Art by Sherry Meneley

I lie awake in the dark. And press my eyes shut.

Pretending. Pretending the darkness isn’t creeping into my mind. I try to will the thoughts away. But they don’t.

Stop. Please stop.

Fear must die at some point, right?

I rise to my feet. The morning is dark. Everything dark. When will the sun cast light into my morning—into my soul?

My husband sleeps. I grab my phone—my connection to another world. I send out a distressed message. Please…somebody pray. Tears begin to fall. Hot tears.

“Are you okay?”

It’s my husband. Still in bed he calls to me. He knows I’m not right.

I ’ m   n o t   r i g h t.

I go to him. He pulls me near. I fall into his arms and cry.

No. I sob.

Like a child.

The incomprehensible wailing shakes loud throughout my body. The sounds I make. They are the same when the blonde boy comes to me. Hurting.

“Where does it hurt?” I ask him.


E v e r y w h e r e.

I pull him close. His sobs deepen. He is safe to let it all out. To cry. To hurt. To lean in.

My husband does the same. Holds me close. Now it’s my sobs that deepen. I am safe to let it all out. And cry out like a child.

“I’m so scared”

I wail louder. I can’t stop.

I remember I was five. My hair was golden brown. Long pigtails tied back with yarn. Awake in the night and frightened. Nightmares. Again. Why must fear insist on following me?

And now?

This little girl, a grown woman sobs and weeps deeply because of the fear…she feels—
I feel…e v e r y w h e r e.

“It’s going to be okay.” He rubs my back as more tears escape.

“Read to me.” I tell him. The words come in the voice of a little girl.
Still a little girl.

“Read what?” He asks.

“Psalm 91”

“Why don’t you tell me what it says?” He prods gently. Knowing. He knows the power for me to hear my own voice speak life.

My face wet with tears. The pillow soaked from fright. His arms warm. He waits. I reach into the pockets of my memory…and speak.

“(S)he who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will find rest  in the shadow of the Almighty…because (s)he loves me. I will rescue her. I will save her from trouble.”

Oh, how my mind needs to be rescued…to find rest.

“Do you believe that?” he asks me.

I couldn’t answer.

Could I believe?

I wasn’t sure.
My life was dependent upon believing the Son would rise that day.

If He didn’t rise…if His light did not shine into my mind…well, how could I live?

How could I?

My heart tender from the early morning battle, I walked weak through my day—waiting for it to sneak up on me again. Fear. I hate it. How would I face it if, when it came again? Where was the courage to fight? Where?

And then I see it.

Simple words in a photo sent on my phone from a friend. Shouting a message. To me.

Hello Courage

I pause. Hello Courage? I don’t get it.

Have I just knocked on the door of Courage to say, ‘hello it’s time to come out and play’?


Is this Someone saying hello to me? As if I were Courage.

I hear it now. I remember.

It’s my name. The name He gave me almost nine years ago.
Courageous One.

I hear Him. He calls me by this name—to remind me who I am.

Hello Courage

I get it.

By calling my name He brings forth the very thing I lack. His hello rescued me and brought me rest.

Fear vanishes. Peace comes. The Son rises within my heart. Even in my doubt.

E v e n   i n   m y   d o u b t.

Because His grace continues…

 Where do you doubt God’s faithfulness? Where do you need the Son to rise today?
Art by Sherry Meneley

 Here or somewhere…be real.
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