“If you continue to worry, you’ll get sick,” my mother told me this afternoon.
3 hours later, I was sitting at a bar with my friend, D., sniffling.
“Girl, I don’t feel so well,” I told her. Then cold chills. Then the runny nose, the tickle in my throat. Then the exhaustion that left me without much energy.
My mother was right.
I worry, even though I have no reason to. The Lord provides for me always. He has never let me down. Yet, when faced with a new challenge, I give Him the side eye like He changed up on me. I’ve been a Christian since I was 4 and have seen and experienced more miracles than I can count. Yet, I still worry.
My worry has real, physical repercussions. The occasional headache has given way to intense, long lasting colds. I valiantly (and stupidly) don’t take enough time to rest and recover, and end up being really, really sick.
It’s a nightmare. It’s cyclical. And it needs to stop.
I can either worry, or I can pray. And each time I worry, I tell God that I don’t really believe that He’s real, that He loves me, or that He has my back. I hurt Him all the time. I’m aware of it, but it’s difficult to stop.
Christians usually say, “Trust God!” We should trust God, most definitely. I’m at a point, however, where I need to remember that I am in a loving relationship with God. If I love Him, I won’t hurt Him by doubting Him.
I have to love God enough not to worry about anything.
It’s a lesson I’m still working on. Chicken soup will help me with my cold; the downtime will help me remember what an awesome God I serve.