Today I will overcome my fear of elevators. I know it sounds silly, but elevators freak me out. And it has nothing to do with being a survivor of childhood victimization--that would at least make sense.

Elevators didn't bother me until four years ago when one of my darling sons thought it would be a good idea to sneak out of our house in the middle of the night. The policeman who caught him breaking the city curfew did not. His step-father and I did not.

It was winter, and his court date required a trip down town. It also required an elevator ride with too many people in coats. At one point the elevator stalled, and I got the strangest sensation in my chest. I had an overwhelming desire to take my coat off, but we were packed like sardines in a can. And that's when I felt it: fear. Fear of being stuck in that box with all those people with all those coats.

Why am I telling you this? Because tonight my husband and I are attending a wedding rehearsal-dinner that requires an elevator ride to the sixty-ninth floor of a restaurant in Dallas. Sixty-nine floors.

Today is the day I overcome my fear of elevators. There is no way I am going to miss out on something joyful just because the joy that awaits me requires an uncomfortable journey through fear.

"There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves torment. But he who fears has not been made perfect in love." (1 John 4:18 NKJV)

Today is the day that I overcome my fear of elevators, in Christ. That doesn't mean that Monday I'll blog about my new love for elevators. It just means that I will have something joyful to tell you vs. a story of regret.

All together now . . .  breathe.