The Art Of Worry

Why we have a hard time listening to Jesus - and how Jon Acuff's "Soundtracks" helped me uncover my ears.

Me after a therapy session with Jesus. I need these daily. (Credit: Andrea Piacquadio | Pexels)

If worrying were a competitive sport, I’d be among the elite athletes. I have Olympics level anxiety and a full-access pass to all of the activities: the worry luge, the anxiety triathlon, the fear-inducing ice dance. (What would that even look like? I digress.)

I take full responsibility for my inability to get it together, much less keep it together. I think those go in consecutive order because my daughter said so. One evening this week, she traipsed across the lawn gathering fistfuls of spent dandelions with puffy white parachutes ready to be dispatched. She walked over to my wife, Julie, and proudly held them up for her to see. Julie offered to start blowing them across the lawn with her. Phoebe yelled “No!” and grunted, incensed Mommy would suggest something so cruel and unusual.

You see my point. You’ve got to get it together to keep it together—while actively preventing other people from unkeeping it together.

According to my survey of one (that’s me), Christians are notorious worriers. That’s a gross overgeneralization, and I’ll probably get an angry letter or two. But really: How many Christians have you known who fretted over big things and small things alike?

Let me call myself on the carpet here, starting with some acknowledgments.

 Yes, I know Jesus spoke at length about the importance of not worrying, as in Luke 22:12-34. He gave several crystal clear reasons why:

·        First, what’s the point? Look around you. God cares for plants and animals in nature. Don’t you think He cares far more for you, as someone created in His image? That’s not a trick question. The answer is yes, silly. (vs. 22-29)

·        Second, God actively oversees “all the nations” (v. 30) and recognizes our physical and spiritual needs at a greater level than any person can comprehend. Yet He calls us to excellence and to service and asks us to act in courage, recognizing He will provide (vs. 31-33).

·        Finally, worry is a choice that’s substitutable. It reflects our mindset. Do we put too much trust in our own limited understanding and our overblown fears about the world around us? Or do we recognize worry for the fraudulent wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing that it is? We can seek instead to substitute it with thoughts and actions that reflect calm, hope and confidence in the God who made us.

Now it ain’t easy. Those of you who are parents, seek to become parents or know of a parent or two understand this well. Our children race into busy streets without looking both ways. They jump off the top level of bunk beds. They disappear into the woods and don’t reply despite your repeatedly shouting their name at the top of your lungs. (Hashtag #RuralLife. Why did I read Missing 411, again? No mysterious vanishings have occurred on my watch. I’m pretty sure I’ve only ever had four children.)

In short, we worry because we care. We want what’s best for those in our circle of influence, most of all those who live in our homes with us, and it’s a hard discovery when, despite our best efforts, something bad happens. Or, more often, when the possibility of something bad exists. Which is all the time.

Worry also creeps in for those of us whose genetics predispose them to do so—at least, emerging research suggests as much. For example, the New York-based nonprofit Brain & Behavior Research Foundation referenced a recent study in which scientists “found strong positive correlations genetically between participants with recent anxiety symptoms and depressive symptoms and/or neuroticism.” (You can read the full study analyzing data from hundreds of thousands of patients in the January 7, 2020, edition of The American Journal of Psychiatry.)

But beyond our desire to keep everyone we love safe, and our genetic makeup, there’s at least one more factor driving our worry bus: The thoughts we invite into our minds. That’s the subject of a book I’ve thoroughly enjoyed—and recommend to you, dear reader—titled “Soundtracks.”

Written by Christian author Jon Acuff, this book is long overdue. My wife knows better than anyone that I can create fanciful cloudscapes of worry from a mere half-phrase uttered to me by someone in a hurry, or under duress, or both. I stew endlessly over bygone episodes. I fret over what I could have done differently, over comments I should have thought twice about, over what someone might have meant by that.

What “Soundtracks” made me realize is that I have more choice that I recognized. And, in fact, the things we think—while no guarantee of health, wealth or glory in the Grand Olympic Hall of Worrying—can have a profoundly positive impact on our daily well-being. We just have to consider the opposite of what we’ve always known. What if we assumed positive intent in the words of those around us? What if we gave ourselves credit for how we’re growing and contributing to our families, our churches and our communities? What if we imagined the possible paths to achieving our dreams, however small or big?

One of the activities Acuff recommends in his book is to stand in front of a mirror twice daily and repeat what he calls “The New Anthem.” It’s a series of affirmations that encourages the speaker to take ownership of their thoughts, give themselves grace and look forward to each day—and the day after—rather than focusing on fear of the unknown. The point isn’t vain confidence but rather genuine optimism and trust that if God got us here, He can get us there, too.

I don’t know what soundtracks you are listening to right now, but I can tell you that I’m working my way out of a number of limiting beliefs and plain falsehoods that have kept me more scared than motivated. Worry isn’t a room you can leave easily. But surrounded by the people you love, anchored in God’s love, and bolstered by creative thinkers like Acuff, you begin to see all the doors in the room with those bright green “Exit” signs over them.

I’d encourage you to think this week about taking one step toward exiting the worry room. There’s a brighter you on the other side. You deserve it.