Storms without, quiet within

I spent Friday night at a retreat center in West Chester.  In the middle of the night I woke to the sounds made by throaty rumbles of thunder and demanding raindrops.  Each lightening strike filled my room with brightness, and seemed close enough that even in my through the fog of sleep, I figured it might be a good idea to unplug my cell phone’s charger from the wall.  I listened to the storm for a while, enjoying being so close to soil and water, while still safe and dry inside. 

This is how my life has been feeling like lately.  The world is filled with storms raging outside of me, but inside I am clear, peaceful, unscathed.  It’s a state to which I’m unaccustomed to, and I keep starting, thinking, “what’s missing?”  I do a self inventory, counting my fingers and toes, eyeballs and heart.  Everything necessary is accounted and I realize that what’s missing is the feeling of fear about the future.  It’s startling to let that worry go, and it has left a hole behind, but it’s one I’m eager to fill with other, more productive emotions. 

I’m not entirely certain when the fearfulness left, although having spent more than two years actively working to unseat it from it’s perch, I shouldn’t be surprised at it’s absence.  But I’ve come to realize that there was a part of me that wasn’t convinced that it would actual respond to the repeated eviction notices I handed it.  But it’s moved on and I am grateful (and a little stunned). 

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