My little sister is, well, little. Five-one. The size zero you hate.
That is, until you mention blood work and needles.
Upon hearing those words, she might as well be Tim Tebow running a football; the door, her end zone. She will get there, and if she has to plow through you in the process, bonus.
The last time she got a shot was more than five years ago. It took six nurses and my mom to hold her down.
Needless to say, last week when I went with my sister to the doctor’s office, my ears stung as I heard those dreaded words—“Blood work.” I felt my sister freeze beside me. Seconds before she had been laughing, perfectly at ease despite some back pain. Within 20 seconds of the B-phrase, tears spilled onto her face. Her cheeks burned red, and her body began twitching.
Things were going bad fast.
The nurses seemed oblivious. They cheerfully chattered about the procedure and allowed her to use the bathroom.
Were there windows in the bathroom? I wondered.
After a little too long, my sister rounded the corner again and I knew instantly—Tebow.
Without a word, she blew past me, snatched up her purse, pivoted and began to push her way around me.
“Are you Megan?” one of the nurses asked.
“No” she snapped without a moment hesitation.
I tapped into my inner linebacker for a few seconds before letting her go (She looked ready to foul).
Outside, she waited for me stoically—face set, determined. I tried to reason with her. Told her it would be
OK. She would barely feel the needle. We could get ice cream after.
Not interested.
So, out of options, I did something very out of character. I got mean.
I don’t remember (or care to) exactly what I said, but the words ridiculous and tough love come to mind (I know, soooo mean). Whatever I said, my mad tone was enough to surprise the football player right out of her. Her expression went from set to shock. Silence.
“Will you hold my hand?” she said in a small voice.
I fought the urge to laugh or even smile. Mean, Jessie. Grr.
“Of course,” I huffed.
We marched back in, only to realize we now had a 30-minute wait. Crap. I wasn’t sure if I could keep up the tough act that long.
Half an hour later, after discussing our biggest fears over Lays and soda at Subway, my sister walked into that doctor’s office a new person.
“I’m ready for my blood work now,” she declared.
We strode into an examining room, she took a seat, took my hand, and I waited for the tears.
None came. The needle was in (and maybe not out as quickly as I had promised), the tube filled with blood, and though my sister breathed like she might be having a baby instead of giving blood, she didn’t shed a tear.
Megan looked at me and beamed. She had done it. She had conquered her fear.
Tough Jessie crumbled. Get her some orange juice! Would she like a cookie? Would she like cake? Maybe a party? I walked her around to the other nurses and pointed to the purple band around her arm like a proud mom.
We left that doctor’s office (3 hours after we came) victorious, elated, full.
I’ve thought about that visit a lot this past week, but one conversation in specific.
While we were waiting Subway, my sister asked me what I was afraid of. What was it that could take me from calm to crying in a matter of seconds?
Sea-Doos, I replied, which is fairly true (I’ve sworn never to ride one again…long story). Nothing else.
I possibly lied.
Over the past week, my first week at home, the better question seems to be, what aren’t I afraid of? The list is long.
Failure. Missed opportunities. Looking like a fool. Unemployment. Disappointing people I care about. Never making it to
At one point or another this week, each one of these things has caused me to tremble, pushed me to tears even.
But just like my sister and her phobia of needles, I know these fears are lies.
It might hurt. I might not be successful in the way I once dreamed. I might disappoint some people. I might look like a crazy person. But Christ said we have to lose our lives to find them (Matt. 16:25). That the road to personal glory is a dead-end (Matt. 6). That we can’t serve him and seek the approval of men (Gal 1:10) And being out of your mind for the sake of Christ isn’t necessarily a bad thing (2 Cor. 5:13).
I may not have a mean big sister to tell it to me straight, but Paul is a pretty good stand-in.
“You were running the good race. Who cut in on you and kept you from obeying the truth. That kind of persuasion does not come from the one who calls you.” (Gal. 5:7-8)
Jesus didn’t come to conquer death so that we would live in fear. No, he left us his Holy Spirit— not of fear, “but a spirit of power, of love and of self-control,” (2 Tim. 1:7). He didn’t save us from gnashing teeth just to feed us to the wolves. No, “in all things, God works for the good of those who love him,” (Rom. 8:28).
So I’ll keep running, but I won’t run away. I will stand firm and watch my fears flee. (James 4:7)
My sister conquered her fear, and so will I. With His help.
