I didn’t want to go.
Even though a part of me did.
Back and forth, I couldn’t decide.
It was a last minute decision — whether I should really get on a plane and fly to Savannah, Georgia to spend time with my (in)courage sisters.
The morning I was supposed to be packing, I laid in bed.
I wrapped the covers around me. I didn’t want to go anywhere.
That’s what happens when I start feeling anxious. I feel cold. My body is hijacked preparing for something threatening and my nervous system gets focused getting ready to take flight or fight.
I feel light-headed.
I don’t want to leave the safety of my home. I like being able to just be by myself — or control when I would see people and how I would let them see me.
I didn’t want to risk social engagement. I don’t have the emotional strength to figure out what to say, to whom, when to say it and how.
It’s odd because my therapist tells me this is actually good — not trying to figure everything out.
It means moving out of survival mode and allowing myself to be — as is. Thawing out to come alive.
Free to be full as well as broken.
Free to be me.
It would be my first airplane trip in two years. Since I’ve experienced post-traumatic stress.
I’ve had a breakthrough earlier this spring.
I began to write about my story stumbling through brokenness and overwhelming stress — in hopes of taking others a journey to discover God’s voice in their stories and celebrate the beauty of faith.
But, my journey of faith has just begun. I need God even more. Every waking moment. Of every day. And every midnight hour I breathe on my bed.
You’re not okay, Bonnie. I heard Jesus whisper on my heart.
And that’s okay.
I want you to go.
Because I love you.
Just the way you are.
I don’t know why, but I just cried and cried and cried when those whispers hit my heart — like the first pelts of rain in autumn dropping from sky onto dirt, dried and cracked, caked over by the summer heat.
I didn’t know what would happen if I stepped onto an airplane to go somewhere unfamiliar with so many others. I was scared. But, I wanted to believe God loved me — as is.
So, I dragged myself over to….
To be continued…
…To read the rest of the story “Be Present, Even When You’re Most Afraid” – click here to join me over at DaySpring’s (in)courage site, where today’s post is published.
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