Fear

I find this whole blog thing fascinating yet absolutely terrifying. When Brian started this years ago, it made sense to me. A writer, a techie of sorts, sure write a blog. The man didn't say much, but he sure could create a symphony (he'd probably say a folk song or two) on paper. Me, I'm more of a comic book type, with bubbles and characters and shallow, incomprehensible thoughts. I'm more of talker, as many of my friends will attest. At first, I was okay with it, write on the blog, for those far away, for those close by, stories of the boys, stories of your faith, anything that came to mind to share. But as the years have moved forward, I find it more and more challenging to really write anything of consequence. Maybe it's the last weeks, as I've faced fear after fear and realized how crippled I really am. Shouldn't I just write of God's glory? Of His beauty? Of His perfection? I recently thought to myself, "if I only read my Bible and prayed as much as I worried about this or that or bustled around trying to be productive, I'd be deeply spiritual and exceptionally peaceful." Instead, I grab the nearest magazine, surf the news, watch my most recent Netflix, or better yet, sleep. Why do I run from the one thing that gives the most to me? I've joked with myself, "you realize you are cursed, Susan" as I've had my engagement ring, video camera, and digital camera taken from my home, had my basement flooded from recent rains, and had my professional expertise questioned (something I've clung to for identity a good portion of my adult life) by those who just simply don't like my presence at their workplace, all in the last year. It's so easy to see the challenges. It's so easy to see the failures. It's so easy to feel sorry for all that I don't have but want. Again, I ask myself, why do I run from the one thing that gives the most to me? Didn't His death on the cross cover it for me? Three years ago, for some reason it did, but as I trudge to glory, I forget. I forget that He loves me. I forget that He cares more for my heart than my circumstances. I forget He fills my soul more than any relationship here on earth. Instead, I stare at the blank screen hoping something witty and intelligent will leap forth and want people to read the blog.

Tonight we had dinner with our new friends, whose daughter Mia just turned 5 in December. She and Briggs are buds. She turned to Briggs and asked if Jesus lived in his heart. He said yes. Pretty simple answer to a loaded question. I think that is what I often "forget." He lives IN my heart, not upstairs or down the street or whenever I think He may be around to hear my pleas. He's there ALL the time, living within me, waiting for me patiently as I run around in circles avoiding His gaze, feeling "cursed." Who had things stolen? Who was mocked? Who was beaten? Oh, yeah. My Savior. The one waiting for me while I feel sorry for myself.

How easy it is to cling to the temporal emotions of fear and self-pity rather than the eternal connection of glory.