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Sometimes, I get scared. Cynics might argue that if I am a really faithful person, I should never be afraid, because I should know God is working in my life at all times. While I do aim for that, I find I pray more obsessively when a fear arises. Prayer and faith do help assuage my fears, but they don’t disappear entirely. I just have more patience and the temerity to endure. 

My life has not been all sunshine and roses. I came to faith late in life. There were glimmers in my youth, but I had been raised by such staunch atheists that I resisted it for a long time. The prospect of having faith, of having a benevolent entity that looked out for me, felt far too good to be true. I was more familiar and more comfortable with flying solo and being miserable. I look back at all the time lost to worry and fear and trying too hard and I feel sad for that young person. So much wasted energy. So much self-flagellation and negativity, when this path is so much better and happier and more peaceful. 

I cannot deny faith any longer. Too much has happened in the last two years and especially in the last 226 days to resist it. My life is lovely, wonderful, happy. It is full of love and friendship and opportunity, and I feel blessed by God (or Good) and my willingness to believe. 

But I do still get scared and worried and have uneasy days. Those are the days that are almost more full of God, because I am usually praying my little BLEEP off, and therefore more directly connected with my faith. On the Good days, it’s easy to walk around, whistling while I work. I regularly say, with all seriousness, I love my life. And I do. 

But God (or Good) doesn’t clean every room in a spiritual house all at once. Some areas of my life have gotten a deep clean and others are messier than ever. All I can do is help move furniture around and be useful while Good (or God) does the dirty work.

And I am grateful. So grateful. I really do love my life.