Of late, worrying seems to have become a fine art. When I quell my worries about one topic another simply replaces it. My latest worry, which every parent would understand, has put me in a position where I can’t even focus very well this morning. My mind is a bunch of tangled versions of, what more can I do. My husband put it perfectly. “He [our son] is there. We are here and can’t do a thing to help him.” That is the essence of worry, being out of control. He said that in a matter of fact manner, by the way, as he left for work. Clearly he wasn’t as worried as me.
Hence this morning I ended up online looking for help for my own anxiety. Not to be a party pooper but reading about how good Catholic Christians put their faith and trust in Jesus and so don’t worry didn’t make me feel any better. All I could think besides that there were many nice platitudes out there was did the authors of those platitudes have kids? Then of course was the realization that if I believed the words I had just read the gavel had slammed on the table. I worry. Therefore my faith is minuscule, if it exists at all. Not what I needed to read.
Then I thought to myself perhaps I’m going about this the wrong way. Perhaps instead of beating myself up over the fact that I can’t stop worrying and according to the Saints and scripture I simply don’t have enough faith, I should simply shout to the sky that I’m worried and beg the Lord to help our son! After all, what else can one do?
Eureka! Therein lies the answer to worry. Four letters: H-E-L-P. Shouting those four letters to the sky is an act of faith!
Faith is not measured by serenity. It’s measured by calling on the name of the Lord for strength when serenity eludes us, as it sometimes will, and often for good reason. Shout to the Lord for help. Eventually, peace comes, from Him.