Today, I am filled with worry for things beyond my control.  I am worried because I cannot will what is good and right into this hard world no matter how hard I may try. I am worried because for every decent father there is a dead-beat mother, for every person of love and truth there exists one of hatred and deception. I am worried because I am growing old and, with each passing day, I can feel my ability to impact this world and the people that I love waning.

                “God has not given us a spirit of fear,” says the Scriptures, yet fear claws at me like a wild beast in a trap, pawing and biting and baring its fangs with a throaty growl. It cripples me with inaction and tempts me with the notion that I’m just being a peacemaker. Fear glues my tongue to the roof of my mouth when I want to scream “NO!” or “At least try ACTING like a real mother!” It ties knots in my muscles when I want to kick someone’s ass.

                Fear is the author of prejudice and war. It cancels really good shows on FOX. It rolls around the tequila soaked brains of undergrads and woos them to the liberal agenda. It ties blindfolds on the Neo-Cons to keep them from seeing the poor and disenfranchised. Fear keeps politicians from being real.

                If I could change myself, dig around in my inner workings and tighten a bolt or oil the rusty hinges, I would find the source of my fear and yank it out by the roots. I would stomp it and stomp it, cursing all the moments it stole from me – all the songs it killed before they could reach my lips. I would kill the worry that is slowly killing me.