Dad? or disrespectful?

I still remember (very vividly) one day that my heavenly Father became a lot more personal. When I was in Auburn, Liz McCollum introduced the idea to me, but that was a bit beyond my grasp. I mean, how could I justify calling the creator of the entire universe “Daddy”? And wasn’t that disrespectful?! But then… one day on the other side of the world, the day of my team Thanksgiving party, I was freaking out. I had let worry consume me. There are a number of times that I can remember absolutely falling apart from worry (I mean knock down drag out almost paralyzed me hyperventilating), usually because I was running late for something important. Well, this day was one of those days. I wanted to be at the hotel early because I was setting up an area with encouragement posters for people to sign. It was going to be close. I had come back to my sister’s apartment with what I thought was plenty of time to get ready. I didn’t leave a lot of spare room for things to happen, and unfortunately, that’s usually when everything tends to go wrong right?

Well, that day, I was also MC’ing, which I wasn’t overly thrilled about, but that meant I absolutely could NOT be late. (Somewhere in all of my falling-apartness I also forgot that I was in a different country, and all times are relative.) So anyway, I was at home, had gotten my shower, making a mental list in my head of what all I needed to happen before I left and once I got there. Well, I had to find an outfit, which took a little longer than planned because the perfect one, my zipper on my jeans wouldn’t work. It zipped up and down, it just didn’t attach the two sides together. And I just couldn’t find anything else (and I realize now just how childish that sounds). Granted, not many days before all of this, my suitcase had been left in the back of a taxi with half of my wardrobe in it, so it really was kinda slim pickens in my closet. Well, I postponed the zipper to try to do something with my hair, and it wouldn’t cooperate for the world. It wouldn’t do anything. Sigh. By that point I was ready to scream. I had to pause and help Abigail where she had had an accident in the floor. I still had to get online and print or write down directions to this place. It was nightmarish. On top of everything I was not at home (my Ranburne home, or even Auburn). I couldn’t find something familiar, curl up and catch my breath. And I lost it. Bawling, I sat on the edge of my bed and cried and cried, and finally asked God to help. Well, after a couple more tries and when I let God teach me how to breathe again, I finally got my zipper to work, and had this image pass through my head of what I could do with my hair. I have no doubt in my mind that it was from God. So, it worked, and was actually cute. (And I’ve never been able to get my hair to do that same thing since!) I got everything written down and was out the door. Daddy had taught me how to breathe again. He was even still there when I freaked out (just a little this time) at the fact that there were NO taxis going that far south. Lol. Figures, right? Well, miraculously, I made it on time, early in fact. But that day, He became my Dad, one who wanted me to cry out to Him for help. He was the one that didn’t run away from my breakdown, but helped me through it, giving me solutions that only He could. They might seem like simple things, but haha.. never tell someone who is hyperventilating that their problems are simple.

"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7