Fear. It's a Scary Thing.

Maddie is sick. Again. It feels like her illnesses are never ending. This time, she has a fever. And a cough. And a cold. And she won't eat. Just like every other time she's been sick over the last four months. And it's wearing on me. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm frustrated. I'm confused. But most of all, I'm afraid. Not afraid that her fever won't get better. Not afraid that her cough won't improve and her cold won't go away. Not afraid that she's underweight. Not even afraid that her breathing will get worse again. I'm afraid to lose her. Don't get me wrong; I know that there is very little chance that there is some unyielding, evil disease lurking below the surface of my baby. But when she has constantly been sick for so long, the fear starts to set in. Not a timid, gentle fear. A thick, heavy, intense fear that crushes me, to the point where I can physically feel it suffocating me. And my daughter can sense my fear. Tonight, after I'd given her some ibuprofen to try and lower her temperature, Maddie looked me in the eyes and said, "Don't worry, Mama. I won't worry". When I promised her that I wouldn't worry, she looked my in the eyes very seriously and said, "Don't cry, Mama." And I wasn't crying. Not yet.

My fear is centered around the unknown more than anything else. Right now, my life is certainly more planned than it was a few weeks ago, when I was sitting at home, in Wickenburg, wondering where life would take us next. Maddie was sick, we didn't know where we would be living, we didn't have a job, we didn't know how we could keep our insurance which we desperately need. Through that difficult period, I had more faith than I've ever had before. I believed that God would point us in the right direction, put us in the right place, and meet our needs. And He did. I don't know why this fear has overwhelmed me today, when we've always been okay. It's not pleasant. It's not comfortable. It's not how I want to feel. I don't want my daughter to have to comfort me when she so desperately needs my comfort. But this fear...it's hard to shake. It's hard to let go of. It's hard to believe that my daughter will be okay when she seems to NEVER be okay. So, for tonight, I'm going to be afraid. I'm going to be really, really scared. I'm going to imagine every mystery illness, every worst case scenario, every one of my worst nightmares. And then tomorrow? Well, tomorrow I think I'll let someone else worry about those things. So tomorrow? God, you're it.