Since childhood, I’ve been afraid. Afraid of death. Afraid of the stories describing a heavenly measuring rod. Afraid of the judgement. Afraid I wouldn’t ever be good enough to escape the consequences of sin and make it to the better place. Afraid of myself, my inadequacies, me — so quick-to-sin. A child afraid. A teenager afraid. Trying to get good graces and accolades. Wanting so badly to be told I was “good”. Seeking affirmation. Wishing so badly to escape the constant heaviness of realized imperfections.
Funerals made me catch my breath, hollowness in my soul, eyes dry and staring, unable to wrap my mind around the impossible forever of what-comes-next? Unable to understand how someone could ever be ready to die.
My very nature cringes at imperfections. My palms sometimes sweat icy when I realize something is out of my control. When I realize there is something wrong and I can’t fix it.
This holiday season I realized the seriousness of my fear when my throat was getting tight at the sight of burnt out Christmas lights. “They’re dead,” I whisper to my son. Then plaintively — “they’re broken, finished, I can’t fix them”. Stop pointing them out, please.
Please join me at 5 Minutes for Faith to finish reading and realize with me that we don't need to live in fear!