"I remember a pastor once telling me that the same part of you that worries is the part of you that prays, and since I can pretty much worry without ceasing, I can definitely pray without ceasing too." Sarah Bessey
I heard the above quote earlier this week and had to chuckle. I, too, am a worrier. Sometimes I even worry about the fact that I worry so much. I have joked that it is my substitute shield…worry instead of faith. A way of self-protecting myself from worst-case scenarios by bracing myself for them ahead of time, and living through the emotional distress they cause, regardless of whether they even occur. Because usually, they don't.
But even when they do, I'm realizing that in the process I've burned through most of my emotional bandwidth in my dysfunctional preparation. I'm exhausted by my tossing and turning in bed at night. By my anxious mental rabbit trails. By the fear of all the "what ifs." How am I supposed to bear the weight of life's actual trials when my level of peace is always in the red?
I was reading this morning from the fabulous Brian Doyle that "every creature on earth has approximately two billion heartbeats to spend in a lifetime. You can spend them slowly, like a tortoise, and live to be two hundred years old, or you can spend them fast, like a hummingbird, and live to be two years old."
That little hummingbird heart beats 10X a second. Can you believe that? I wonder if our ears could even distinguish the space between its beats. It makes me think of my own spiritual heart, racing constantly on the verge of fight or flight, feeding on a constant stream of adrenaline and caffeine. How do I slow it down? How do I learn, as Pascal prescribes, to sit quietly in a room alone?
The Psalmist reveals to us God's invitation to be still and to know that He is God. I love this, but so often struggle to put it into practice. But Sarah's suggestion this week gave me some clarity. To pray not just through the feelings of worry, but instead, to utilize that muscle to speak more authentically to God, from my very heart. To lay these fears before God. To hand them off to Him. To let God carry them for me, and to stop taking them back after they've been given.
God, I give you...
My health and the health of my family.
Our future.
Our provision.
Our church community.
Our hopes and visions going forward.
Peter tells us not merely to lay our prayers at God's feet, or politely offer them as requests. He tells us to throw them at God…to cast them, probably like he would have thrown a net. To develop our arm strength as we pray, instead of our grip strength.
This kind of prayer is unnatural at first. This is why I'm so glad for the Psalms of David. He didn't hold back. "How long, oh Lord!" "How long will you hide?" "How long will the wicked prosper?" "How long will you forget about me?"
This is next-level praying, and I'm still not very good at it. But I'm learning to baby step into it. "God, I'm really scared." "I'm afraid that I'm not enough." "I'm not sure I can keep going like this."
The need for these prayers is continuous. And as I recognize my worries and direct them quickly to God, I notice something else. My breaths become less shallow and grow deeper. I begin to relax. The burden becomes lighter. The yoke feels easier. And my spiritual heartbeat starts to slow.
"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7