Naming my fears

by Rod Smith

Sometimes my fears are loud, dominating, even crippling. Usually, they whisper or lurk beneath the surface.

If one of my sons calls unusually late at night my anxiety surges. It subsides when he expresses a typically benign request. Sometimes one calls just to say goodnight.  

A really large tree fell on our house once and sometimes I fear it happening again. Although not enough to avoid certain foods, I fear my arteries clogging. I fear my children rebelling in ways costly to all of us, although neither overtly reveals harmful inclinations.

My fears, perhaps like  yours, are linked to experience, to regrets, to horrible mistakes, and therefore they do make some sense.

My more subtle, even ominous fears, are about living with my successes as if there are to be no more. I fear my age rendering me invisible. I fear my sons treating me like I treated my dad when I was their age. I don’t fear a heart attack as much as I fear living halfheartedly. I don’t worry as much about a tree falling on our home as much as I do about living in one that is unwelcoming to strangers.

Naming my fears, I find, fuels my faith.

Let me know yours, please. 

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