I grew up in rural Ohio, and sometimes the level of our boredom got to the point where my friends and I would get together late at night and go haunted-house hunting. We'd usually find one down a dusty, narrow lane, where you could hear the shrubs scraping like fingernails against the car. You'd get out of the car in pitch blackness. The wind would be whistling through the trees, and a hoot owl would be singing his song.

The house would be just like you would imagine--a dark, gray, imposing figure with the windows broken out and the shutters falling off. The broken picket fence had a squeaky gate that swung lazily back and forth. We'd go into the house and turn on the flashlight. If you were to reach out and touch us at that moment, you'd have to peel us off the ceiling. Every step was one of caution. Every step was one of concern. Every step was one of worry because we didn't know what was waiting for us around the corner. Could we handle it when we found out?

Many people are living their lives as if they're in a haunted house. Every step is one of caution, concern, and worry. Can I handle what is just around the corner?