Fear Sucks

Want to know where I am? Here's where. I am like a child. A child who has recurring sore throats. I hate it when my throat is sore, and I would love for them to go away. The problem is that the only way to make them go away is to have surgery to have my tonsils removed. While some part of me knows that to have them removed means I won't have any more sore throats, most of my little girl heart is simply terrified at the unknown complications and the unavoidable pain of the process.

So, I just lay, curled into a ball, and weep like the broken little girl that I actually am. I, by the age of seven, already had most of my current defense mechanisms in place, not perfected, but there none-the-less. That summer, I broke my arm roller skating. My dad took me to the e.r. and they decided they had to put me under to reset it. I was so frightened, but I couldn't let anyone know it. I remember lying in that bed as they wheeled it down the hall and fighting with all that was in me to make the tears welling in my eyes stay hidden. I was a little girl, afraid of the unknown, but more afraid of letting anyone know how very scared I was. Why? Because I would have been told to suck it up. To be tough. To act like a seven year old instead of a three year old. I still feel like that little fear-filled child. Afraid of what God is asking me to face. And feeling, maybe not being, but feeling completely alone. With no one to protect me, no one to hold my hand and tell me that despite the pain, I will be ok. I know, I know, that is what I am supposed to allow God to do. I so wish I could just make the choice to trust Him and than follow through with it.

I went to a funeral on Friday. It was my brother-in-law's grandfather. It was the first funeral for my nieces and nephews. There was, of course, concern about the younger ones attending. But, since they just did a closed casket, graveside service, it was decided that all would go. About five minutes into the service, my nephew Brayton, who is six, lost it. I didn't realize what had happened as my view of him was blocked. All I saw was the broken look on my brother-in-law as he raced back and swept his baby boy into his arms. Then he held him, for the rest of the service, and father and son shared their grief. I was broken by the sadness and the sweetness of that moment. Today, as I sat thinking about the broken child in me and longing for people in my life who would 'sweep me up' and hold me as I weep, I realized something. The only reason someone doesn't is because I am still that little girl, too afraid to cry, too afraid to let someone know I hurt. How can I expect anyone to help hold me up if I never let them know that I am falling?

Ok, no more introspection for now, I'm beat down.