Something I wrote on 12/30 ...
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I’m afraid.

I’m afraid of so much. I’m afraid of Africa. I’m afraid of going – and all that I’ll face, that I won’t be strong enough to face it, that I’ll be like a little child who’s lost. I’m afraid of the results of Africa. That I’ll fall in love with it and find my place … and be called to it full time. I’m afraid of all that it will mean and require of me. I’m also afraid I won’t be called any further. That it’ll be just another trip. That everything I want it to be, I won’t find. That I won’t find my place, I won’t find a place to fit, or I’ll miss where God has prepared a place for me … or that He hasn’t. I’m afraid I’ve gotten it all wrong. That this stirring in my heart wasn’t what I thought I was. That I’ll find emptiness where I want there to be longing and passion.

I’m also afraid of not going to Africa. I’m afraid of missing the bus – a bus that could be taking me home. I’m afraid of missing an opportunity. I’m afraid of letting doubt stop me. What if this is it? What if this is the time and I let it pass me by?

I’m afraid of the people I love. Of how I love them and how they love me back. I’m afraid its not enough and that its too much. I’m afraid of my life without them. But also I’m afraid of my life with them. Of expectations, disappointments, trust, truthfulness.

I’m afraid of loneliness.

I’m afraid of holiness. I’m afraid of the chasm between me and my King. I’m afraid of who I’m not and the faith I lack. I’m afraid of not being afraid of the majesty of God. Of not recognizing and believing and feeling His greatness. Of seeing Him as less than He is.

I’m tired of being afraid. God, take it away. “Perfect love drives out fear.” You are perfection, you are not fear. You are love … and love and fear can’t exist in the same place.

You know, the more I use the word afraid, the less meaning it seems to have.