He was orangey-yellowish in color. Every day he'd stretch out across the dirt road to the barn and catch some shut eye. Cars meant nothing to this dog. Neither did horns. He'd just lay there, not moving a muscle, looking and acting just like a spe--well, you get it, but you see how he earned his name.
Speedy just had a special gift of stopping everyone in their tracks. The world revolved--or rather drove around him. I didn't mind driving around a dog. But for most of my life, I constantly tried to navigate around another kind of obstacle--the mother of all speed bumps--the speed bump of fear.
You know what? I never got around it. I refused to acknowledge its existence. You only just run into what you don't see. Worse still, when others were vulnerable enough to show me their fear, I just put them down. So much easier to do than to admit to feeling afraid all the time.
But not so long ago, I recalled the time when Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane. He was so afraid to die that His sweat fell in drops of blood from His brow. If He was that afraid to face the cross, and He was the Son of God, why then did I think fear in others was a weakness?
I'm still in the middle of a paradigm shift here to be honest. But admitting I do feel fear helps me somehow to get past it. And now I can appreciate when others feel this way, too. It's human. It's real. And it's okay.
Feel free to share what you're struggling with today. Maybe you have a link to some of your artwork or photography. Maybe you wrote a poem. Any kind of artistic expression is welcome.
I don't have any secret wisdom here. It just seems to me that honestly taking a look at something makes that thing smaller and less powerful. Whatever your speed bump is, if you want to move on, acknowledging what's in your way is likely to help you continue your journey. That's what we all want, don't you think? To move ahead?
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