Two nights ago, we did it. We stopped feeding our son’s addiction. It’s his earliest addiction. We posted about it over a year ago, and as of two nights ago, he was officially a junkie.
We chopped the end off of all the pacifiers in the house, and forced him (and to be honest, ourselves) to go “cold turkey.” (which, by the way, I’m interested to know where that phrase came from)
What amazes me about the whole thing is how similarly i react when my idols are taken away. If LB could talk in complete sentences, we’d make a lot of money on the TV deal, and he’d probably have told you two nights ago that there’s no way he could make it two days without the passy. It was his best friend, his comforter, his midnight rescuer. He can’t possibly make it without it.
My pacifiers are things like a bank account in the positive, one vehicle per adult in the driveway, a sense of control over situations, etc. Take one of those away, or even threaten to, and I panic. Like my son lamenting and wailing over the loss of his passy, I am convinced I’ll never make it.
And like I did by the side of his crib, God patiently calls out “It’s going to be OK. I am all that you need. Find your rest in Me…”
Like a good Dad, Jesus frequently cuts off the end of my passy, to help me see that He’s all I need.