If Fear Wasn’t A Factor

If fear wasn’t a factor, I’d run to him. I’d love him—best I know how (that’s fear being a factor).

I’d bring him comfort and solace—if he’d take it (that’s fear speaking too).

Fear, you need to have several seats.

From my current point of view, I like him; his kindness wisdom quirkiness and humor.

Funny I never thought of returning to him—just thought us to be old flames with no embers smoldering.

Since his status change and he reached out to me, I’m seriously considering him.

Fear speaketh: What makes you think he wants you?

Fear, I asked you nicely to have several seats !

Well, as you can see, fear is a factor here. I need God’s guidance.

Long ago, I fearfully ran into someones space, not his arms, to rescue me from my torment. I put my own selfish desire first—to be comforted without giving comfort or love.

Got hitched.

Was miserable.

God wasn’t key; we were barely speaking.

I wanted what I wanted and it ended as a hot mess. Broken-hearted people scattered all over the lawn with rings, a name change, and papers.

Ten years out and I hope I’m wiser. I’ve learned the hard way that you can unwisely put yourself in the midst of something you can’t sustain. Or, you can seek wise counsel to live your dreams with fear not being a real factor at all.

I‘m choosing to be fearless this time by…

… seeking wise-counsel and walking in it.

… giving love as well as receiving it.

… being on speaking terms with God about his promises for me—yes and amen.

Fear, you are not a factor.

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Sucker Punched

Why are the young so happy?

Full of optimism
Full of glee

Nothing’s too big for their imagination

Anything’s possible

Then LIFE strikes…

One stumble: “Oh I’m good. Just a slight misstep. I got this.”

One stumble turns into years of pileup.

Your light dims.

Sucker-punch after sucker-punch.

Bitterness & apathy are no longer weekend guests; they’ve become unwanted tenants.

Folks start peddling you all kinds of sworn tested & true remedies in the name of “help you feel better”.

Thing is, they only work for so long before you just shrivel up and die while still wide awake…

C3F5616F-39E6-497B-9C6F-6B43143BE9D4
Max Ginsburg, Artists 

Who You Beefin’ With?

Art: Fight Club by Tim Okamura

The doorknob turned as anarchy stormed in. Violence ensued. Mercy fled. The war waged on the battlefield of time.
The adversaries bellowed their distinctive battle cries charging to defend their cause ordered by their respective commanders.

Like any good soldier, you fight the battle without understanding the cause—that’s what you signed up to do.
Since relinquishing your thoughts, feelings, and views to your leader, you no longer command your own life.

Someone else dictates your actions, your every move, and your way of living.

You have only the voice of your leader’s [commands and orders] echoing throughout your being.

Your true identity’s been stripped—dead to the world, dead to anyone you encounter, especially noticeable to those desiring a connection with you.

No chapter exists in your war manual for appropriately interacting with those longing to be close to you because you’ve been programmed to die.

Relationships necessitate life.

Your life’s no longer yours. Regrettably, you’ve sold your soul forgetting you were born free with liberty to move about unfettered.

As the battle persists—lives cut down, enemies (of your leader) destroyed—you feel victorious because it seems you’re winning.

I inquire of you, “What are you winning—your master’s war? Who you beefin’ with?”

You can give no thought to my questions presently. If you do, you will die on this non-self-imposed battlefield.

Your commander equipped you with the art of war to do combat in his battle, defending his interests, in his stead.

For your survival, you must follow his instructions to the letter until this battle’s end. Only then can you embrace your truth and purpose lying just beyond this war zone.

Hold on soldier—fight for your survival so you can live to determine your own destiny.

Peace…

Nesi Writes