My friends often insist that I’m brave, or at least adventurous. Sometimes, yes. Unflappable when people show up at my door. Welcoming to all. But my secret superpower? Worrying. I’m much better at worrying than I’d like to admit. What, you too? I thought I was the only one.
I mentioned last week we have two people staying with us this week. I happily leaned in to hospitality, welcoming. I looked forward to interesting conversations over good meals. I love having a house full of people; it makes me feel purposeful. Welcoming brings me joy.
Then a friend we’ve known and done life with for thirty years had a sudden, unexpected stroke. I’ve of course responded with food and presence. Bringing a meal, sitting for a while with this friend’s mother-in-law, while his wife sits at his bedside in the ICU. This is a harder sort of welcoming for many reasons.
I went to write this morning, guzzling coffee to offset restless, inefficient sleep of the past few nights. I decided I needed a walk, to get outside to gather my thoughts. I think that God often speaks through our longings, if we pay attention. So I put on my shoes and strode down the street, not expecting much, frankly. I wondered if I was just procrastinating. Actually, I didn’t wonder. I was procrastinating. But also listening to my body and mind, which needed a walk.
The park near my house is shamelessly flamboyant in bloom. Wildflowers ring the pond, grass and trees shimmer green and lush from the recent rains.
I walked, pausing to snap photos of ducks and native prairie flowers that tower over my head. I gazed at the beauty, breathing in the verdant air. God whispered.
“Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.” (Luke 12:27)
The verses I’d memorized as a child flooded back in, as they do. The beauty of memorizing Scripture is you know if that voice in your head’s is your own wishful thinking, or God’s, because you’ve heard it before. The context? Jesus’ teaching on (I think) his favorite command.
Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life…If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith!” (Luke 12:22, 28)
Jesus taught that the antidote to worry is to “seek first the kingdom of God.” Writer Sarah Bessey calls the kingdom of God the “kin-dom” of God (because it is so antithetical to worldly kingdoms). In which the first shall be last, and we experience presence in community. With kin. Brothers and sisters. Friends. I love this.
How can we usher in the kin-dom? Not with political power or selective outrage or boycotting things that offend us. Rather, by welcoming others. By offering food to the hungry, presence to the lonely, welcome to the weary.
My temptation to worry comes from feeling a lack of control. When I choose to take action by welcoming, I realize that there are things I can control, and others I cannot. I can’t fix everything but can do something—and doing it soothes my troubled soul.
What worries are you carrying today, friend? Where are you sensing an invitation from God?
P.S. Worry and its close cousin, fear, are part of life. But we can choose to turn our fear into courage. That’s what my new book Live Like a Guide Dog is about. Full of inspiring dog stories and practical strategies for living courageously, this book is a guide dog’s guide to life’s most important lessons. I hope you’ll order a copy today.
Trust. To not worry, requires trust.