Life is so precious. No matter how long you've lived it, does it ever feel like it is long enough. Many people may not know this about me, but I am scared of death. I'm not sure how long it has been hanging back there, or why it surfaced recently. It is the weirdest thing. I get paranoid over little things, what to do if a fire breaks out at the house, what if someone crosses that yellow line? What if someone pulls out in front of me? (and now you know why I drive like an old granny) What if I have a heart attack? Stroke? Brain anuerism (sp?)? Then I wonder what happens when I die? (Ken and I talked about this last night) Do I immediately go to heaven? Or do I just kinda lay around (for lack of a better thought) until Jesus comes back? Maybe I am overlooking something, but it doesn't seem to be very clear. And my thought is, if we immediately go to heaven and be with God, then what is the purpose in the saints rising from their graves?
Just the crazy thoughts going through my head lately. There has been a lot of deaths, and people dying around me that are close to me or just that I have heard of. Sweet sweet people who I wonder for them as much as my paranora for myself. Still workin' on that... My fear of the unknown.
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