Thanks Be to the Gift of Fear

It seems that fear slips in today, and leaves when our dreams of tomorrow are fulfilled. But we can't see those days ahead because all we see now is the lack of X, Y and Z. Someday, we say. One day, I know we will 1, 2,3. And oh how splendid it will be.

But today was not one of those days. I woke too late for a day that ended too early. On our fourth possible snow storm of this month, I wanted nothing more than to beat the freezing rain and grab a coffee at a nearby Tufts University coffee shop. Alone, and with nothing but the frozen icicles shaped like daggers, dripped dry on the three story houses that surround my community. The nearest coffee shop was about a half mile down the road.

And on this walk, I saw Pastor Karl, with little success, scrap the ice chunks at the steps of our plain Church. I quickly ran across the street, knowing that in a movie I would offer to help him shovel, and bring him back a cup of coffee from the cafe down the road. But I didn't, and I was okay with deciding to be un-Godly for this moment...this walk was mine today, and I will see him tomorrow, as we gather for worship and prayer. Sacred-selfishness, for now.

I began to see my life ahead of me, though unable to lift my head from the floor, in fear of walking on slippery ice. I imagined good friends and fellow Psychologists, laughing around a dinner table, talking about our hopes, our failures and dreams. I saw my mother and her husband, sitting next to each other, laughing. I saw my sister and her wife holding another child in their hands. My sister wore a beautiful jeweled black rose on her collar, radiant with rosy lips and a beaming smile. And I saw myself, sitting next to my husband, who was holding a child of our own, though I couldn't tell yet if this was a child of our own, or an adopted one. Either way, they were there and I already felt their names resonate in my heart. Yes, yes yes a thousand times yes, this is how my life will be.

And then we think, after resurfacing from a dream so deep, that although it will be that way, it is somehow, not now. And now is the time for us to see the beautiful creation of those comfortable tomorrows. It is in this discomfort that we are truly living...that we are already in the thick of it.

Outside my stoop I saw a bushel of little birds, chirping together in harmony. The freezing rain began to fall, and they collectively looked for shelter. I ran inside to look for bread worthy of sharing with them. I tossed a few large pieces of bread into the branches of a tree sunk six feet deep into the snow. At first the birds scampered out of the way, and quickly returned to their spots on the branches. And as the bread caught onto the branches, the birds hopped an inch closer, slowly, and one by one. I worried that if they didn't hurry the bread would become soaked, but they took their time anyway. And it was in this moment that my insides grew into a state of mild fear for their possible hunger. The bread was right infront of them, waiting to be consumed.

And still, they chirped while the bread sat.

In the distance from the bread to the birds, and the stoop from the tree to me, everything was already beautiful, as it was.

As it should be, for now.