Gloom blankets the chilly night. A soft breeze whistles through the bare branches. A sixth sense suggests someone is following you. Maybe for a while now. The wind pauses. Dry leaves crackle from the ground behind you, confirming your intuition. You freeze, ears focusing. There... again... followed by sticks breaking like dry bones. Swiveling towards the wooded area, you look, nothing but deep shadows as the clouds linger against the moon. Prickles crawl up the spine as shadows become phantoms. The distance home becomes a hundred-meter dash. Your feet catapult into a run as you imagine a knife-wielding killer closing in. The dog steps out from behind the tree, whines, and trots the opposite way. Fear. Where did it originate? From death, heights, the IRS, poverty, or spiders, everyone deals with fear. Why? Because all are born with it. What are you afraid of the most? It should be the Lord, then me. However, the fear of the Lord and fearing me are at different ends of the ladder. Fear is the taproot of my sinful nature. Yours too. This is my story. Our story. Hi.
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