Scared

Well, if you live here, you know that I am in the midst of the worst-week-ever. Since I've been here, I've marveled at how safe Germany is. No need to lock car doors! I can leave the back door open for Taz! That type of thing. For me, it was like being back home in Gulfport where we felt safe, even knowing that we had a window that couldn't be locked. Even so, I still locked the car doors, per Woodstock's instruction. But apparently, the other night, I wasn't careful enough. When I got up the next morning, I started my day by going to pick up a friend to go downtown. Instinctively, I got ready to rake through the change Jamil keeps in the front console. Except it wasn't there. Panicked, I looked through the car ... what else was missing? It was mostly random stuff, pin-on rank without the backs, the Pink Panther costume the pastor's wife let me borrow (don't ask. Just ... don't), Jamil's sunglasses and my iPod. Thank goodness it was a shuffle, because if not, I would have really been tripping. When I went to the MP station to fill out a report, I was pissed. How DARE someone do this to me? And it wasn't about what was taken, but the principle: someone was in my car!

But later that night, as I prepared for bed, I had another feeling. Fear. I've never really been scared of many things - not genuinely scared I mean. And this feeling I had, I don't know. I thought back to last week when the wind blew over the mat in my backyard. What if the wind didn't blow it over? What if someone was checking for the key that I usually keep there and thank God, put away. I tiptoed outside in my slippers, just to make sure I'd locked the car door. Everytime I heard voices or a car door slam, I glanced out of the window suspiciously. And when I heard a door slam twice, but never heard footsteps, I went outside to investigate, arms folded with a frown on my face. Hmmm... a green Mercedes SUV, that looks unfamiliar. That night I stayed up as late as possible and then went to sleep on the couch.

I've always thought of myself as a strong, black woman. Although I've never been in a fight, I have no doubt that after surveying the scene for weapons, I could totally dole out a pretty good a-- whoopin'. I'm the one who picked bugs off of screaming women and children, and flicked them away. So this fear, this feeling that perhaps someone could come into the house and get me ... I don't know how to describe it. The pastor's wife told me to recite a scripture, "For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." And I tried to recite it, but of course I can never remember the entire thing.

But I tried. And I told myself that I wouldn't be afraid. I've prayed about it, and I have received peace about the whole situation.

Even so, one little thing still looms in the back of mind, something that I will have to repent for if the time comes:

If I see Pink Panther walking down the street, I'm punching him in the face.

And then I'll ask for forgiveness.