Saint Dirty Face

At some point, the kid who was afraid of the dark became the man who checks every door before bed.

We used to fear what might be hiding beneath the mattress.

Something breathing in the closet.

A shadow outside the window.

The long hallway between our bedroom and the bathroom—which, after midnight, was apparently patrolled by every demon in North America.

Then we grew up.

The monsters changed.

Now they look like medical results.

Past-due notices.

A phone ringing at two in the morning.

A child driving home late.

Someone you love saying, “I’m fine,” in a voice that tells you they absolutely are not.

We stopped checking beneath the bed.

Now we check the locks.

The stove.

The porch light.

The thermostat—because some unidentified criminal keeps changing it after we set it correctly.

We wait for the sound of the garage door.

We stay awake until the text says, “Made it.”

We sit beside hospital beds pretending the chair isn’t slowly dismantling our spine.

We become the calm voice because everyone else needs one.

Not because we’re fearless.

Because fear is no longer the most important person in the room.

That’s what protection becomes with age.

Less chest-beating.

More paying attention.

Less looking dangerous.

More making people feel safe.

But protection has a shadow side too.

Love can become control if we aren’t careful.

Fear can disguise itself as authority.

And sometimes the person we’re trying to protect needs room to make decisions, fall down, learn, and become strong enough to check their own doors.

A protector doesn’t build a cage and call it shelter.

He teaches people how to recognize danger without convincing them the entire world is dangerous.

He stands nearby.

He keeps the light on.

He remains available.

Faith hasn’t removed the darkness from my life.

It has given me somewhere to stand inside it.

Some nights, courage looks like a prayer spoken with confidence.

Other nights, it’s three exhausted words:

“Help me, God.”

Both count.

Growing older doesn’t mean we stop being that frightened kid.

He’s still in there.

He just learned how to carry a flashlight.

And now, when something moves in the shadows, he doesn’t always run.

Sometimes he walks toward it.

Because behind him are the people he loves.

The dark didn’t get smaller.

We became the ones who check the doors.

— SAINT DIRTY FACE™
Imperfect on Purpose. Faithful with Fangs.