I think too much.
I think about my marriage. I think about my kids. I think about ministry. I think about me in ministry. I think about the future. I think about the past. I think about finances. I think about what I’m going to wear tomorrow. I think about thinking. I think I think too much.
I think (smile) I must have inherited this trait from a far, distant ancestor because - as I recall – I never saw my parents or grandparents processing life nearly as obsessively as I do. Which brings me to the point of my thought: Hand-in-hand with the thinking comes a great deal of worry. All of those things I “think” about, I usually tend to worry about equally or more so. Just the other night I woke up at 3:30am, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. It wasn’t actually “worry” that roused me from my much-needed slumber, but an unwelcome asthma attack. Once I got my breathing under control, then the worry invaded. It entrenched itself into my weary mind, set up camp, and kept me wide-awake for an hour. I was worrying about Sydney starting a new school, my upcoming surgery, the bill that will follow the upcoming surgery, the jury summons I just received the evening prior (which happens to fall right after my surgery), unfulfilled dreams, hopes, and desires, with the prospect of potty training Jackson bringing up the rear. And the grand finale was discouragement. I have found that the only thing that comes from worrying is a big, fat, ugly cloud called discouragement. And discouragement only leads to hopelessness and sadness. And who can get a good night’s rest once the dark cloud of discouragement is raining drops of sadness on a tired soul?
There are moments when I make myself proud. Those times when I have realized the rabbit trail of thought I’m running down, and I have stopped myself mid-way, turned my thoughts upon God and His word, and closed my eyes knowing, “I will lie down and sleep in peace” (Ps. 4:8). I wish I could say that I “go there” every time worry crosses my mind, but I don’t. I think I’m getting better at it, but at 3:30 in the morning, clarity and perspective are really difficult to muster up, and it would be feign to say that I was reciting Matthew 6:25-34 on this particular occasion. Rather, foolish me ran right down the rabbit trail and fell asleep from pure exhaustion rather than the peace of God.
Five-thirty came fast, and I was very tempted to disarm the alarm clock, roll over, and go back to sleep; oh, so very tempted. Rather, I pulled myself up and out of bed, and sloth-like, made my way downstairs for some one-on-one time with God. I opened my Bible to find a note-card with a scripture that I had memorized last year written down on it. I looked up the passage and meditated on this:
Psalm 5:1-3 (The Message)
Listen, God! Please, pay attention! Can you make sense of these ramblings, my groans and cries? King-God, I need your help. Every morning you'll hear me at it again. Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on your altar and watch for fire to descend.
I love this translation! “Can you make sense of these ramblings?” How often the worries, self-pities, fears, and words of doubt and discouragement that dribble from my mouth in the middle of the night or in the wee hours of the morning must sound like senseless ramblings? (I do realize that the challenges of potty training Jackson and Sydney’s new school seem hardly serious enough for groaning and crying out, but at 3:30am EVERYTHING is severe and overwhelming.) What I am so grateful for is that God doesn’t judge me, or the issues that I bring before Him in the early morning hours. I believe He absolutely loves it that I would come to Him and declare that I need His help. “Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on your altar…” All those fears, concerns, endless waves of thoughts and worries are laid upon the altar of the Lord. Every spoken and unspoken dream, hope and desire; all those pieces of my life that I can’t control or make sense of, are laid out before God. And then I simply wait – no – watch for fire to descend. In this, I take the fear and the worry and transform it into faith. I’m no longer restless and weary, but peaceful and strong. When once I have laid my life in the mighty, loving hands of my Heavenly Father for the umpteenth time, I am again renewed.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that whatever is heavy on your heart, whether it be how you are going to pay your monthly bills or the pile of laundry that’s been sitting in the middle of the living room for two straight days, it’s okay to spill it all out to God. Our ramblings won’t oftentimes make much sense to other people (mine don’t even make sense to me most of the time), but God will understand. Go ahead, cry it out; groan (for special effect) if you have to! Every morning lay the pieces of your life, dreams and failures, hopes or discouragement, upon the altar and know that the fire will come. God will come. He will meet your need. He will make sense of your ramblings. And then, you will be able to pray this:
Psalm 4:8 (The Message)
At day's end I'm ready for sound sleep, for you, God, have put my life back together.