Dear God, fear presses in upon me. What will happen to me? Who will criticize my efforts? Will I find sufficient resources? How will I meet my obligations?
These worries, Lord, are like old friends, repeatedly visiting. In truth they are ghosts, without substance: worldly criticism holds no power; resources are always provided; strength and supply are always forthcoming. You have never forsaken me. And yet — this is what I fear. I make monsters out of shadows.
Lord, I am your child. Let me stand as your child, speak as your child, act as your child — like my sisters and brothers, an heir to your estate built of love. Let me live this inheritance.