Even from my earliest memory, I can remember being afraid. I remember when I was a little girl, I used to sleep with the covers over my head and a tiny little hole for my nose to peek out to breathe. Was I born this way? Was it learned? Both? Will I ever feel peace from it? Will I always have this propensity to depression? Is my faith not strong enough? When I am weak, then I am strong...am I doing something wrong here?
I want to throw my fear on the ground and stomp it into the dust. But God has other plans with what to do with it. It is molding me into who He wants me to be. I don't like it...but who am I to argue with the Almighty? What beautiful vase is made without first being pounded, molded and fired? I am willing to endure, but do not confuse willingness with eagerness. I certainly find joy in living for the Lord, but still find the pain excruciating in the process.
Oh it hurts, but the pain does not compare to what Jesus did for us. I must remind myself daily of this.
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