EVER SINCE I was a young adult, the idea of being in an enclosed space has brought me indescribable attacks of fear. Many times, rather than go into an elevator, I would take the stairs. If I needed to be in the back seat of a car, I always found a way to sit in the front. Even a drama on TV, when someone was trapped and couldn't free themselves, would trigger a terrible, frenzied fear. But of course in that situation I could always change the channel.
Last year I visited my daughter, son-in-law, and young grandson. At one point, I had some prayerful study to do, and since the sun had broken through the clouds, I drove to the ocean, a short distance from my daughter's home. It was cold and windy on the beach, so I decided to stay in the warm car to do my studying. When it was time to head back, however, the car wouldn't start. Not even a click-click came from under the hood. No problem, I thought, I'll just call for road service. When I reached the road service company on my cell phone, they said it would be an hour before they could come.
Meanwhile, I tried the ignition again—nothing. I was about to get out of the car, only this time I heard a loud click. The car had automatically locked. I tried the door, the windows, and even the horn, but nothing worked. I was locked in! Panic set in fast. I was now face to face with my monster fear, and I wasn't doing very well at all. I called the road service company back, and asked them to please hurry. But they said it would still be another 20 minutes. Quickly I called my daughter, who said she would come immediately. I thought, But that's ten minutes from now!
