my security blanket

A fellow blogger from New Zealand, Chris Lovie-Tyler, writes his musings at Distilling Words and recently wrote a guest post for Seven Sentences called "Set Fire To Your Security Blanket."  Take a minute to go read it (it is, after all, only seven sentences).  It's a wonderful post on a unique site.  Click through and check it out.

It got me to thinking about my very own, attached-at-my-hip-and-entire-body security blanket that I had when I was younger.  I was glued to it, always.  My mom used to tell the story of how I would sit at the top of the steps that led to the laundry room, waiting for my blanket to come through the washer and dryer at those times she actually got it away from me long enough to launder it.  To this day, I don't remember its look or smell or feel, but I remember my strong attachment to it. 

It was, for a time, my safest place and very best friend.

As children do, I grew up and time marched on and while I knew we always had my blanket somewhere in the house, it was neatly folded and tucked away - never again needed once it made its departure into our closet.

Over time, I forgot about my blanket.

Until one night in my teenage years I asked my mother about it.

And she told me she had thrown it away.

For a moment, I thought I might die.

We were at a play, and as we were getting our seats and talking amongst ourselves before the curtain opened, somehow in conversation my blanket came up.  Or maybe my mother offered up the information without being asked because she thought I should know.  I can't remember which.

However it came about, I can still recall sitting in my theater seat and hearing the news.  For me, the world stopped for a moment, but the world went on about me, people still laughing and chattering and checking their playbills

while I sat staring straight ahead, feeling as if I'd just lost my first best friend.

It hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks.  Even I was surprised at how much it moved me.

Eventually the feeling passed and the play went on. By the time we exited the theater, I was over the shock and loss and realized that I hadn't needed that tattered old item for years.  (Which is a very good thing because a teenager with a blanket isn't running with the popular crowd.)

And while it had been nice to know that it was somewhere safely stashed away even though I wasn't using it, my blanket and I really were history.  The way we were supposed to be.

Even now, stepping out in any number of ways from what feels secure can bring me right back to that same feeling I had in the theater.  To leave behind what once got me through or pacified me or kept me in a safe place is a scary thing.

But it's the right thing.  It's the only way I'll grow.  And it's the only way I'll learn to rely on God instead of on a security device of my own making.

So here's to no more blankets.  Here's to stepping out where it looks daring and bold with nothing but God's hand to hold on to.   Here's to living life the way it was meant to be lived; as an adventure, a journey, a pathway to heaven.

No secret stash, no faulty safety net just-in-case.

Just me, my God and my dream.

Now that's living.