Like a rocking chair...

Today's post will not be eloquent, but it will be real.

FDR was right on when he said the only thing to fear was fear itself. It drains you. Fear is a damning thing.

Maybe I should be more specific - unchecked worry not related to a specific thing is damning.

It's like being pinned down the ground on your stomach. You're not really sure what or who is holding you down or how you could break free. You can't see the culprit when your nose is in the dirt.

I didn't sleep very well last night. I'd start to fall asleep, and then I'd wake up with a start. Something is pinning me down.

I wish I could identify what's making me worried or nervous or excited or anxious or penitent or prayerful, but it feels like a cloud of gray stuff swirling around. I can't reach into it and pluck out a single issue.

I wish I could point to a specific fear about Kenya, but I can't.

I wish I could give voice to the murkiness of worry, but I can't. I feel haunted by it.

I don't like waiting in uncertainty, and it seems that something is hellbent on making me stare down that discomfort before I get on the plane.

To be clear, I'm not entirely sure it's God. It's more like I'm bent on destroying the loveliness of this gift by worrying it to death.

The way I figure it, over the next five days, I can either push into this confusion and work it out on the page or over last-minute beers with my friends...or I can pretend this feeling isn't there and toss around in bed every night, trying to will myself to sleep.

If you know me, you know I don't pretend very well. Ergo, you get to help me weed through it today.

I know that we've all had moments of confusion when we're challenged to undertake something big, but it feels very lonely to go through it by yourself. Sort of like David facing Goliath right now.

I'm supposed to be brave and excited. I'm supposed to have all the confidence and peace in my spirit because God has led me here and placed the provision in front of my feet.

But today, I'm just not feeling very brave. I'm weak. I can't control sh*t.

So, I'm honestly confessing this to you and to God:

I need help.

I need you to be with me over the next few weeks while I can't find words and need to borrow yours.

I need your prayers when saying "thank you" is about all I can get out.

I need you to not ask me how "excited" I am. (Because I feel like a big doubter for admitting that I'm more afraid than excited today.)

I need you to sit with me and be my strength.

I need you to love me because I'm honest, not because I'm brave.

...and above all else, I need you to know that I'll feel completely differently about not being ready when I set foot in Kenya.