I don’t know about you, but I have been experiencing some odd changes as I grow older. For one, my clothes seem to be shrinking. Maybe I should switch laundry detergent. For another, I no longer trust elevators.
Some people assume that I’ve been stuck in one. I haven’t and I don’t want to be either. Others think that I haven’t ridden in elevators too much. Actually, nothing is further from the truth. At the tender age of 6, I had to see an ophthalmologist on a monthly basis for a while. His office was on the fourth floor of a professional building, so we always rode the elevator. There was even a time when I got in trouble for one riding one too much. While my great grandmother was in the hospital, my cousin and I would get bored and ride the elevator for fun. That is until my mother realized we weren’t sitting the waiting room. She put a stop to that real quick. On top of that, after I graduated from high school, I worked in two different hospitals where riding elevators was a daily routine. So, what happened to cause me to ride elevators anymore? I think it was my age. After I turned forty, it’s almost as if I woke up one day and my brain said: “You can’t trust an elevator.”
Let me tell you, that has been an unpleasant struggle. For one, it has been rather embarrassing. When I refuse to get on an elevator with my family or friends, people look at me as though I have just ridden in on a dinosaur. (By the way, I would enjoy that) For another, it has been quite painful at times. Unless there are escalators, my only other option for going up is climbing stairs. If it’s only a floor or two, it’s no big deal, but anything more than that is painful since I have bad knees. By the time I reach the top, it feels as though my knees are on fire. Last but not least, is the anxiety I experience if I do happen to get in one. From the moment the elevator doors close, my heart literally pounds in my chest, my head begins to hurt, and my palms become sweaty. Once the doors open, I get can’t get out of there fast enough.
Recently, I had to face my elevator fear when my daughter Sara and her husband Jordan had a baby boy: Maverick Jace. She was in Labor and Delivery for three days. Each day, I rode one up to the sixth floor and back down. Being a preemie, Maverick was in the NICU for three weeks. So, during that time, we rode the elevator up to the fifth floor back down. You know what? I did it. Did I get anxious? Yes, I did some, but not as much as I usually am. To be honest, I was rather proud of myself.
“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.” 1 John 4:18 (KJV)
Why was I able to do so well on the elevators? Because the love for my daughter, her husband, and new little grandson was more important to me than my fear. Here’s another way to look at it: perfect love is empowering whereas fear is a painful weakness.
A few years ago, I went to the hospital to visit my grandmother. I stopped by the information desk and asked where the staircase was because I didn’t want to take the elevator. The lady told me and then said: “Good for you.” Bless her heart, she thought I was trying to be healthy and get exercise. I just thanked her and went on my merry way.
Brooke Cox is an author, speaker, and storyteller. She was a 2016 Selah Awards Finalist for Debut Novel. Her children’s book: “Dinosaur Eggs,” is now available. It is based on Ephesians 6: The Armor of God. Her novel “Until the Moon Rises: A Conniving Cousin Mystery” is also available. Also, she has two books out in her storytelling series: “Saucy Southern Stories.” The Amazon links for her books may be found on her website: brookecoxstories.com. Please feel free to contact her. She would love to hear from you.