Fear is always evidence that I am going the right way. Fear shows up when I am stepping out of the boat, onto the water. I know it’s just water, I know it should not hold me.
The work of God is this: to believe in the one he has sent.
I always fear my work.
Some mornings I lay in bed before the sun comes up, fearing my first waking child. I am afraid of the day that stretches out in front of me, full of conflict, noise, and people touching me constantly. Everything will get dumped out, crushed, and sticky. There will be disappointment, heartache, and lots of body fluids.
I fear the phone call at the end of the day, the sound of my husband’s voice, so heavy with fatigue I think it will break the phone.
When I write out my training the night before, I know it will be good when the numbers scare me a little. How can I possibly put that weight over my head? That’s insane.
Sitting in front of a blank page, knowing something has to go on it, something from inside me, I am paralyzed by fear.
Sometimes, I just walk away. I do not pick it up, the kid, the phone, the first glimmer of an idea. I do not fill my belly with breath and stabilize my spine. I do not reach my calloused hands around it. I do not do the work. I choose to stay afraid.
But when I step up to the bar, yank up my tights, throw my shoulders back, my children are lighter, the weight of my husband’s stress is something I can move, the daily pain of relationships, mistakes, bad planning, and stupid choices is just a set of exercises that challenges every muscle, breaks me down just enough to build me up.
Fear becomes an invitation.
I am invited to feel real weight. I am invited to carry loads I was convinced I could never bear.