Fear feels like a complete washing over. It brings darkness and breathlessness; isolation and pouring tears. Until recently, I could see its camp out by the curb. It’d wave and act like my friend. I’d slam the door and say not today.
I’ve been getting out alone to run errands on Saturday mornings. I’ve been getting home later and later. I’m slower moving, bigger bellied.
Yesterday was extremely slow. I wanted to get home. I was missing my babies faces and had enough alone time. Walking so slowly through Ikea to grab extra shelves for the boys playroom, I saw my reflection. And like a wash, fear rushed in. It took my breath away.
I love looking pregnant. I’m so proud to be swollen with Attie. And I saw him in public, in my reflection…saw how big and out there I’ve become. Yet I’m the only one who really knows this child.
I feel the weight of his life every single day. The pride, yet the pain, that I may be the only person to ever know him. I look down and see how Attie has marked my body. I look up and see even more how he has marked my soul.
How can you not know him? I feel the separation fear brings; the loneliness, believing that if Attie is never known by you, then I will slip away and never be known here again. Fearing the longing for heaven alone will simply take me home.
It’s the slipping away that fear brings. I remember it so well with Oliver.
So now, I look out to the curb and fear’s camp is not there. It is crowding my porch, pressing on my front door. The washing, the darkness, the separation, the pouring tears; they wait for the slightest of moments and rush in.
Satan is licking his lips and I feel like I’m on high alert. The minute-ly need for manna, the falling into church on Sundays, the exhaustion felt on Saturdays; these are the result of this trial. Endure. Be steadfast.
Today is Sunday. I am the most broken and battered I’ve been thus far in Attie’s pregnancy. My prayers have become breathless gasps of “please Lord, meet me here”. He is big enough to meet me here. I am not alone.