Nothing More Than Feelings

For the better part of a week, I was convinced my car was done for. Whenever I hit the brakes, it made a weird sound and jiggled a little. Actually, now that I think of it, it started doing that the week before. I vaguely remember my husband saying something about some maintenance needing done and that he would have it taken care of soon. Anyway, the jiggling and noise bugged me, and the rest of the time, the car just felt…odd. 

Each time I got behind the wheel, I could feel the anxiety creep up my spine like a spider. I drove to and from work each day, dreading each stoplight, cursing the stop and go traffic on the interstate, and praying my faithful car would hold itself together, at least until we got home. The weird thing was, the more anxious I got, the stranger the car felt. Day by day, the tension rose as I began to imagine all sorts of unpleasant situations. 

At best, I suspected my car would have to be replaced (yes, the car that just required $1000.00 in repairs). I began to pre-dread the logistics of finding a new one and worried the purchase would decimate our savings. At worst, I pictured myself stranded on the interstate…in the dark…in the rain…limping home with one broken high-heeled shoe as semi trucks whizzed by, and shifty looking strangers skidded to the shoulder and leered, "hey lady, need a ride?" 

Though I could (sometimes) admit my worst-case scenario was a product of my over-active imagination, I was so certain something was terribly, terribly wrong that when my husband returned from a business trip on Friday, he immediately took the car out for a test drive. Though he could find nothing wrong with it (other than the jiggling/squeaking he was already aware of), I was so uneasy he canceled the routine maintenance we had scheduled for his truck the following day and told me to take the car in instead. 

The funny thing was, as I drove my car to the repair shop Saturday morning, it didn't feel so odd anymore. Sure, the jiggle was still there, but somehow it wasn't nearly as unnerving as it had been before. I assume the brakes were still squeaking too, but I could barely hear them over the lovely autumn breeze blowing through the window and the song I was belting out with one of my favorite CDs. Otherwise, the car was just fine. 

Things were different. But how could that be? It was the same car, same road, and despite my suspicion that cars run via "magic," my car had not magically improved it's condition overnight. What had improved, however, was the way I was feeling. 

Still skittish from my automotive adventure in Short Pump, my husband being out of town during the week had left me feeling vulnerable and alone. I don't sleep well when he is away, so I was also tired which makes me grumpy and overly-dramatic. And my hormones, which were all in a tizzy, were like Mentos in my Diet Coke of emotional turmoil. But Saturday? Saturday was different. My husband was home, I had had a good night's sleep, and I was looking forward to spending the afternoon with a friend while a magician mechanic addressed the jiggling and the squeaking. 

I'm not suggesting any of this was rational, it just was. My emotions were real enough, but in the throes of my emotional tempest, I viewed my circumstances through the lenses of fear, agitation, and weariness, and the result was a distorted sense of reality. Like so many falsehoods, it contained kernels of truth (it is, after all, a 14 year old car, and it did need new <shoes? boots? books? I don't know, something with the brakes>), but the difference between what I perceived to be true and what was actually true was stark, and as I sped down the road Saturday morning, I marveled at how easily I'd been misled by my emotions.

While it's not easy to recognize this tendency in the  moment, I find it is a recurring theme in my life. On days when I am tired and rundown, routine tasks and commitments appear insurmountable and oppressive. When I am feeling the sting of failure, I am often convinced all my endeavors are doomed. And when I am feeling afraid, confused, guilty, abandoned, or unlovable, it is easy to allow those emotions to color my perception of who God is and who I am in Christ.

Thankfully, God doesn't change, and Truth is not at the mercy of my perception. Though I may not be able to control the way I feel, I take comfort in knowing that while Truth may affect my emotions, my emotions do not affect Truth.

"…coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." -James 1:17b