As age unravels me, the secrets I only shared with God because He is omniscient (Isn’t that the word for “all-knowing?”) – like, for instance, That my youthful looks meant a lot more to me than I wanted them to – are bared. But, as I am stripped of my idol or, crutch, I find that my worship is deeper.

That’s the way it is with the loss: We lose things that we thought we lived and breathed and existed by or, for…and as we find ourselves falling; as Christians, we brace ourselves on the eternal. The truth… Real love without fear – God…

I never thought I was pretty. The literal devil of it is: Just as I started to see and accept and relax in the existence of aesthetic strength…I began to wear out. Like a garment…

I think these feelings are really about my fear of death. All kinds of death… Like the death of my femininity, which felt that like it was in-progress…right up until I found out I was expecting this girl.

It’s a real thing, just like death is a real enemy – a spiritually defeated foe.

I look around at people I like – my sisters in law (and to be), neighbors, friends…and I want my kids to have a chance to make it; I want them to have the opportunity to get to the stage of life where they are likable and caring and successful. Generally stable… The witching hour wake ups during which I’m wracked with crushing guilt and regret, make me admit: Being a parent is SO much more than having a baby. And the delivery issues (of which I’ve had some that were gruesome), the first year of no sleep, potty training… All that is child’s play compared to the theft of sleep that comes with the insidious doubt about your babies (children, teenagers, whatever you choose to call them) making it to the “good” season of General Stability or, 🙏🏾 Success-ville, near Mostly Satisfied Town.

Because at those times, I ask myself: Why did you do this? And I have to answer myself: Now that you’ve started, you have to finish.

As a child of God, as a person saved by faith in Jesus Christ (plus nothing else), I hear what’s wrong with that devilish and deceptive thought: I didn’t start this; God gave us children to foster through this part of life. And, what HE began, HE is faithful to finish.

I’m giving myself too much credit, which is actually a form of fear-induced blame that wants to drown me.

I am not in control. While I am, yes, a new creation who is obedient from the heart and, thus 100% compatible with God… I’m also 100% reliant upon God.

During this – the shortest and hardest part of eternal life in Christ – I am like a blade of grass. I do not hold all the stars and call them each by name; GOD is the one holding it up, pardon: The One…Who holds it together. Who always has and always will…

Fear of death in every form notwithstanding, I have to remind myself: In Christ, death is not the end. Faith in Jesus makes death part of eternal life – death of everything broken and flawed and temporary, with the real things… The spiritual things…alive and safe, always, hidden in God.