Hope and Fear

Hope may be the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and inspires you to do great things and moves you to soar as if you are but a spirit, but it is fear that keeps you from moving, that holds you in place, and reminds you that you are indeed human.  I claim to be no expert on either of these, but perhaps some day I will have the wisdom and age to be able to understand at least one of these.  Of late I have been racking up the experience hours in both of these departments. 

Recently one of my friends was in a horrible car accident and miraculously survived.  Unfortunately for a few hours I knew nothing and all anyone seemed to know was that she had gone to the hospital in an ambulance (University students knowledge of gossip is deplorably lacking).  Consequently I spent many hours in prayer, pacing, being moody, and making a general nuisance of myself to anyone who would listen.  Eventually I got enough of the story to find out she was alive and was recovering, but it took most of my resolve not to hop in Bennie and take off for Florida. 

While I was in California we got a call from my two little brothers' college saying there was a gun man on campus and that all students should barricade themselves in whatever room they could.  Naturally, a certain level of panic followed, which was only exacerbated by the fact that we could not get a hold of one of my brothers.  Before I go any further I would like to point out that they immediately sent out a retraction phone call to everyone who had been called because it was sent in error.  What had happened was that there was a threat against the school and everyone was supposed to keep their eyes open and report any suspicious activity.  Just the same, none of us could get a hold of him.  About an hour later he finally turned his phone back on and allayed our worst fears.  He was in the chapel, praying, and like a good little Catholic boy he had turned his phone off.  Part of me wishes more people could be like him but part of me wishes that he hadn't turned his phone off this particular day.  He was quick to point out that there are worse places to die than praying in the chapel.  I refuse to respond to his comment because that was one of the longest hours of my short life. 

I'd like to say that almost losing these people (in my mind) has given me a whole new perspective on life, and that I now treasure everything so much more, but it hasn't, and that scares me worst of all.  I still go on with my life dictated by fear.  I'm afraid to do something for fear that I will do it wrong.  I'm afraid to not try because maybe I'll do something right.  I still recall those hours with anger and sadness and I fully admit that I'm still a little afraid.  I'm afraid of what could've happened.  I'm afraid of what might happen.  I'm afraid of what will happen, that eventually everyone I love will have to say good-bye.  And yet, I still hope.  I spend much of my time hoping.  I hope that if someone I love goes I will be able to accept it and appreciate it for God's divine will.  I hope that if I am taken that I am ready to go and that I have lived as I should have.  I hope that if my life or the life of someone I love is ever endangered and there is something I could do about it, I have the courage to do what is necessary and not beat myself up about it afterwards.  I hope that I will do as God desires me to and that if I get to heaven I am not alone in there and that God forgives me for every single time I let fear hold me back.