Over the years, our five kids had been guilty of leaving the door open a fair amount. It was a bit bothersome for a few reasons. The biggest of those reasons; mice occasionally had taken up residence in our humble abode.

And I hate mice.

Hate em!

With a passion.

Not only do I hate them, they thoroughly creep me out. They give me the heebee jeebees.

Whenever I encountered one, I would quickly look to see which of my children was closest so I could call on them to take care of the unsettling invader, so I wouldn’t have too.

(I know, I know. You are thinking that I, as the dad, should’ve taken care of the dastardly deed of rodent removal. Yet sometimes we, as dads, need to delegate tasks to our children. It’s just good parenting.)

On one Monday, my regularly scheduled day off, I went back to bed around 8 in the morning to relax under the covers and read the morning away. I had settled into a good grove and was getting wonderfully lost in a novel.

Ahhh… Peaceful bliss.

Until I looked over the top of my Kindle and saw a mouse sitting on my lap staring me down, eye to eye, with his evil gaze.

Full disclosure: There might have been an unsavory word uttered.

I flipped the covers with all my might. The ghastly little beast smacked the ceiling and fell back onto my lap.

Another unsavory word might have escaped my mouth.

I flipped the covers again and the insidious rascal smacked the opposite wall.

I could tell I had dealt him a staggering blow as he stumbled behind some boxes we had stacked in the room.

I then - in a very deep and manly voice of course, no squealing I can assure you - beckoned Reesah (9 years old at the time) to grab some gloves I had in my dresser while I kept the little sucker pinned to the wall behind the packages.

Seeing my less than calm demeanor must have freaked out Reese, because it took her almost (what seemed like) an hour to get my gloves – leaving me stranded in peril for (what seemed like) an eternity.

Once she brought me the gloves, I quickly donned them while pressing the parcels to the wall with my foot.

Slowly and with much fear – yes fear, I can’t help it. Don’t judge me! – I moved the boxes and grabbed the nasty little thing by the tail, ran down the stairs, and threw him outside.

I shakily made my way back upstairs where Reese and her little sister Elyse (she had come running with Reese to help get me the gloves) were waiting in the bedroom.

When I walked in the room Elyse said, “You did it dad! You faced your fears. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

My first thought was, “How in the world does this seven-year-old (at the time) know that it wasn’t so bad!? It was horrible!”

But then I had a second thought, “It really wasn’t so bad. Maybe I don’t need to freak out around mice. Maybe the fear was worse in my mind than in reality.”

Maybe the fear was worse in my mind than in reality.

Hmmm…

Did you know that it says over 360 times in the Bible, “Do not be afraid.”?

One of my favorite “no fear” verses can be found in Exodus where Moses said to the people (whose struggles were much greater than a misplaced mouse), “Do not be afraid. The Lord will fight for you. You only need to be still” (Ex. 14:14)

There was a lesson to be had in my mousecapade.

Our fears are often made worse in our minds.

Maybe if we would face those things that haunt us, we would find that they aren’t as bad as we think.

That just might be true.

But there still is no mercy for mice in my house.