“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away.”
Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4, 6 ESV
“And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?”
Matthew 6:27 ESV
I am upstairs in a sunny bedroom. Laundry is going. My kids are all playing well together. And I am anxious.
Our day started so very well: a walk before breakfast, school started before 8 and done by 10, and there was a lot of time to tackle the project piles I’ve created.
I’m trying to process why I’m anxious, but anyone who has gone through seasons of anxiety knows that it is hard. to. process. when you’re in it.
But right now my house feels like it will forever be a mess (it won’t), that I have nothing to serve for dinner (I do), and that I will be the only one doing every household chore for the rest of my life (not true – but that’s a stretch for me to believe!).
I know the truth: this is a season. But, like a Montana winter, there is no telling how long it will last or if it will get worse before it gets better. And that’s the place where anxiety settles in.
I’m anxious to see friends more easily without missing school. I long to have times scheduled away from my house that won’t suddenly be cancelled due to cold weather or sick children. I wish my kids and I were healthy enough for long enough to go swimming in the afternoons like I had planned! I want to make the trip to the thrift store to give away all of the stuff I’ve put into bags over the last 6 months. To plan dates – both big and small – with Jeff because we know what our year will look like with road time and home time. To know what my next steps are for replacing my roof (yup. Construction-anxiety on top of regular-anxiety). And to get rid of all the baby stuff we no longer need and I keep finding more of.
But instead I’m waiting. Not with self-restraint, but what feels like restraints holding me in place as I squirm against them.
“Be patient.” That’s my phrase this year.
My mom always says a prayer for patience is a dangerous prayer because you know it’s going to be tested quickly.
I am reminded, in the tension, that patience is my prayer over this whole year and it isn’t easy.
God knew what my year would entail before giving me this phrase. It’s 35 days into the year and I’ve hit the confining wall of what is inside and outside of patience more than that many times. Possibly in this week alone. And it’s only Wednesday.
So I’ll do what I can to cope.
Breathe.
Take the give away stuff out to the truck, since putting it in the van invites children’s eyes and whines.
Fix the imbalanced blankets in the washing machine to keep the laundry going.
Be alright with the kids playing on the tv menu screen because the internet is out and they won’t be able to access what isn’t for them.
Take sausages out of the freezer for dinner because they require minimal prep.
And put whatever was left of the piles into a box to be dealt with an a day where I have more bandwidth.
And last but most: pray. Give it all back to God who orders my days and will give me my next steps.
Sometimes I need my own reminders to get out of a rut. Do what I can. Make it as easy as possible. Rest somehow. Pray, pray, pray.
While today had an early peak, I need to remember that going downhill is part of the journey, too. No matter which way I’m going – up or sideways – I’m always getting closer to another view of how God’s hand is on me; working for His glory and my good, even on anxious days.
(Here’s my own advice that I needed.)