“Do you remember the things you were worrying about a year ago? Didn’t you waste a lot of fruitless energy on account of most of them? Didn’t most of them turn out all right after all?” – Dale Carnegie
I am a world-class worrier. I worry about my son while he’s in school, wondering if he’s doing well in class or if he had enough to eat for lunch. I worry about my husband and whether his business is doing well and if the finances are straight. I worry about my parent’s health in their later years. I worry about my sister’s family in the wake of her husband’s job loss. I worry about my career in acting and where the next audition will come from. I worry about the economy, the war, homelessness & poverty. I worry about Haiti, Samoa, Indonesia. I worry about time (or lack thereof) and I worry about money (or lack thereof). I worry that I don’t talk to my friends enough or that I spend too much time with them and not my family. I worry that my cat looks too thin and my dog looks too fat. I worry that I look too fat. I worry about what to have for dinner and that my house is not clean. I worry about the water standing in my yard and the next snowfall. And I worry that one day I’ll worry myself into such a dither that I’ll give myself a heart attack or an ulcer.
When I was in second grade, my teacher wrote in the comment section of my report card that I worried too much.
When I was in ninth grade, I worried so much about going through high school exams for the first time, that I broke out all over in hives for two weeks. I did it again the next semester, and again my senior year of college.
My astrological sign is Virgo, also known as the worrier.
I cannot imagine a world in which my responsibilities do not lead to some amount of worrying. I cannot imagine myself without overwhelming responsibilities or feeling responsible for other’s responsibilities too.
In other words, I’d really like to be in control and fix the world, which in light of all the worrying I do, isn’t a lot to ask.
Inevitably, when I’m feeling stressed over something, a well-meaning person tries to get me to stop spinning by quoting Matthew 6:25-34. However, just for reference, when a person is having a panic attack, telling them to consider the lilies of the field will likely get you hurt. However well intentioned, it comes off as smug and judgmental. We worriers KNOW about the Sermon on the Mount. We know we shouldn’t worry, and so now we feel guilty too. We can’t hear your higher purpose in telling us to calm down because we are in the thick of it. All we can hear is that you can’t help us.
Which brings me to Lent. Reflection. Quiet. Giving up.
What if I took the time I devote to worrying and spend some of it daily in reflection? What if I used that time to consider the lilies in peace and quiet rather than angrily trying to consider them when I’m panicking? And what if, like Carnegie’s quote, I used my worry time to remember how worrying never really changed the course of events at all? What if I reflected on the fact that putting forth my best intentions and a good dose of prayer usually meant things turned out all right after all. And what if this became a daily habit, rather than just for the forty days of Lent?
Here’s what I’d like to give up: worrying, fear, feeling overwhelmed. And it’s not easy for a control freak like me to give that away. I have to learn to trust enough to let go, and that could take years. But what if just for now, rather than create a vacuum in my life where worry use to reside, I replace it with reflection on God blessing my best effort. Perhaps that would foster enough trust between God and I that I could in the future find a way to allow myself to let the anxiety go, learn to ask for help, and forgive myself if things don’t go the way I wanted. What would happen if I allowed myself to imagine God loving me enough to help me, rather make me feel guilty? What if I trusted God enough to believe that things would turn out all right after all?
