I admit it: I am a worrier ... I learned it from my father, who learned it from his mother, and so on and so forth. Worrying has become habitual, my default mode. I mostly worry about being late. I’m sure this has to do with the fact that my mother was always extremely tardy when picking me up from elementary school. I was the sad, pathetic one still waiting on the school steps because her mom was too busy remodeling the house to remember that it was her turn to carpool.
The problem with worrying is it squelches everything that I value in myself. I become snappy, irritable, and annoyed. I lose my sense of humor, I am completely unavailable to myself and those around me, and I experience physical reactions which I am convinced keeps my chiropractor in business.
As Byron Katie says, “when you want stress in your life, get a future.” I love that! Worrying is based on fear. Fear that things won’t go the way I planned. Fear that I will lose control. Fear that I will miss something important. You get the idea.
When my family and I were returning from Costa Rica on a vacation awhile back, we had thirty minutes to make our connecting flight and were required to walk from the international terminal to the domestic terminal approximately twenty minutes away. After surviving security my son, who is sixteen and eats every thirty minutes (late puberty) grabs his ticket, yells something about going to the food court, and says he’ll meet us at the gate. I try to respond with a message that will scare him into rethinking his decision like “you better not or you’ll miss your flight” or “if you do, you’ll be in big trouble buddy,” but he’s faster than a rabbit in heat.
My husband, daughter, and my parents proceed to hail one of those carts that transport passengers from terminal to terminal and it’s at least a ten minute drive to the gate. I am freaking out thinking how is my son going to make it to the gate on foot and stop for a meal when our flight is taking off in fifteen minutes. My father is behind me saying aloud what I am thinking “I don’t think Josh is going to make it. Why did you let him go?” (“Shut up!” I want to shout.)
My husband, as usual, sat there calmly trying to reassure me that everything would be fine. I was completely annoyed that he wasn’t experiencing the stress that I was feeling. He finally turned to me and said “Listen Jack, he’ll be there and if he’s not you’ll go ahead, I’ll wait for him. I’ve never been in Houston before; we’ll catch a game, see the sights and catch a flight tomorrow, if he doesn’t show up on time …”
I turned to him and said, “HOW DO YOU DO THAT?!”
“Where did you learn to operate from faith rather than fear?” I ask him with sincere curiosity.
“It’s a choice,” he answers so simply.
“I guess it is,” I reply.
It suddenly dawned on me that I just took the most adventurous trip of my life. I zip lined through the jungles of Costa Rica sliding on cables through treetops over 1,400 ft long and over 400 feet in the air, and repelled down 165 foot waterfalls without giving into fear. I chose to experience this adventure because I would have been disappointed had I not and because it actually looked like fun once I got over the idea that I might not actually die.
So next time you’re faced with a dilemma or difficult situation ask yourself, “what would faith say about this?” And then, “what would fear say?”
What I have found is that fear is imprisoning while faith is emancipating. One frees me up and the other shuts me down. One has the potential of being fun while the other is most certainly a drag … It’s your choice.
