I was in the midst of a personal crisis involving a Palmetto bug loose in my bedroom, and a terrified child who wanted to go to her Nana's house until the bug could be properly destroyed. I saw the two inch long, exoskeleton covered bug run through the middle of my room, and I felt instant fear. I like lady bugs, and am not afraid of love-bugs or plastic bugs, but that about covers it.
I looked around the room trying to find a lethal device, but all I could see were my book on Mother Theresa, my prayer journal, and an alarm clock. I immediately started to think like MacGyver, but in the instant that I searched for a paperclip and a piece of thread to fashion into some sort of pith, the bug vanished. Fear turned to panic. This bug could have been pregnant and now was off proliferating. It could be getting inside my walls or finding its way into pillows stacked on the floor. It could hide out until I go to bed and then would crawl in my mouth while I slept! HELP! Hero, where are you?
I have had many heroes in my life, and each one is so absolutely crucial to my sanity. Sometimes my heroes are my friends who are there to talk me through a parenting dilemma or a spousal misunderstanding. They send me cards in the mail, "just because" and surprise me with Starbucks, phone calls, and birthday luncheons. I love them for laughing with me, and sometimes at me, thereby healing my soul!
Always they are my parents, whose words are so ingrained in my heart that I cannot separate them from my own most times. The whispered reminders are telling me to be kind, to be still, to be courageous, and to make wise choices.
My brother and sister are heroes to me. Providing me with a much needed link to the past. A history. A place to belong no matter how strange I feel in the world. An anchor.
Jesus is my ultimate hero. The perfect model of love, of sacrifice, of courage, and the most effective teacher ever. His promises are what I count on both when times are good, and when times couldn't get much worse.
Usually, for me and the kids, Jayme is our hero. When the favorite plastic toy breaks, breaking a tender tiny, heart along with it, he has just the thing to glue it back together. When I can't open the juice (because they are making the covers more ridgy and they hurt my hands) he can. When there is a bolt in the tire of the Jeep from some unknown origin, he knows where to take it to get it fixed. He tells the kids how long the house has been standing, and how many storms it has stood up to, and they are no longer afraid of the thunder. And usually when Palmetto bugs are loose in the house, or lizards, or (twice) snakes, he saves the day. I know he doesn't ride around on a white horse or wear a cape or a uniform, but he is every bit as much my hero.
I hope that I am a hero sometimes too. My heroes deserve to have me save the day right back. I pray that I will get the chance, and will not be to busy, too self absorbed, too tired, too afraid... I think that, usually, when it is your turn to be the hero, no one can do it but you. Of course, there are times when there is no one else to turn to. That's when you get to be your own hero.
I was my own hero yesterday, and I hated every minute of it. (It occurs to me that is often true. We would rather be rescued, than go through the saving of ourselves from a tough situation). I did it though! I tracked and hunted that bug like a pioneer trying to feed his family would track an animal. I found that wee beastie hiding among some blankets, and I killed that bug dead (may I add, there is way too much "splat" involved in killing palmetto bugs. Then, Taryn and I whooped and hoorayed like I had a caught one of America's Most Wanted. "Mommy," Taryn said, "You saved the day."
And so it begins. In her eyes a hero was born.
