Deb
Reader, Thinker, Writer, Lover.
October 2017
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You know what makes me anxious about my anxiety? The way it just happens to me. Like, Iím walking along in the garden of life, picking daisies and enjoying the warm sunshine on my back, when all of the sudden, I become aware of something lurking behind a bush. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, but can never quite put my finger on it. I run through the questions in my mind: did I leave the gate open? Did I invite it in, somehow? Did I miss the warning signs that it was going to camp out in my body? Nope, nope, nope. It just happens, out of the blue, and that makes me anxious as hell. Anxious-er.
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I said:
Lord, come quickly.

Itís a favorite phrase of Christians Ė a sentiment that means, ďItís all too much, Jesus. Come back from the heavens and rescue us from this cesspool Ė this mess we live in. I canít do it any more.Ē

And then, he said to me clearly:

I have already returned. Itís YOU. You are my way of saving the world.

But how? How do we save a world bent on destroying itself?

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