My children have led me into courtrooms, hospital rooms, doctors offices. Psych wards. Juvenile detention centers. Places of both extreme light and extreme darkness.

Some of them look like me, others don’t. Some don’t even live with me anymore. Some may have never known I was their mother.

I was a foster mother. Hard. I adopted kids: hard as well. I lost children, hardest of all.

But this weekend my tallest son taught me how to paint on an extension ladder. He is nearly a foot taller than I am, so he makes it look easy, but what impressed me was his success in teaching me to challenge my fear.

He taught me by doing it–first and better than me, then by walking me through my fears (and why) then how to overcome them.

We both know from experience that I am a crabby old dog, disinclined to new tricks. But love will prevail.

After all it is love, they say, that casts out all fear.

Good news when it is a long flight down.

2 thoughts on “Fear

  1. You’re brave, Elea. My feet will never touch the fourth and higher rung of an extension ladder. 🙂 [My fear of heights prevents me from going too far past the literal interpretation of you entry!]

    • Necessity is the mother of extension ladders. I get up there, slap some paint where I can and get down to earth! Also not tempted to sky dive–no thanks !!!!

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