I usually love morning. It is a time of fresh hope, a new day, a new start.
Sometimes, I wake in the morning, and must fight off a howling pack of barbarous fears.
Thoughts, impressions, memories–a roaring cacophony of angry voices–fill my head the moment I am conscious. Their clamorous rage is a thundering stampede, like buffalo hooves crushing my peace, dislodging me from my experience of the very presence of my Father God who loves me, the living Christ who is my Lord, and Holy Spirit who is my comforter.
These seething voices are vicious, tormenting, accusing; and in their intensity, they seem to speak the truth. The horrific onrush feels irresistible, propelling me to a mountain of fear that cannot be scaled.
Casting myself down in humility before God in prayer, I am already overwhelmed. Already confused. Already defeated. It would be so easy to think “Why…
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