When the words came strung together and I proudly tweeted, I didn’t know that it had been said before.
It hadn’t been said just like that, of course, but in a more positive way. I was struck anew when my dear G. K. was quoted thus:
If thanks is the highest form of thought (according to a famous scholar) and worry the lowest form (according to…me) then can it safely be said that thanks and worry are opposites or at least enemies?
If I’m worrying, what am I saying about God? That I’m displeased with my portion. I don’t like what he’s served for dinner. This isn’t what I would’ve chosen and I don’t have faith that it will work out.
When I am thankful, what am I saying about God? That what He’s provided is plenty. That I am satisfied with what He’s offered. That I trust in Him, trust that He knows what He’s doing.
They say that worry is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.
Take a good look at the picture above. What do you think I’ve been up to?
Actually, it wasn’t I who broke the rocking chair. I have a very hyper little sister who did the dirty deed, but it could have just as easily been me. It probably should’ve been me.
Worry. It’s something I struggle with…every day. But it’s not a pesky character trait or a bad habit. It’s not “just the way I am.”
It’s the lowest form of thought.
It prevents me from attaining the highest form of thought.
And, in plain English, it’s a sin.
I’ve known it was a sin for so long. I like to wag my finger at the mirror after long bouts of worry and say, “Everly, tsk tsk! You shouldn’t be doing such things!” and then move along.
I like to say, “I know I shouldn’t be worried, but…”
Honestly, I like to worry. I like to lay awake in bed, growing old in my youth, feeling productive. In the morning, I say that I prayed. In the moment, I’m listening to lies.
But worry is like a rocking chair. I like to sit in the rocking chair and go back and forth, back and forth. I am addicted to this form of torture, thinking that one of these times, leaning forward or tilting back, I’m going to arrive somewhere. But it’s just a game the devil plays with me.
We’re almost a week into Lent and already, it’s glaring at me. Worry can’t be a guilty pleasure any longer. I can’t let myself find any pleasure in that which hurts my Father. If I had just worried once and doubted His love, goodness, faithfulness, and never sinned again, I would’ve deserved the cross.
Fast from: worry
Hold fast to: a faithful father