Well-Drink

Be Not Afraid

These words can strike her like a cruel joke sometimes: 

On those days, she’s afraid for the better part of her waking hours.

Afraid she’s not doing enough,

Not trying hard enough,

Not being enough.

Afraid that, in the end, she’ll recognize the truth:

She was failing all along.

Even though she prays . . . 

Even though she listens . . . 

Even though she tastes the relief of a relevant response once in awhile . . . 

Even then, she is afraid:
Afraid she might overlook something vital.

Afraid she’ll miss a word,
Miss a prompt,

Miss the one-time-only moment of divine guidance,

The moment meant to change the trajectory of her life forever, 

The moment that would, once and for all, transform her into the so-much-better version of her sinful self. 

If only she weren’t so busy.

Busy with afraid.

Sometimes, though,

She presses “pause” on the fear.

And she hears it . . . . 

Be not afraid.

She recognizes the whole sentence,

Says it out loud,

Lets its echos wrestle her worry,

Pin it to the floor, powerless.

The reverberations flood her heart,

Mend her mind,

Breathe fresh hope into her fear-strangled spirit.

Sometimes she sees these words as the living water that they are,

She drinks them down.