Closed Fist

What causes me to close the fist? Clench the hand?
For me, it is fear.
I know what it is to be afraid.
The gnawing and wrenching of gut. The angst arising as evil approaches.
I know this. Know it well.
I have been schooled in such, ever since I was a babe in arms.
Helpless, as I was abused in ways foreign to a child. Foreign to a teen.
Fear continued its clench as I buried child.
And another.
And another.
Suffocating panic arose as I witnessed my good husband dragged through the slime and shame of courts and prison.
Oh, I clenched hard then. Closed my hands. Closed my heart.
To God. To His goodness.
I was ravished by fear. Nearly devoured.
Until Love sang over me. Danced with me. (Zephaniah 3:17)
Pursued me, unending.
Me. Fear's Child.
Me. Shattered Woman.
Me. Closed Fists.
Love rained. Until heart was fallow.
Plowed and softened by time and elements. Ready to receive.
Yes, I have been helpless. But I have been helped.
Love Unyielding, came to heal. Love Relentless, brought hope. Love Pursuing, opened hands.
And yes, I quake at news crushing.
Even so, my hands stretch out.
Receiving.
Love singing.
Over me.