I am scared.

A bone-numbing, chilling kind of fear. The type that flashes light before your eyes while you come up for air only to pull you down in its roaring waves threatening to submerge your frame with its hopes and dreams.

For the past weeks, I have cloaked it in humour, smoothed its searing edges in “I am fine, thank you” and downplayed the terror that expresses itself like nightmares and on easy days, palpitations. Like I’m going to wake and be forced to confront my nothingness before a crowd of witnesses. A mixed multitude.

Its the gritty, uncomfortable taste of public humiliation . Of being known to have tried, excelled and met a closed door yet scorned and used as a notable lesson. Of abiding by the rules of the game yet having the rug pulled from under your feet because it was never about the rules and not a game.

On one hand, I sense I may have built a golden calf around my ambitions and clung to it so much that I began to look like my idols. Because we, unconsciously become what we behold.

And that this ‘failing’ is God’s mercy. Still, I am scared. Scared of confronting my fears, of relinquishing control. Of having to trust. Of not knowing what next. Of having the reputation that I failed.

Several years ago, I dreamt I was driving but I did not know how, yet I sped on Calabar-Itu highway and woke up exhausted. I feel same way, exhausted.

I admit this should be a diary entry. Or a conversation with my friend. I am journaling this season publicly on here for a reason.

Today, I am asking you to call back. To share the stories that resonate. The scriptures that helped. The testimonies of restoration and hope and help. Of healing, and opened doors and mercies- the one that renews at dawn.

“If you have gone a little way ahead of me, call back—
‘Twill cheer my heart and help my feet along the stony track;
And, if perchance, faith’s light is dim, because the oil is low,
Your call will guide my lagging course as wearily I go.

Call back, and tell me that He went with you into the storm;
Call back, and say He kept you when the forest’s roots were torn;
That when the heavens thundered and the earthquake shook the hill,
He bore you up and held you where the air was very still.

O friend, call back and tell me, for I cannot see your face;
They say it glows with triumph, and your feet bound in the race;
But there are mists between us, and my spirit eyes are dim;
And I cannot see the glory, though I long for more of Him.

But if you’ll say He heard you when your prayer was but a cry,
And if you’ll say He saw you through the night’s sin-darkened sky,
If you have gone a little way ahead, O friend, call back—
‘Twill cheer my heart and help my feet long the stormy track.” Author, Unknown but culled from Streams in the desert by Charles Cowman.

Oh, please, call back. I am asking you to call back.

Tutu mkpong.

Your frightened friend,

Edima.