Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest?
Jesus is again telling his disciples to not worry. This makes such great sense. Of course we cannot add even an hour to our life. There’s virtually nothing that worrying accomplishes, except to ruin a perfectly good now. So why do we do it? Why is it so easy to go to the worrying place, ruining the contentedness of now?
To listen to Jesus, it sounds as if it’s about faith. The birds of the air don’t plant or harvest, and yet they’re fed. The lilies of the field are robed in beauty, and the lilies don’t look too worried. The lilies and the birds live as intended, and God provides.
In my current world, I worry about my sick family member. Am I to just have faith that the long-term prognosis will be good? Happiness will come? Housing will get sorted out?
Maybe I’m framing the question wrong. Maybe it’s not about what’s sorted out in ten years, next year, next month. Maybe I’m asked to leave that for God to sort out. Today, I have the option of being content and happy. It’s when I fret about things into the future that I get wrapped around the axle.
At this very moment, I’m sitting in my prayer chair, reading, reflecting and writing on scripture, enjoying my first cup of coffee. I can see birds making their morning migration to wherever they go, and the city waking up. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this moment. My worry about anything is bound to only ruin this moment. And this moment. And this one.
My days are made up of moments, and in each one, I have the option of being content in it, or not. Back to this morning’s scripture. Jesus uses grass as another example, along with the lilies and birds. He says the grass is alive today, and tomorrow thrown in the fire. Grass doesn’t fret about someday being thrown in the fire. Today, the grass is alive, and beautiful.
I don’t know what my tomorrow looks like. But a field of beautiful grass doesn’t either. More than not knowing, it’s maybe about not caring. I do genuinely believe my today is in God’s hands. And my tomorrow is in God’s hands. If that’s true, why would I worry? Because I think my plans are better than God’s? My son dropped out of high school. That was not in my plan. I fretted about it. He’s now at a prestigious law school. God’s plans for him are better than anything I could have scripted, anything I could have worried about.
I’m not suggesting everything ends like a Hollywood movie. But I do believe I don’t have the full picture, and don’t know God’s plans. Even if I did, I’m not sure I’d agree. Drop out of high school? That’s a stupid plan, and clearly my script at the time was not that. My script and plans for my sick loved one are not playing out. But, as it turns out, I’m not the ultimate script writer. I don’t write the script. I don’t understand the script. I may never understand it. But I do have faith that the one who does write the script has a much better plan than I could ever conceive.
I cannot add a single hour to my life. Or to the lives of those I love. Nothing about the future can my worry affect. All it does is ruin this beautiful and full now. Today, when worry creeps into my view, I’m going to stop and look around and see what I really see at that moment. I’m going to enjoy the birds of the air and the lilies of the field, and try to be content in the beauty of now.
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