When we brought home our third little bundle of blessing last December, I was worried. She was born with two rather large soft spots on her head, the typical one up front, but also one in the back. The soft spots alone didn't trouble me too much...but what if she was accidentally struck on the head with an ice skate?! Yeah, because that happens all the time, right?
I've always wrestled with worry. Worry is what my family passes down from generation to generation like a family heirloom. Nobody really wants it, but apparently we're all too afraid to say anything about it.
My specialty is irrational fear. I worry about weird things... horrific, terrible things. It's like my anxiety and creativity decide to get together and construct colossal worries. I don't vocalize these fears too often on account that I'm worried of what you may think of me.
This kind of worry is not normal. It's not good or healthy. So, after spending several months feeling fearful that a freak ice skating incident involving my baby's squishy head may occur, I finally realized that I needed some help. I talked to my pastor/husband. He, being full of wisdom and wonderful advice, told me to talk to God instead.
Really, he told me to start praying! If I was worried for Piper, then I should pray for Piper. Instead of allowing my imagination to encourage the worry and letting my fears escalate, I simply needed to talk to God about it.
Philippians 4:6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your request to God.
So, nowadays, when worry begins to wreak havoc in my heart, I stop myself. All the chatter in my head becomes a conversation with God. He calms my fear and gives me peace.
Sounds like my pastor/husband knows what he's talking about! But then again, he's usually right. Does that mean I'm usually wrong? I don't like being wrong. Oh no, what if I am wrong?!
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