As I sat drinking my coffee I looked at the clock and was actually glad the baby had woke me up early. Perhaps I can use the extra time to my advantage I thought. Optimistic, and totally unrealistic.
As I sipped and loosely planned my day I began to catalog the many responsibilities on my agenda. Then I considered all the concerns currently ranking utmost in my brain. The more caffeine I ingested, the more items that I could dwell upon entered my brain. I found myself practically strangling on the worry that was inadvertently flowing from my coffee mug.
I had a book being published, one under review, and another that was simply an idea swimming in my head, and I was the most excited about the one yet written. I had marketing on my mind, something I knew little to nothing about. As much as I tried to push the thought away, I still pondered I wonder if they’ll like my other book. On the coat-tails of that worry rode the question, when will I ever not be too exhausted to start that great idea and bring it to life? Starting a book from scratch always seems daunting. And writing was just my hobby anyway, right?
Thoughts on writing competed with my full-time job of being a housewife and mom, a gig I took very seriously. How could I take the time to watch that YouTube video on self-marketing for new authors when I had a sink full of dirty dishes, three loads of laundry to do, and a kid who fell asleep with a fever and woke with no voice?
It doesn’t matter the specifics of my concerns. For me it’s writing, and for someone else it may be something that ranks far higher (to them) on the crucial to sustaining livelihood chart. That’s irrelevant. And it’s not so much my responsibilities to my home, although I do consider that substantial in the grand scheme. Since time will always evade me where household chores are concerned, and laundry multiplies, I’ve gotten used to that particular daily stress. That doesn’t mean I like it. It just means I’m accustomed and use that mild stress level to motivate. Nothing pushes you to do dishes like being unable to function in the kitchen unless something is done. Plus I have an insanely small sink.
My point is, I can get past that run-of-the-mill, daily grind anxiety. It’s the other kind that gets me. It’s that other kind that tries to steal my joy. It’s the anxiety I feel over things beyond my control that is most bothersome.
What if no one likes my book? What if there’s some unforeseen problem with my publisher? What if they don’t like it or it doesn’t do well? What if I’m hearing God wrong and this is a big, fat waste of time?
What if my kids are in an accident? What if something happens to them while I’m at work? What if they got sick, like, for real sick?
Sometimes another person says something, puts a bug in your ear, a bug of worry. I don’t think it’s their intention to cause you anxiety, they just do. Maybe we’re all guilty of that at times. God I hope not, but maybe.
So whether somebody says something to feed your anxiety, or whether it’s all you, when it gets going, it’s a cascade event. And this domino of anxiety over circumstances beyond your control is fruitless. I don’t mean nothing comes from it. I just mean nothing positive flows from pointless worry. It does breed plenty of strife and stress. It definitely robs your hope and joy, and it even throws a blanket over your freedom found in faith.
Reread that last sentence of the above paragraph if you need to. I did. I’m admitting that when I worry excessively over situations beyond my control, I am doubting God’s ability to control my life. Because the truth is when it comes down to it, I have no substantial control over my life. There’s just too many variables outside of my manipulation. But God does have the control, if I’ll allow it.
I’m not saying I’m a helpless pawn in a game called life. Not at all. I am an active participant in life, and all final decisions of the course we’ll take are up to me. What I am saying is that forces outside of my understanding or control are many. That’s when surrender is paramount.
I did also mention the word “excessive” when I described worry. It’s only natural to have some worry, concern, or anxiety over life. It happens. But when you excessively allow that anxiety to overcome you and pollute your spirit then that is when you have a problem. That is when I have a problem.
Then I read this verse:
Jeremiah 1:5
“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.”
It’s comforting to me to just soak my anxieties in the fact that my life was written before I was born, that my Creator knows every plan for my life. It’s that whole unknown thing again. There is no unknown to God. That is so reassuring.
It banishes worry, anxiety, and fear. It reminds me that although I cannot see from point A to point B, the Savior that I’ve given my life to can. And then I’m good. I might need to remind myself of this tomorrow, but for now I’m cool as a cucumber. I’m still drowning in laundry, mind you, but I’m cool.