Dear President Trump. In my quest, albeit Quixotic, to love you, my enemy, I begin to wonder if you are simply afraid. You fear the poor and minorities. You fear immigrants and foreigners. You fear ridicule and rejection. You fear people you think may be smarter than you. You fear people who do not worship the God you claim… So many of your tweets and other comments speak of your fears. You are so rich. You are now so powerful. Yet. you come across as afraid. Even your bravado smells of fear. Your fear is dangerous for the rest of us. Perhaps, loving you might include calming your fears. Perhaps that is why so many report having to treat you as a petulant yet powerful child. The underlying problem for many of us is, how do you love someone who lives in a constant state of fear? If you were my child I might take you in my arms, stroke your hair and tell you it’s all right. Or, if you were being a bully I might discipline you and balance that discipline with assurances of love. But you’re not my child. You are my President. That makes me afraid. Here I am commanded to love you and what I feel is fear. If you are afraid and I am afraid…. We both need prayers. 12 18 17.