Fear is a funny thing, isn't it?
Actually, that's a lie. I hate fear. Naturally, I refuse to tell you what I am afraid of... at least the small stuff.
My big fear; rejection.
Here's a thought... humans are the only creatures that go faster when we're afraid. If I'm afraid or nervous when I'm speaking, I'll speak faster. If I'm afraid someone's following I'll walk (or drive) faster. If I'm afraid of someone talking to me, I'll go faster.
Sometimes I all-out-run... whether it be literally or figuratively.
The question is what am I running to?
Sometimes I run to a quiet place where I can release all of my pent-up emotion.
Sometimes I run to a person who will listen, or dry my tears.
Sometimes I run to ice cream. I'm a girl, it happens.
Sometimes I run to my bed and bury myself beneath the blankets and pretend I'm in an igloo. Why? Because I've always been fascinated by igloos.
Sometimes I run to Jesus's feet... but mostly I wish I could be wrapped in his arms.
Right now I am struggling with feelings of rejection, and I blame them on fear (on someone else's part). How perfect the Lord's timing. We're covering John 15 in middle school Sunday school this week. "ABIDE in me." What does it mean to abide? I'm not sure... but it's got to beat the ice cream, the pretend igloo, and the tears.
The other day my dad, my brother and I were having lunch together and dad was saying how this is the most exciting time of our lives... and how much fun it is... and how carefree we are. True, true, true... but I'm feeling like things have never been more uncertain, I've never been more vulnerable, and I am going through life like a bumbling idiot. I feel about as graceful as I did 8 years ago with my Tigger tee shirt, mouth full of metal, and two left feet.
This morning as I laid in my imaginary igloo, refusing to face the reality of the day, I meditated on the fact that I am a beloved daughter of the king. King of kings and Lord of Lords.
So today, though I am afraid, I will run even faster... to him. I will seek shelter in his palace.
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