Another drawback to this whittle problem: Time to take a bow

There was a time...not so long ago...that my anxiety attacks were only limited to airports, concert venues, sporting events, and MRI machines. Ahhh...the good old days. Now, the uncertainty of walking into even the most familiar stores paralyze me. Brad has taken on more of the shopping responsibilities to avoid my new-found habit of hiding in mulch forts outside of grocery markets. We've downsized stores to an 8-aisle establishment which stocks my finish-line fritter. I strap on my bank-robber mask, run to the bakery case, race to the glass-enclosed check-out, wonder whether my purchases will be placed in something that kills trees, clogs up the ocean, or carries the Covid, and then stumble, gasping, out the automated doors.

Walmart was my white whale. I recognized that NONE of my fears were rationale which made it even worse. I became fixated by the arrows that I'd heard were situated on the floor. What if I went the wrong way? Oh my gosh...SO WHAT?!? This wasn't me. I've gone the opposite way of arrows my entire life. I am the most directionally-challenged person you've ever met. Was that part of the problem? That the whole world was now directionally-challenged and those arrows really didn't mean ANYTHING? Or was it that a girl who liked to think she'd swam against the stream was now being forced to follow the herd? Flock that!

Lots of my time was spent thinking about the arrows and a lot of Brad's time was spent thinking about me thinking about the arrows. He had LOTS of suggestions...all of which I hated. I was only thinking about the arrows. Brad was thinking about how I was going to handle the ever-changing procedures that will accompany my traveling to see my girls and my returning to work in September. And it all started with me walking into Walmart.

First we had to endure weeks of the face mask fashion show. Flimsy hospital masky-thing. Gasping. Sweating. Shaking. Nope. Dry wall masky-thing. Huff and puff like the Big Bad Wolf. Was hands-free self-asphyxiation possible?  Gaiter One. Gaiter Two. In between whirling and twirling on the cat-walk, we would do Walmart drive-bys, casing the joint, bandit-style. "Wanna go in?" Brad would ask casually. "Not today," I'd answer, as if tomorrow was a possibility when we both knew it wasn't. Brad tried putting up raspberry wings as a reward. Turns out I have enough string cheese and Twizzlers to get me through to Phase Four.

Then it was my turn to create a Children's Message for church. And I thought about fear. And those arrows. Which led me to think of a story from 1 Samuel that also dealt with fear and arrows. Like me, David was afraid. And like me, David had someone who loved him and would do anything to help him deal with his fears. For my lesson to be effective, I would have to accept some help from God and my husband to face my fear.

My heart raced as we drove to town. Shallow breaths. Feeling trapped. "We'll try another day," Brad reassured me in the parking lot. "How do feel about looking at the trees for sale in the gardening section over by the cart corral?" I enjoyed the idea of the "park" part of "parking lot." A bunch of basil became my security blanket. I perused the posies and pretended to care about a potential pine tree purchase. We paid outdoors and Brad ushered me back to the van. "I'll grab some dog food and be right back," he told me. "I think I can do it," I said and we made our way to the front doors by way of small, tight circles like Brad was trying to trailer a stubborn steer.

"Whew," I sighed, relieved when we returned to the van after a successful trip, "That went well." "Are you kidding me?" Brad said, obviously traumatized as he began listing the number of times I ran over him with the cart, describing my cute quirk of dashing through aisle intersections, and how I apparently failed to follow his instructions and got separated from him which resulted in my standing, statue-still, by the cart, mentally chanting the Ten Commandments backwards until he found me again (Thank God it was the candy aisle!). "But I got my picture by the arrow!" I cheered. "Can you name a single thing we bought?" he asked. Nope. Not a thing. "Did we buy candy?" I questioned hopefully (We did!).

We did.

And there's another arrow in my ever-quivering world.