He only has to read my heart.

We’re instructed to not be afraid 365 times in Scripture.

You’d think I’d catch on by now.

Last night was a good night but my heart had a hard time seeing it. From afar, I could capture it. Logically, it all made sense. Food and friends and fireworks. People I love and live to serve, and how often have they served me in some way?

So many times it’s hard to count.

But my soul is lined with pockets of fear. Little places I put my worries and hold onto them like lucky arrowheads. I have a hard time socially. Not one-on-one so much. Not in small groups I’m comfortable with. But in vast groupings of people where I feel like a bouy bobbing senselessly in a sea.

Most women are communicative, verbal. They’ve been wired with such an easy way about them that if I pointed this out as a gift, I bet most would laugh. What gift is there in waking up and being yourself?

You have no idea, friend.

I have a hard time “being myself.” Sometimes, I barely know who that person is. I suppose that’s why Jesus is my refuge. I can see myself in who He is. I feel loved and noticed. I don’t have to talk and wait for the inevitible moment I stumble through my words. He only has to read my heart.

I’m going to see someone about this, the way my brain thinks and my body feels in situations I can’t control. Maybe it’s chemical. Maybe it’s learned. Maybe it’s the unconscious drifting towards something familiar even if it’s meant to destroy you.

Either way, it’s a battle I won’t lose, not with God by my side.

“For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands, for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.”

(2 Timothy 1:6-7)

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