For a very long time, I felt like I was held hostage by my past. I crept about, timid and afraid, never knowing when the memory of something horrible would attack me from behind and bash me to the ground. It’s not like that anymore, I have made peace with my past. For that I am thankful. But lately I have begun to feel that familiar restraint, this time in a slightly different way. My mind has clamped hold of me. I feel locked inside an empty jar, lonely and confused, my thoughts echoing madly against the hard and unforgiving walls. There are times that I feel so separated from the world, when I’m almost blinded by the rush and swirl of brain-chatter that seems never to cease. It’s so foggy and muddy up here in my head and I want to quiet things down, to take the advice of a friend who told me I should “shut that shit off,” but I don’t know how. The only thing I can think of to do is pray.

I read somewhere once that you never need to meet God halfway. The only thing you have to do is take one tiny step towards God, and he will rush the rest of the way to you. And God has been everywhere lately, answering prayers left and right and showing off in a way that seems most unbecoming of someone who is supposed to be a wise and loving teacher. I ask for something and blammo, there it is! On the days when I need nothing more than to know that God is there, some sort of fantastical miracle ends up playing out right in front of my eyes. The other day, for instance, a dear elderly woman came into the salon for a perm. She was this tiny little Norwegian thing with a first name that was so difficult to pronounce I felt like my tongue was weighed down with lead every time I tried to say it. It had been years since her last perm, and she had been grooming herself carefully at home, trimming her own hair with a pair of kitchen scissors once a month. She lives alone, and she had walked to the salon that day just to see if she could, because she doesn’t know how much longer she’ll be able to drive herself around. She was cheerful and sweet, this frail little bird in my chair who chirped and twittered and told me stories of growing up in Norway. I loved her madly and immediately. We chatted about her cocker spaniel, the volunteer work she does at the Sons of Norway center, and how the weather was just lovely for gardening.

“But I’m afraid to go into my garden now,” she told me. “That is why I needed a perm today, you know, because my best girlfriend was in her garden last week and she fell. She died. I wanted my hair to look nice for her memorial on Monday. If I fell in my garden no one would know, the neighborhood is so quiet these days.”

I was stunned and gutted and I didn’t know what to say. She was so matter-of-fact. She wasn’t looking for sympathy, she was just making conversation. This information was given to me in the same tone of voice she had used when telling me about her grandchildren. When we had finished with her perm I took her downstairs to the front desk and we were met by a giant smile from the receptionist. There was good news for my little Norwegian bird. The client who had been sitting in the chair next to ours was so touched by her story that she had left enough money to pay for half of the perm. And after I said goodbye and saw her to the door, I ran out to my car and wept in gratitude for being able to witness such an act of kindness. I imagine God was watching all of this with a very satisfied smile on his face, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had reached around and patted himself on the back for a job well done.

Yes, God. Nice one.

My question is, how in the world can I be in the middle of such a pure and beautiful human interaction and still feel so completely separated from it all? The answer is probably fear, because fear is usually the answer to everything. Fear is why I will never go skydiving (the risk of parachute malfunction is much too great), why I hate getting gas after dark (it’s a well-documented fact that women are frequently taken from the murky Chevron parking lot and sold into sex slavery in the middle east), and why I avoid public speaking like the plague (you never know when you will spontaneously vomit and ruin your reputation forever). It has to be fear that keeps me locked away in this mind-jar. I have this odd fascination with people… I am awed and transfixed by their beauty as long as I don’t have to get too close to them- much like the gorgeous, slinky jaguar at the zoo. Give me 3 inches of shatter-proof glass and I am an eager spectator, but toss me into the enclosure and you’ll find me rolled fetal in the farthest corner, begging for deliverance.

I suppose with God’s recent penchant for show-offy, grandiose acts, I could just ask for this one to be taken care of as well. I have no doubt he’s capable of removing my fear, but I’m also pretty certain that the fear will put up a nasty fight. It paces just beyond the safety glass, feet padding quietly on the hard-packed dirt, waiting for something to happen that will toss me in the pit. It corners me every time, breathing bitter jaguar-breath in my face and waiting for me to move so it has an excuse to tear me apart. I’m scared of what my fear will try to do if it sees God marching in with his satisfied little grin, and that’s like double fear, the fear of fear, and that makes me feel really crazy. I want more than anything to shut that shit off. But I don’t know how. The only thing I can think of to do is pray.