Roaches make me paranoid.
A few years ago, we lived in a rental house that turned out to be infested by roaches. After a year of spraying for those disgusting little creatures, we surrendered most of our belongings and started from scratch in a new, uninfested, house. When we moved into the house, we had a bug guy spray and search our new house for any stragglers. And, of course, there was a few strays that managed to hitchhike into our new house. Unfortunately, once a female roach becomes impregnated – she is forever pregnant. Making it more difficult to slow down their mass reproduction.
However, we hired a bug terminator who more aggressively treated for roaches. And we also were living a new home that didn’t have water leakage like our previous residence.
After a month, we were free of the little creatures.
After such a disaster, there are certain freedoms that I no longer take for granted, such as:
- Going to sleep without being afraid of waking up with a roach crawling across your covers or into your mouth
- Eating without prewashing dishes because roaches have been crawling on them
- Sitting on real furniture (we had to throw out our furniture and sit on lawn chairs for a month)
- Turning on the lights before entering a room (light scares roaches away)
I am blessed to be past that stage in our life. But my husband and I still squirm at bugs. Anything that remotely resembles a roach gets vigorously smooshed and flushed down the toilet.
Our roaches remind me alot of struggling with a false perception of God’s love. At first, I believed the lie that I wasn’t personally loved. Not cherished. Not really treasured.
Soon that lie became a serious infestation. I could no longer ignore it. That lie eventually multiplied into doubt, turmoil – and eventually – emotional and physical struggles with anxiety and depression.
But I would never take that back. In that process, I had to surrender to God’s love.
But sometimes, I see a remnant of my old self. And I squoosh it.
But it’s not really me squooshing it.