my love of “control”.  Time went on, and as a nine year old, I
witnessed the death of my dear grandfather.  It was, I suppose, the most glorious moment of his life.  He met Jesus face to face, for the first time.  I, somehow, didn’t see it that way.  I couldn’t process it, it scared me.

The week after Grandpa’s funeral, I suffered the first of over 20 years of panic attacks.  I would have them at home, at church, in the store, at school, even on the school bus.  The more I suffered them, the more I tried to control my surroundings.  Believe it or not, it culminated in a massive nervous breakdown at the age of 27. I laid in a hospital bed, with a kind doctor looking over me saying these words, “Mrs. Kleiman, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you, physically.”  Shaking uncontrollably, I looked back and asked, “Then why do I feel like I’m dying?”.  I had worn myself to a frazzle, by trying so hard to guide the ship of my life.  I failed, miserably.

From there, I tried, along with my precious husband, to pick up the pieces.  Not quite knowing how to go about it, I didn’t do such a great job.  I was still feeling that all too familiar need to control the “rebuilding process”.  All the while, Jesus was waiting.  I could hear His whispers, feel the gentle nudges of His Spirit, as He would ask for the reins of my life.  I was so afraid of letting go.  If I let go, would I free fall?

Here I am, three years later.  Am I “there” yet?  Not completely.  But, guess what?  I’m letting go, one finger at a time.  Three years of utter, physical and mental, agony have taught me something.  I can trust God.  Do I put that into practice all of the time? No.  When I do, it’s heavenly.  The peace that passes all understanding, isn’t just a myth.  He really is the God of all comfort.

I’m on a journey.  Want to join me?  I’m finding out, day by day, that I really can let go.  Here’s the reason why….

Deuteronomy 33.27 “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.”

That, my dear friends, is where I am looking to transfer these reins!

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