Remember when fear used to be different? Back in the day it was a gangly teenager, all knees and elbows. We tucked ourselves around the sharp angles and edges, bent ourselves to conform to childlike worries.
As we grew, so did fear. It became a young adult, and we wondered where it would show up next. And with energy like that, we could conjure it up at any given time. Sometimes it was better to sleep with fear than to sleep alone.
And then fear became a mature adult. An obese, dark monster, who nightly pulls up a chair and waits. We smell and feel it's hot breath before we've even opened our eyes. When we do, fear doesn't wait for an invitation. It curls around us, taking up all the air and consuming us from the outside in.
When fear wants to spoon, I pray. I write as if my life depended on it, I spend time with my loves and I focus on the moment.
Living in the moment reaps a heart of thankfulness for all I do have; taking the focus off of what I'm afraid I won't.