It is the things I do routinely that I fear the most

The familiar I am most concerned about

The people I see daily I attempt to love the most

The things I have I cherish all the more

Even in the worship of my maker

Lest I loose his heart in the matter, the spirit behind the worship, the words in the song, the earnest in my prayer

Lest I seek only his hand and not his face, his work forgetting the walk

Lest I loose the essence of his love, the hope of his call

Lest my life revolves around the mundane

Myopia seeing only that before my nose, tunnel vision blind to the bigger picture

I welcome the new without fear, without trepidation

For paths unfamiliar mean my steps would be tentative, deliberate

Without the recklessness that soon creeps upon the prosaic

The nonchalance that attends the perfunctory

The apathy that means I am just going through the motions

For I am well aware that the chronic and habitual soon makes me lackadaisical.

Negligence, mistakes and then shoddy presentation of things I am well accustomed to

Repetition alone does not make one a master of the art

Nay, not at all times

It is keen attention on a path well travelled, a studied bearing on daily enterprise

A premeditated stitch to the fabric of our lives, though threadbare with use

Yes, I am still afraid of the ordinary

That for me is the irony of the familiar!