ever since i can remember, i’ve struggled with worrying. like debilitating worries.
always about my family. something happening. someone dying. car accident. gunman. you name it.
like my first sleepover, when i was playing barbies and burst out crying because i was afraid something happened. rachel’s parents had to take me home. did i mention they were my neighbors? a whole ten steps later, and i saw firsthand just how fine they were.
or church camp in the 7th grade when i needed special phone privileges so i could make sure my parents were okay once a day. every day. every call. they were fine.
i went to college, and i was fine. 4 years 400 miles away and i was fine.
now i’m home for the summer and about to get married, and i’m not fine.
God is not a God of fear. Why can’t I understand that?