The older I get the more I battle fear.
And I know it’s because the older I get the more scary things I see in the world.
The more marriages I’ve watched disintegrate, the more friends who’ve lost kids, the more diagnoses I’ve heard others fight through, the more friendships fractured, the more opportunity for excruciating loss and bitter conflict.
The older I get the more I see clearly around me this fight that we’re in. This desperate fight for our souls, our children, our families, our friendships.
And I can wake up some days and just lie in bed and watch the ceiling and feel like I’m not sure I have it in me to keep fighting. But every morning my four-year-old pads down the hallway from her room to ours and climbs into bed with me. I tuck her into my side and wrap the comforter around both of us and fold her small hands inside my palms.
She fits like a prayer.
Her hair smells of my perfume because she wears it more than I do and her toes are always cold.
And I don’t want to miss any of it. Not her first days at Kindergarten, not high school or first crushes or her tender, white wedding dress one day or all those babies she likes to name now. I want to be there for all of it like my mom wasn’t for me.
And so the fear climbs like a rising tide in my lungs and I lie in bed next to her and whisper to the ceiling: Dear God, please don’t let me miss it.
Don’t let me miss out on my daughter. Don’t let me make the mistake of running out of energy for my sons. Don’t let me give up on the people around me, the friends who shape me, the work that calls me.
Dear God don’t let this fear choke out all the life that You promised.
If you can relate, keep reading with me over on (in)courage today. Just click here.