Knock Knock
Anxious.Yes, that's what it is.
My beautiful, happy child runs around our house with his
friend. They build a fort, watch What’s New Scooby Doo and eat pizza. It’s
going to be a sleepover.
I know I should be happy.
This is how it always starts.
It’s an indefinable wet blanket in my heart. I smile, but
there is no joy. I do all the things I love to do, but there is no thankfulness
overflowing.
It feels like fear. Like the IRS knocking on your door. Or cancer. Or worse, if you let it.
The fear is that I feel it coming, and I SO don’t want for it to take
over. To make me sad. To hurt my happy kiddo. To steal my joy. To distance me from God.
But it’s not coming. It’s here already. I just tried to
pretend it wasn’t.
I do this every time.
So, hello to you, old friend. Here you are. I acknowledge you like an unwelcome but necessary visitor. You are... the piano teacher, the after school tutor. You are not my enemy, just a
familiar thorn in my flesh, some chemical in my brain that washes over with
gloom and fear. You are real. You are not a phantom. You are part of this body.
I will endure you, and not lose hope.
But don't get too comfortable, for you will not be staying long.
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