My heart plummeted when I entered the room full of women and didn’t see anyone I knew. I had prayed on the drive in, adding just a respectable amount of pleading that I’d quickly spot a familiar face. It had been precisely 2.5 seconds, so either I should’ve defined “quickly” or mingled in a few pleas for patience.
Rather than flounder in awkwardness, I beelined to the coffee station, pulled out my smartphone and assumed the universal position for “Don’t mind me. I’m busy.” Surely, someone on Instagram was up to something fabulous.
There was a time in my life when walking into a crowded room afforded the opportunity for connection and kindness. I was the girl who would offer smiles and easy conversation. But then came broken friendships, a wounded heart, and heaps of unanswered questions over the how and why.
Wide spaces and new faces grew to evoke one emotion: fear.
This brand of fear doesn’t send covers over your head and shivers down your spine. It’s far more subtle than that.
This is the kind of fear that makes you doubt the resilience of a fragile heart.
This fear convinces you it’s better to settle for safety than risk vulnerability.
This fear tells you that ignoring God’s truth isn’t really disobedience, but just your own brand of protective wisdom.
Left unchecked, this fear will steal our faith.
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