Degrees of Belief

I am stressed. You'd only have to take a look at the skin on my arms to know the degree at which I am stricken with anxiety. And the race has not even officially begun. Yet, I am already having sneezing fits from hay fever, interrupted sleep plagued by all sorts of nonsensical dream (tho' a reoccurring one of me having problems with home renovation is nice to have!) and the endless glum that something - anything - can and will go wrong.

I know my folks and friends will say - just go through the motions, everything is already there for the receiving. Yet, I cannot help but worry and doubt and fear.

Our resident priest writes a weekly thingy in the church's bulletin. And his this week was one that made me almost one to cry. As he writes about the fears that grips our souls, he also confesses that at age 80+ and wheel-chair dependent, his greatest fear is of falling - finding himself on the cold cement floor of the bathroom or at the end of the corridor where no one can hear him call for help.

And I look at Father Voile. And then I look at my folks who live off whatever small fruits that God bestows on them. And then I look at the pages I read - of Troy and Tara, of Gwenn and most recently of Gwenn's mother, and I hang my head in shame. For their fears are so much more real than mine - which I do admit to a certain degree, stems from my lil maggot in the head.

We all have different degrees of belief. I can only pray that as I journey along, with the support from both Heaven and earth, the depths of mine will only grow deeper.