three steps to living one day at a time

Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” (Matthew 6:34)

I’ve spent a lot of my life worrying. Here’s how it works. My mind, unbidden, invents a number of possible futures. I figure out how to respond to each one: “If this happens, then ….” At some hidden level I’m convinced that if I imagine and prepare for enough scenarios, I won’t be surprised by whatever comes. I’ll be ready. Better than that, I’ll hold hardship at bay. Because how can the worst happen if you anticipate it? How can it happen if you prepare for it?

It sounds ridiculous when you put it into words. The future comes whether you anticipate it or not. If I imagine a hundred possible futures, at least 99 of them won’t come to pass. More likely, none of them will come to pass. Something else will happen, something quite unexpected. In the meantime, I will have wasted hours of mental energy (do you measure mental energy in hours?) trying to prepare for all kinds of events that never happen. Even prayer becomes a cover for playing over them in my mind, and working up enough strength to face them.

Three years ago I found out where this kind of mental activity will take you. Thought patterns are like exercise: perform a certain sequence of motions often enough, and your body grows accustomed to them until they become natural. In the same way, your mind gets better and better at thinking in a certain way, until it’s like a well-worn groove that your thoughts travel down.

So during a particularly stressful year, when our son was in the fourth year of his chronic illness and we still had no answers, I could no longer hold things together. Irrational fears flooded my thoughts. In some small and secret corner of my mind, I knew they were fabrications; but with the rest of my mind, I believed them absolutely. I lived on edge, at the point of panic, convinced that in the very next moment, my fears would knock on the door and walk straight in. It was one of the hardest years of my life, just behind the year my husband got cancer. Anyone who lives with high levels of anxiety will know how that’s possible.

The turning point came when I learned to stop listening to my fears (that sounds simple, but of course it wasn’t). I learned not to argue with my thoughts; not to chase down all the possibilities; not to try to come up with answers. I learned to say, “Yep, that’s interesting, another anxious thought. Another fear. But I choose not to listen. I choose not to engage.” I learned to give my fears to God rather than to steel myself to face them. I had to grit my teeth and do this over many months, but the fears gradually subsided. They still nudge at me when I am under stress. But I no longer pay attention, and these days they disappear relatively quickly.

That was the first step towards living one day at a time: learning not to listen to my fears. Here was the second step:

My husband got cancer. He nearly died. He had surgery, he had chemotherapy, and we entered the years-long waiting period we’re in now. You’d think this would be a time of fear. A time of monitoring every physical sign, anticipating the cancer’s return. And yes, there are moments like that, when my husband is unwell, and I wonder if this is it. But there was a moment, after months heavy with grief, when I sat on the steps leading down from our back veranda and pleaded with God, “Take this away. I am sick of feeling so awful. Please take these feelings away and give me some relief.” He heard my prayer.

I realised that I have a choice. I can live these months and years with my husband anticipating and fearing the worst; or I can live these months and years enjoying what we have right now. There’s no great moral superiority in choosing the second option. In some ways it’s not a choice at all; it’s a psychological necessity. More than that, it’s an answer to prayer. God and circumstances have taught me to leave the future in the future, and enjoy and thank him for the blessings of right now.

Ordinary life has become very precious to me. The many hours I spend in the car driving children back and forth, for example, that used to annoy me so much? Well, I won’t deny that they still exhaust me, but now they seem like a privilege. They are a privilege. This ordinary life, with these ordinary duties and these ordinary people in this ordinary house: this is a precious gift. It’s a pity it took my husband getting cancer to see it. But after facing the very real possibility of his death, just to live this life, with its repeated duties, seems to me to be an endlessly repeated blessing.

That was the second step towards living one day at a time: learning to be thankful for the blessings of each day. Here was the third:

I recently started a job as the part-time women’s worker at our church. It’s ministry I love, and with Steve’s health so precarious, I need to work in case I have to provide for our children one day. I’ve had busy school terms before – most of our terms are busy – but this term has been stuffed to bursting. Family responsibilities, home duties, hospital visits, a new job, challenging tasks that stretch me to the limit, one after another after another: the moment I let my mind slip into the future I feel overwhelmed by the coming demands, and the little time I have to prepare for them.

Most days there’s more than I can easily handle. I’m not strong enough for the duties of each day. I’m learning what it means to live each day in God’s enabling, with the grace he gives for the next task, the next hour, the next moment. Not to think about tomorrow (except if preparation and planning happens to be one of the duties of today), not to wonder how I am going to face it, but to trust that God will give me strength to do the tasks he gives me today, and tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, not now, not in advance, but as I come to each day.

That was the third step to learning to live one day at a time: learning to trust in God’s enabling for each day.

The other morning, weary after a night of little sleep, I parked the car on my way to work and sat for a few minutes under some peppercorn trees. These verses popped into my mind, a little jumbled and out of context, but speaking straight to my need:

Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? ... But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us ... Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day … He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me … For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Cor. 11:29; 4:7, 16; 12:9-10)

I am not strong enough to face today, let alone the next week, or the next month, or the next year. I am aware of that to my aching bones. But God is strong. He promises to give me what I need to keep trusting and serving him, moment by moment, day by day, whatever our circumstances. That’s how I face the future: not anticipating and preparing for every eventuality, but enjoying God’s gifts for today, and trusting him that, whatever he has in store, he will provide what I need to face it.

We live one day at a time, in God’s enabling.

This article first appeared at The Gospel Coalition Australia

contentment (6) security

What makes you feel safe? What makes you feel secure? If you’re not sure, ask yourself another question: What do you most fear losing?

When I found out my husband has cancer, it felt like my whole world was crumbling. When you’re married, you place a lot of your sense of safety in the person you love. And it’s not just our relationship that I fear losing. If the worst should happen, how will I provide for and protect our family? How will I raise our children? How will they cope without a father? These are real questions, but when they fill me with fear, I know I’m looking to other things besides God to keep us safe.

It’s no different if you’re single. Maybe you long for a relationship. Or maybe it’s a high-achieving career that attracts you. Or owning your own home. A young woman once told me she hopes Jesus doesn’t come back until she has a career and is married with children. I get that, because I remember feeling that way myself when I was young. But she longed for it so much that she chose to go out with a non-Christian.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting a relationship, a job, or a home – they are good gifts from God. But what happens when they become the source of our security? What if God never gives us these things, or if he takes them away? Will we still hold on to him then? Will we seek them in places or people he doesn’t want us to?

What makes you feel safe? ...

You can read the rest at TGC Australia

my times are in your hands

"My times are in your hands" (Psalm 31:5) - two days in a row we received this verse in a card in the mail.

A wonderful reminder that it is God who ordains and numbers our days (Psalm 139:6; Job 14:5) - not, ultimately, illness or health professionals.

Jesus said, "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?" (Luke 12:25) - an encouragement against health anxiety.

Our times are in his hands.

what I'm reading: anxiety and the Burden Bearer

Prayer is God's great antidote to worry (Phil 4:6). But so often, we turn from prayer to something else. Ed Welch could be describing me here:

Too often I will begin to pray, then gravitate to the things that worry me, start trying to solve them, realize I am not really praying, and then decide to attend to the urgent matters and pray later.

Does that sound familiar? There are lots of ways I turn prayer into a personal fix-it session:

• I spend the time thinking through my worries, trying to find solutions
• I turn prayer into self-talk about my fears
• I try and get myself into the right frame of mind before I pray
• I stop praying so I can get on with my to-do list
• I think God won't listen to me unless I get things right first.

But that's not really prayer. Prayer means we give up control, stop trying to fix things, and hand them over to God instead. And this doesn't come naturally, especially to us worriers, who are used to using our minds to imagine and head off every possible catastrophe:

Prayer is harder than we think ... To actually stop and pray is contrary to our sense that we must do something - and do it quickly ... Prayer is counterintuitive. It is the opposite of what we would normally think or do.

God doesn't just tell us to stop worrying and get on with praying. He reminds us that he is the great Burden Bearer:

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you" (1 Peter 5:6-7) ...

We are carrying burdens we were never intended to carry alone ...

In an act that could never have been conceived by a human being, the King comes and beseeches us to lay our burden on him. ... He invites us to cast our burdens on him as we would cast burdens on an ox. ...

In one of the amazing paradoxes of the kingdom, when God takes our burdens and takes the position of a servant, he reveals our inability and his sufficiency. As such, he is exalted as the God of the mighty hand.

Prayer isn't about me trying to get my attitudes right, or talking myself out of my worries. It isn't, ultimately, about me at all: it's about God, my Father, the great Burden Bearer.

Prayer is coming to God, just as I am, and talking to him about where I'm at, right now. It's saying to God, "I'm worried, and I can't fix this. Please help me!". It's refusing to try and solve my fears, and giving them to him to carry instead.

I've got a long way to go, but I'm learning to do this. Will you join me?

God's answer to anxiety from Psalm 131

Simone Richardson on Psalm 131:

A little child rests against his mother and doesn’t bother himself with big and difficult things. He doesn’t worry about how the mortgage is to be repaid. He isn’t thinking about where the next meal’s coming from. He’s not worried about the war in the middle east - or even the war next door. He doesn’t have to. Mum’s got those things sorted. He’s with her and that’s enough. The weaned child knows his place in the world. Nestled in to mum! Mum will sort things out. ...

We can be like kids who grew up in neglectful or abusive homes, who weren’t looked after properly. Kids like that, even after they’re put in safe and caring homes, they still find trust really hard. They can know in their heads that they’ll be looked after, but underneath there’s still this instinct to depend only on themselves. So they’ll steal food from the pantry and hide it under their beds. Just in case.

For many of us here who are Christians, that’s what we can be like. We know in our heads that Jesus reliable. That we can trust him. And we’ve decided to. But our hearts haven’t caught up yet, so we don’t rest against him. We nurture our worries - like a kid stashes food under her bed - imagining that we can stay in control of things that way.

One great theologian said that Psalm 131 takes the shortest time to read but the longest time to learn ...

You can read the rest here.

what I'm reading: warning for worriers

Anxiety has been a pretty big issue for me this year.

A few years ago, I read Elyse Fitzpatrick's Overcoming fear, worry and anxiety. I highly recommend it!

This time around I'm reading Ed Welch's Running Scared (it's also excellent). I was struck by this warning to worriers:

When you see worry - and you will see it - be careful.

Worry is focused inward.

It prefers self-protection over trust.

It can hear many encouraging words - even God's words - and stay unmoved.

It can be life-dominating.

It reveals the things that are valuable to you.

It can reveal that you love something more than Jesus. It crowds Jesus out of your life.

And here is some encouragement for worriers:

Your task is not to transform into a superficial, sunny optimist. It is to grow to be an optimist by faith. ...

When we belong to Christ, it will end with joy.

As for me, I want to watch and endure, not worry. I want to be like the night watchmen who are waiting to see first light (Psalm 130).

God is the God of suspense, but it is a suspense that teaches us peace.

He is the God of surprises, but the surprises are always better than we could have dreamed.

I can't put him in a box and assume that he should act according to my time schedule and according to my less sophisticated version of what is good.

I need the mind of Christ. I can do with nothing less.

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame. (Heb 12:2)

Amen!


Quotes are from Ed Welch Running Scared 97, 93.

guess who's coming to dinner

Another writing prompt from my friend Meredith.

I read it, and think - a process that always takes a few weeks with me - "Hmmm... CS Lewis? JRR Tolkien? Marilynne Robinson? ..."

At this point my brain freezes over, and I realise, "Oh my goodness! I'm sitting at a table with a bunch of Intelligent, Knowledgable, Articulate people, of whom I am Completely And Utterly In Awe, and I have Absolutely Nothing To Say!"

And what on earth would I cook? And where's the beautifully set table? And the open fireplace? And the muted lighting?

And is that my kids arguing over a video game - oh, please children, couldn't it at least be a book? - over in the corner?

Performance anxiety about a purely hypothetical situation: a seven-word summary of me.

My mind shies away from this scenario and turns to a plaque that hung on the wall near the dining table when I was a child. A cut-glass rectangle with gothic lettering, it proclaimed:

Christ is the Head of this house,
the Unseen Guest at every meal,
the Silent Listener to every conversation.

Even that gave me some performance anxiety growing up.

But at least Jesus is used to our plain table with its simple food and ordinary conversation. And he's not talking over my head. He's talking to me.


And yes, I know I'm being very unfair to CS Lewis and JRR Tolkien and Marilynne Robinson. To whom I say, "It's not you. It's me."


This was written in response to Meredith's writing prompt.

what I'm reading: yes, I can trust him

Maybe you struggle with worry. Maybe you can see it's not getting you anywhere. Maybe you really want to trust God.

Maybe you pray, "Okay, I give up. I can't do it any more. I entrust the future to you."

Maybe you do this unwillingly, with gritted teeth.

You know he's sovereign. You know he's good. You know you're supposed to trust him. And so, knowing but not yet feeling, you give the future into his hands.

Then you read something. Or hear something. Or someone says

something. And suddenly it's okay.

Because now you know that the God who is in control actually cares for you. You knew it before, but now you really know it.

(Of course, you'll have to learn it again. Feelings come and go, but the truth stays the same.)

Here are some words that spoke to me recently. The bits in bold are the bits that jumped straight into my heart.

The King is extravagant. That is the good news for fearful people. Most fears link to our doubts about God's generosity and attention to detail. In response, God freely gives what is costly. And, as the true expert craftsman, he attends to every last detail. (Running Scared 108-9)

The reason we are called to lay up our treasures in heaven [rather than worrying about and pursuing treasures on earth] is because we are his treasures. When you are confident that you are the Father's treasured possession, you are also confident that his loving care will continue forever. (134)

God has not abandoned us any more than he abandoned Job. He never abandons anyone on whom he has set his love; nor does Christ, the good shepherd, ever lost track of his sheep. It is as false as it is irreverent to accuse God of forgetting, or overlooking, or losing interest in, the state and needs of his own people. If you have been resigning yourself to the thought that God has left you high and dry, seem grace to be ashamed of yourself. Such unbelieving pessimism deeply dishonours our great God and Saviour. (Knowing God 98)

what does double-mindedness have to do with anxiety and suffering?

Ever noticed how the same idea pops up in different places? You get the nagging feeling someone is tapping you on the shoulder, trying to get your attention.

Recently for me it's been double-mindedness. I didn't know it had anything to do with anxiety. Although Matthew 6:19-34 might have given me a clue. Ed Welch says,

Whose kingdom are you seeking? Do you trust the King who is also your Father? ...The real issue behind worry is that of spiritual allegiance. 

Our answer? "Sort of...a little...usually." We sort of want the kingdom, and we sort of want to trust the King - until life gets precarious.

When everything is going well and the storehouses are full, we trust him. But when there is nothing for tomorrow, we panic and track down the address of another god who can give us enough for tomorrow and the next day too. ...

Whom do I trust? Where is my faith? ... All of us already know the answer. Our trust is divided. We don't put all our eggs in one basket - even God's - because that's too risky. Our trust might not pay off in the way we hope.

We are reluctant to simply say to our Father, "I am yours," and stop worrying. ...Fear and worry reveal that our faith is indeed small ...

You trust God for some things and not others. You trust him for heaven but not for earth.

And as if that wasn't enough, here's Paul Grimmond on double-mindedness and suffering.

I remember talking a number of years ago to a young medical student who was thinking about the possibility of missionary service.

As we talked, he was refreshingly (if sadly) honest: "I know God's glory matters. I know people need to hear about Jesus Christ. I know my own comfort isn't everything.

"But what if it's all a lie? What if Christ didn't really die? What if God isn't really there? I'd have given up everything for nothing."

I think he said what many of us harbour in our hearts but are fearful to say. We are secretly worried the world might be right. ...

We live with a foot in both camps, afraid to leave Christ behind but terrified of what might happen if we wholeheartedly planted both feet at the foot of the cross. ...

It is only as the things of this world are dimmed by the glory of God that we will be able to live and to suffer for Christ [and, it seems, trust him.]

From Ed Welch Running Scared 109 and Paul Grimmond Suffering Well 149-150, emphasis mine.

God’s gifts in suffering (5) Suffering shows us what we truly fear to lose

Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:6-7)

I’ve been listening to my fears. I’ve been imagining dire possibilities. Every medical article, every story of hardship, every description of suffering, seems a pointer to our future, a list of what-might-be. There are times when I lie face down on the carpet, sick to the gut, held down by a blank, black dread. I knew that I would cry, but fear? It seems a strange accompaniment to sorrow.

I don’t feel safe anymore. I think it works like this: in suffering, one of the things you most feared has come to you. And if it has, there’s no longer any guarantee that such-and-such won’t happen. That so-and-so won’t be taken away. Life has been shaken to its roots, your comfortable expectations scattered like fallen fruit.

There’s a moment I remember clearly. I’m standing at the end of the hallway, holding my baby son, cocooned in wraps and ready for bed. I gaze at his face, soft and crumpled with newness, and suddenly all that he might become, all the glowing possibilities, flash before my eyes. There is a world of potential futures in this tiny bundle.

Chronic illness has stolen so much from us, things most parents take for granted, school days and childhood play and time with friends. It has the potential to take away so much more. Once I lived with the comfortable illusion that my decisions and carefully protected goodness could control the outcome. Now I know how vulnerable we are, how easily the things we hold can be taken away, and I am afraid.

Look closely at your fears, and you’ll see the mirror-image of your idols, what you count as happiness, what you hold most tightly. The things we think we can’t live without: security, success, control, peace, usefulness, happiness. The places we look for them: family, money, health, career, friendship, children, marriage. Suffering threatens and thus reveals the things we trust in. It loosens our grip and invites us to cling to God instead.

My son is now twelve years old. I’m standing on a bridge alone, and hoping to stay that way. People pass, but I keep my back to them, hiding my face. I lean on the rail and my tears drop into the river. They travel downstream with the twigs and the bubbles and the little eddies around the stones. Once again, my dreams for my son’s future flash before my eyes, but this time I take each one, let it fall, and watch it float away until it’s lost to view around the bend.

It feels hard but good, this giving up, this letting go. My dreams belong where all dreams belong, in the hands of God. My fears belong there too (1 Pet 5:6-7). My future – our family’s future – is in his hands. The things I think God owes me were never mine to begin with. The things I thought I could hold on to were never under my control.

I’d like some guarantees: this much, and no more. Instead, what I have is this: the assurance that a sovereign God has ordained every one of our days, that nothing else counts compared to knowing him, that what matters is not our comfort, but his glory. It’s not a convenient knowledge. It’s not easily come by. But I choose to believe that it’s enough.

And as I choose to believe, here in the dark, he opens his heart to me. The one who gave up his Son for us is tender and generous in his love, not capricious or cruel. He rejoices over his people with singing (Zeph 3:17). Our names are written on his hands (Isa 49:16). He shelters us under his wings (Ps 91:4). We are never out of his thoughts.1 I begin to know – I’m just at the beginning of knowing – that, whatever happens, we are safe here with him.


1. A few books bring this home to me: JI Packer’s Knowing God, particularly this quote; Cs Lewis’ “He’s not safe, but he’s good”, from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe; and Ed Welch’s reminder of “God’s generosity and attention to detail” in Running Scared (p. 109). ↩

what I'm (re)reading: the first, wonderful chapters of Knowing God - and a cure for worry

My friend told me that her friend told her to start Knowing God half way through.

Don't!

Or at least take time to read the first 3 chapters. Here's why I love them:

• chapter 1 taught me to meditate on God's word: to preach it to myself until it makes an impact on my heart and mind (see my quote here)
• chapter 2 taught me to hunger after true knowledge of God - not just head knowledge but heart knowledge
• chapter 3 is about the fact that God knows us, which ... well, read on ...

My mind has been a bit "pressed out of shape" by anxiety lately. These words gave me perspective:

Absurdist tapeworms and Antoinette’s fever are ills from which, in the nature of the case, Christians are immune, except for occasional spells of derangement when the power of temptation presses their mind out of shape - and these, by God’s mercy, do not last.

And these words reminded me that there really is no reason to worry, because God knows me intimately and cares for every detail. Read it s-l-o-w-l-y and let the words wash over you.

What matters supremely, therefore, is not, in the last analysis, the fact that I know God, but the larger fact which underlies it—the fact that he knows me.

I am graven on the palms of his hands (Isa. 49:16). I am never out of his mind. All my knowledge of him depends on his sustained initiative in knowing me. I know him because he first knew me, and continues to know me.

He knows me as a friend, one who loves me; and there is no moment when his eye is off me, or his attention distracted from me, and no moment, therefore, when his care falters.

This is momentous knowledge. There is unspeakable comfort—the sort of comfort that energizes, be it said, not enervates—in knowing that God is constantly taking knowledge of me in love and watching over me for my good.

There is tremendous relief in knowing that his love to me is utterly realistic, based at every point on prior knowledge of the worst about me, so that no discovery now can disillusion him about me, in the way I am so often disillusioned about myself, and quench his determination to bless me.

There is, certainly, great cause for humility in the thought that He sees all the twisted things about me that my fellow-men do not see (and am I glad!), and that He sees more corruption in me than that which I see in myself (which in all conscience, is enough).

There is, however, equally great incentive to worship and love God in the thought that, for some unfathomable reason, He wants me as His friend, and desires to be my friend, and has given His Son to die for me in order to realize this purpose.

Magnificent, isn't it? I read that bit 3 times through the other day, just so I wouldn't forget it.


the quote is from Knowing God p 45-46

Couch to 5K: reflections

It's raining when I go for my jog today, a slow, steady, not-too-heavy rain that soaks my clothes in minutes. It drips off my hair and freezes my hands and runs down my face like tears.

Tufts of grass make my shoes as wet as my hair, the ground bumpy under my feet. Concrete, tanbark, gravel. The slow curve around the oval. A small respite on the perfectly tailored athletics track. Then back to bumpy ground, and the gradual rise at the end of my 20 minutes.

I've decided not to finish Couch to 5K, at least for the moment. I made it to 25 minutes, but my knees and I have come to a compromise: 20 minutes - about 3K - is enough for now. That way there's enough pep left in my knees for walking, and carrying bags, and climbing stairs, and all the other things I have to do.

Here's the plan. A 20 minute jog a couple of times a week, and a broken-up getting-used-to-running jog with my daughter on the weekends. Plus a lovely long meditative walk once a week, and maybe some weights once I get around to it.

Once or twice a week I swim with my son. He swims for his health (migraines and chronic headaches). I swim for joy. To my vast astonishment, I swam a kilometre yesterday, all 40 laps of it, without much puffing. And I used to do 8 laps and collapse!

So would I recommend Couch to 5K? Most definitely. This particular couch potato - or computer potato - is now fitter and healthier and stronger, and has muscle in places where fat used to be. Even better, running lifts my mood, helping me fight anxiety and discouragement as I care for our chronically ill son.

As I reach the end of my run, damp and dripping, Sara Groves sings through my earphones. Many times I've finished jogging, done some stretches, then sat on my rock and stared at my lake with the words of Like a Lake drifting through my thoughts. This song, along with a few others, has supported me through the last hard months.

Today feels like a new beginning, the start of a new pattern, a new way of being. I'm settling into this fitness plan now, making it part of my life, enjoying its benefits. So it's appropriate that this song plays now, at the end of my 20 minute run.

what I'm listening to: nothing can harm me

Last night I listened to an encouraging sermon about why we don't need to fear so-called random events.

Our pastor told us this story:

John Chrysostom was a church father in the fourth century known for his preaching.

When he was a young Christian he was brought before the emperor, who told him that if he didn't give up being a Christian he would be exiled from the country.

Chysostom replied, "You cannot banish me because the whole world belongs to my father."

Then the emperor said, "I will take away your property."

"You cannot", replied Chysostom, "because my treasures are in heaven."

So the emperor warned him that he would place him in solitary confinement.

Chrysostom responded, "You cannot, because I have a friend who is closer than a brother, I have Jesus Christ forever."

Finally the emperor threatened him, "We will execute you."

To which Chrysostum said, "You cannot, because my life is hidden with God.

There is nothing you can do to harm me!"

It was a wonderful reminder that nothing can ever really harm us, because nothing - not even death - can separate us from the love of Christ (Romans 8:28-29).


You can find John's ongoing sermon series here.

what I'm listening to: how not to win the anxiety Olympics

If you, like me, could win the anxiety Olympics, you'll love this quote.

It's from a talk our pastor, John Diacos, gave a couple of weeks ago, from his series Freedom from fear.

I love the way he defines "anxiety" and distinguishes it from "fear".

Here's a nourishing, encouraging, very readable chunk from his talk, which is online here.

We are not in control.

Our fear betrays us. It tells us we are not in control. We are finite, and the world around us is unpredictable. We are not self-reliant. We are not capable of tackling the universe alone. We can't stop undesirable events from occurring.

Not wanting to be afraid or out of control, we look for solutions.

Most of us start by simply trying harder. We like to think of ourselves as capable of handling any and every eventuality, if only we pursue the right strategy or simply try harder. And so we attempt to consider every eventuality, take the necessary precautions, mentally rehearse the details, so we’ll be ready when the time comes.

At its best, we call this "forward planning". Otherwise, we call it "anxiety" or "worry". For anxiety is when we try to anticipate the future. Anxiety is us trying harder to be ready for our fears, and not being sure that we can.

Some of us worry a lot - personally I could represent Australia at the anxiety Olympics! - and others not so much; but all of us worry.

Hear what our anxiety says. It reflects our suspicion that we can overcome anything, meet any challenge, if only we try harder. Maybe if we ponder long enough, anticipate and plan, prepare more, then maybe we will be able to master any threat. Anxiety holds out the hope that we can regain control.

This is why those of us who worry hold onto anxiety so stubbornly. This is why anxiety can be so resistant to correction by reason or facts.

We will do anything to control our fear. We so desperately want to deny our human limitations, that instead of admitting that the world is beyond our control, we give ourselves over to being obsessed with anxiety.

And anxiety can become paralysing, because we’re thinking so far ahead, anticipating every possible problem, that we’re afraid to act at all.

But the fundamental problem with our anxiety is that the world is too big for us. We cannot control everything no matter how hard we try. 

Anticipating and preparing for the future is prudent, but so is recognising when you can't control your circumstances, that none of us can control what happens next, and that we need help.

So at some point we reach out to someone else - someone who can help us deal with our fears, overcome our obstacles. Some of us, stubbornly independent, put that off as long as possible. Others of us are quicker to admit we are not self-sufficient.

It's extraordinary how much it helps simply to share your worries with another, even if all they do is listen and sympathise. It soothes our fears simply to know that we’re not alone.

But the best solution of all is someone who can deal with our anxieties by giving us real help that makes things okay. Someone who can take on the source of our fear and deal effectively with it so we don’t need to worry any more.

Other people can help us, but other people are just like us: they are limited in what they can do. Sometimes they’re simply unreliable: they have their own things going on, they let us down. Sometimes the problem is outside their power: no one can prevent you from being rejected or hurt by other people. Doctors can’t cure every disease or stop death.

On our own we are finite, limited, not in control. If we’re going to be able to successfully deal with fear and anxiety, we need someone who can really help, who is actually in control.

The God who is on control of all things can be relied upon. He wants to relieve us of our anxieties: "Cast all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). He invites us to bring all of our fears, all of our worries, to him in prayer (Phil 4:4-7).

The first step in dealing with our fear is to admit we need help - and what a wonderful relief to be able to acknowledge the truth! - that, yes, I am finite. I am rightly fearful of the world around me, because I am not in control. I need the help of the God who is in control.

This is the essence of prayer. It's why we can find it difficult to pray, because prayer is an admission that we are not self-sufficient or in control. Prayer is seeking God’s help because he is in control.

And the great news is that God is not bothered by our requests. God doesn’t reluctantly help us (Luke 18:1-8). God welcomes our prayers. He loves to help his people. He wants us to give all our fears to him, so that we no longer have to worry about them, for he will take care of them.

And this means that we are no longer alone.

One of the features of anxiety is that it is inward-looking and isolating. We worry and turn over issues repeatedly in our mind searching for a solution because we assume that we have to solve the problem ourselves.

Being able to approach God in prayer means that we are not alone. God is with us. God is for his people, and not just to sympathise. God promises to help us, to relieve our anxieties and fears.

Being able to approach God in prayer is where the solution to fear and anxiety starts.

God will one day rescue us from all that we fear. In the meantime, he reorients our perspective. He realigns our values so we see what is important and what isn’t. He shows us that sometimes what we fear is actually trivial, and what we value and love is unimportant. 

The more we trust God, the more we are liberated from the fear that controls us. This won’t be instantaneous. It will take time to learn to trust in someone other than yourself; to change your priorities and what you value.

God enables us to face our fears and worries by showing they are really nothing when we are God’s beloved people.

He changes us so that we value and love what is truly valuable: the eternal things that only God can give us, and that we can never lose.

what I'm reading: when worry comes from a need to control from King's Cross

I came across this quote while reading Tim Keller's King's Cross the other day, and found it profoundly helpful. It reminded me that my worry - including my worry about those dear to me - is so often rooted in a need to control:

At some level, your normal assumptions, your pride and your egotistical way of thinking, are blinding you to the truth.

One prime example of this is worry. Naturally, if you love people, you're going to worry about them.

But do you know where constant worry comes from? It's rooted in an arrogance that assumes, I know the way my life has to go, and God's not getting it right.

Real humility means to relax.

One of the hardest things for me is trusting God about things that I have absolutely no control over. Usually, when I worry, the first thing I do is try to fix things. But there are some things you just can't fix.

My son's ongoing illness is one thing I can't fix. God has ripped the reins out of my hands. Yes, I can take my son to (lots and lots of) doctors; I can structure his days and care for his needs; I can talk to his teachers about how to care for him - but nothing I do can make him better.

Sometimes it feels like God has been whispering - no, shouting! (I'm a little hard of hearing) - in my ears, over and over, for years now, as I've loved and raised my children: "You aren't the one in control - I AM!"

I don't find this easy to hear. I'm stubborn. I like to be in control. I worry, I struggle, I fight. But then I give up and give my son up to God. I don't do this by choice. God has left me with no other choice.

I guess God, in his severe mercy, sometimes lets these things into our lives to remind us that, ultimately, we really have very little control at all. All we can do is give up our striving and pray and trust him. And that is HARD.

But if God is all that we believe he is - if he is all that we can see he is in Jesus - if he is love, and power, and compassion, and wisdom, and sovereignty, and grace - then we can give up our striving, our worry, and rest in him, knowing that he wants what is best, both for us and for those we love.

Quote is from Tim Keller King's Cross 147.

following the fearful apostle

I came to you in weakness with great fear and trembling. (1 Cor 2:3 NIV)

These words startle and comfort me. They remind me that the apostle Paul felt like I do. He was weak. He feared. He trembled.1 This is exactly how I feel:

• before I read the Bible with friends. What will they think of Jesus? What will they think of his outrageous claims? What will they think of me?


• before I lead a Bible study. Who will turn up? How will the discussion go? Will they want to come back next week?


• before I visit women from other cultures or religions. Will I be able to enter their world? Will I trangress some unspoken cultural law? How can I share the love of Jesus with them?


• before I go out for coffee with a friend. Will I get any opportunities to talk about my faith? Will I have the boldness to take them? Will I know what to say?

I love doing these things, and I love the people I do them with. I bring my fears to God (Phil 4:4-7, 1 Pet 5:6-7), and my worry lessens as my trust and confidence grow.2 But I still feel anxious. I’ve come to accept this – the apprehension that builds over several days, the wakeful hours in the night, the butterflies’ wings tickling my stomach – as part of the cost of living for Jesus (Rom 12:1). Feeling a little nervous is a small price to pay for helping people get to know him.

In all this, Paul is my example. For while he trembled and feared, he never let it stop him talking about Jesus. Instead, he boasted in his weakness because it highlighted Christ’s strength (2 Cor 12:9-10). He became all things to all people, so that by all means he might save some (1 Cor 9:22). He asked people to pray that he wouldn’t give way to fear (Eph 6:18-20). He set his mind on the goodness of God and the love of Christ that would never leave him (Rom 8:18-39). He revelled in the chance to share in Jesus’ suffering (Col 1:24). Why? Because he was compelled by the love of Christ to live not for himself, but for the one who died for him (2 Cor 5:14-15 NIV).

I’ll probably never have as much reason as Paul to fear. I don’t expect to be thrown into prison, shipwrecked, flogged, beaten with rods or pelted with stones (2 Cor 11:23-33). If his troubles were ‘light and momentary’, mine are a speck on the face of eternity. Still, I’m tempted to choose an easier path. So I say to myself, with Paul:

…we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. (2 Cor 4:16-18)

With God’s help, I’ll follow Paul’s example, fears and all.

1. See also 2 Cor 2:4, 7:5, 11:28-29; Gal 4:11; 1 Thess 3:5. ↩
2. This is not the place to develop a theology of anxiety, but if you’re interested, see Ed Welch’s excellent Running Scared: Fear, Worry and the God of Rest. ↩

This post first appeared in The Briefing today.

image is by Rakesh Rocky at flickr

From Fear to Freedom: book review

Give up your success-and-failure patterns. Seek grace in Christ, humbly and honestly. Understand that a conviction of sin does not make you neurotic, but rather it spells the beginning of the end for neurosis. After all, what is a neurotic? Simply a hurting person who is closed off to criticism in any form and yet engages in the most intense, destructive self criticism that produces neither hope nor help. What a marvelous relief God’s grace in Christ offers. I had been totally criticized, and at the same time I was completely forgiven. As I rested in the work of another, my heart was at peace with God; and for the first time, I felt at peace with myself.

I read this quote in Of First Importance and knew I'd like to read From Fear to Freedom. Neurotic? Yes. Addicted to success? Yes. Not at peace with myself? Yes. Helped by the gospel? Yes, please! So I ordered a copy from The Book Depository and eagerly looked out for a cardboard-wrapped parcel in the letter box.

From Fear to Freedom is a short and easy read. It's a woman's story of her inner landscape: her upbringing by parents who valued order and morality; her own moral successes: a Christian marriage, well-brought-up children, and a busy hospitality ministry; how it fell apart, leaving her doubting and fearful; and how God rescued her.

Rose Marie contrasts two ways to live: as an orphan or as God's child. The orphan doesn't feel loved except when she meets her own and others' expectations (something women are particularly prone to!). Her life is filled with joyless duty. When things go wrong, she sees herself as a victim, blames others, and withdraws into anger and self-condemnation.

The daughter knows she's loved, perfect in God's sight. She has come face-to-face with her own helplessness, and knows only God can rescue her: her righteousness comes from him, not from obeying rules or keeping up appearances. So she's free from guilt and bitterness, free to forgive and relate honestly, free to risk herself in God's service.

It's good - although at times a little unsettling! - to see the old-fashioned gospel (drawn from Martin Luther's Introduction to his Commentary on Galatians) applied to 'modern' issues like neuroticism, victim mentality and blame-shifting. People haven't changed, and neither has God's word. The solution to anxiety, guilt and people-pleasing isn't, ultimately, counselling or a psychological theory: it's the gospel of grace.

This book isn't perfect. Rose Marie talks about a few things I was uncomfortable with, like the power of inherited sin through the generations, and spiritual warfare using certain forms of prayer. At these points the book tends to be 'gospel-plus'. You'll need to read with discernment.

Still, I recommend this book. It will help you find your way out of the orphan mindset into the freedom of a son or daughter of God.

why we don't ask God for things - and why we should

I was talking with a friend recently about how reluctant she is to ask God for things. Me, I'm a terrible nagger, and nothing is too trivial for me to pray about, from the common cold to parking spots. But I often forget to ask for things that really matter, from big things like the growth of God's kingdom to little things like daily help with my anxieties and ungodliness.

So why don't we ask God for things? Here are some possibilities.

• Our requests seem too trivial to bother him with.
• We're protecting ourselves from disappointment and doubt.
• We feel like we're being discontented, selfish or greedy.
• We assume our prayers can't affect his sovereign plan.
• We think we can handle it ourselves.
• We assume he is unwilling or unable to help.

So why ask God for things - even trivial things, even things we're uncertain he wants us to have? Here are some reasons.

• God encourages us to ask (Eph 6:18).
• When we ask, we're treating God as a Father who loves to meet our needs (Matt 7:11).
• Asking is a step towards relationship, not a step away from it.
• It's better to ask and deal with our disappointment and doubt if he says "no" then never to ask anything at all - at least we're dealing with God, not ignoring him!
• Asking is an expression of dependence: when we ask, we're relying on God rather than ourselves.
• If we don't ask, we won't receive (Lk 11:9-10).
• Our prayers are part of Gods' sovereign plan, even if we can't understand how (Jn 5:14-15, Jam 5:16).
• God wants us to pour out our need and our hearts to him (as the Psalms show).
• Asking is the solution to anxiety (Phil 4:6).
• God promises to listen attentively to our prayers (Ps 34:15).
• Our faith, joy and thanksgiving increase when we see God answer our prayers (1 Thess 5:16-18).

As we grow, our prayers will grow too; but God wants us to come as we are, trusting he will hear us, like children to their father.

Why do you think we don't ask God for things? Why does it matter?

image is from stock.xchng

in times of change

I wrote this back in May this year. I'm not sure why I didn't post it. I remember feeling a little unsure about its value to others. But it seems helpful to me now, and it encourages me as my life continues to change, so here it is.

The other day we took our kids to the local park and let two helium balloons, which the kids had given me for mothers' day, drift into the sky. The pale blue balloon soon disappeared behind the trees, but the yellow one twisted and turned on the high winds, growing smaller and smaller until it became a shining dot in the late afternoon sun, winked, and vanished.

As I watched the balloons disappear, I felt like they were carrying a season of life away with them. I've been checking out high schools for my 11 year old daughter, the same daughter I remember sitting with for hours as a 2-year-old, reading picture book after picture book. Every time I look at my 3-year-old, I'm reminded that in a couple of years he will go to school, and I'll be alone during the day - something I long for and dread in equal measure - and that a year or so after that, there will be no more small children at our house.

This is a time of change for me. I'm uncertain about the future. I don't know what shape life will take in a year, or 3 years, or 5. You don't realise how dependent you are on a carefully sculpted future until it's no longer certain.

My sister in Christ reminded me the other day that God doesn't change. The God I pray to is exactly the same God as the one who spoke the world into being - who spoke to Moses out of the burning bush - who watched his Son die on a cross. She talked about how, sometimes when she's praying, she thinks of this and can't wrap her mind around it.

Like a balloon unattached, I'm floating, drifting. Unsettled, afraid. But I remind myself that my certainty doesn't rest in the things around me. My certainty is anchored in Christ, seated at the right hand of the Father, unchanging, praying for me before the throne (Rom 8:34; Heb 7:25).

Whatever else gives way, he is certain.

image is from incurable_hippie at flickr

Tim Keller Praying your fears

Last week I told you about Tim Keller's talk Praying our Tears. Today I'd like to tell you about Praying our Fears, in which he continues his series on Psalms.

If fear is not just being scared of real danger, but also worry about things that may never happen, then I'm an expert. I've known months when there was a band of anxiety around my middle and a sensation of butterflies in my stomach. If you're an anxious person, you know what I mean.

Tim Keller talks about both kinds of fear - fear of an immediate threat, and persistent anxiety - in his talk Praying our Fears on Psalm 3. Here's what he taught me about fear.

There are 2 steps into fear.
1. Fear: a healthy response to danger, which drives us to fight or flight, and then is gone.
2. Anxiety: a lingering, generalised, undefined sense of fear which paralyses us.

If fear is a thunderstorm, anxiety is a constant, cold drizzle: the first produces green growth, the second mildew. Fear can be good for us - it gets us out of danger! - but anxiety makes us agitated, nervous and upset. Constant anxiety can permanently turn on our autonomic nervous system, which is only meant to respond to crises, and so lead to all kinds of health issues.

What causes this second, debilitating kind of fear is not a threat to life or safety, but a threat to our identity: when something that makes us feel in control is threatened or taken away. In Psalm 3 David faces both kinds of fear: the physical threat from Absalom's armies, and the threat to his identity as the beloved, honoured, upright king of his people.

But how do we escape from this second, debilitating kind of fear?

There are 4 steps out of fear.
1. Follow your thread.
David describes God as a "shield around me" (Ps 3:1): a full-body shield which curves around the body, meant not for hand-to-hand combat but for following your commander into situations of extreme danger. If you turn and run, the shield won't protect you. It's only useful when you're heading into danger. Obedience takes us not away from fear, but through and beyond our fear.

2. Relocate your glory.
David says, literally, "but you are my glory" (Ps 3:3). He says "but..." because something else has become his glory: he has built his emotional and psychological identity on something other than God. When we put our worth and security in something finite, out there in time and space, we are always vulnerable. So we need to relocate our glory: not in our talents or our role, or others' opinion of us, but in God's approval.

3. See the substitute.
But how do we know we have God's approval? David says that God hears him because of his "holy hill", the temple (Ps 3:4), the symbol of our Saviour Jesus. Our significance doesn't come from what we have achieved or what we have, but from Jesus, the one who was cut off from God so we don't have to be.

4. Remember the people.
The opposite of fear is not an absence of fear, but love (1 Jn 4:18 cf Ps 3:8). Fear is self-centred, love is other-centred. You can't deal with fear by yourself: you have to get your mind off yourself by serving others in love.

So here's the solution to fear:

• go forward in obedience, whatever the cost
• seek my identity in God, instead of the thing I'm scared to lose
• look to the cross, where my significance comes from
• forget myself in love for others.

It sounds about right to me!

imags are from stock.xchng and sentex64 at flickr