Worry is like a second skin for me. I wake up each morning and slip it on without thinking. Before I’ve even stumbled to the coffee pot, or even before my feet hit the floor some days, worry has settled herself around my shoulders like a robe. She has worked her fingers like tendrils into my brain and started the hamster wheel of thoughts whirring like crazy.
“What if I can’t handle the kids today?”
“I already feel behind and I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet.”
“Will life ever return to ‘normal’ again…or do I just need to make my peace with constantly feeling like I’m running on empty?”
“I’m not doing this mom-thing right.”
“I need to add ‘take photos for sample sale,’ ‘pick up prescription,’ ‘get packing tape,’ ‘update inventory spreadsheet,’ and ‘get chicken out to thaw’ to my to-do list.”
I worry about what the next five minutes, the next hour, the next day will hold and whether or not I’ll be able to ‘get it all done’ and still ‘keep it all together.’ And I usually end the day feeling like the answer to both of those questions is ‘no.’
Even though worry slips on like a lightweight robe, she is anything BUT lightweight. I can feel the weight of her pressing down on my chest, constricting those deep yoga breaths that I try so hard to take each morning.
But I’m tired of wearing worry. I don’t want her to be the story of my life. As an Enneagram 6, I realize what a lofty goal that is. Fix it, Jesus. Fix it. Jesus. JESUS.
And then I remember. Jesus was the One who said, ‘Come to Me, you who are weary and heavy burdened. Come to Me, and I will give you rest.” Oh, how I need that reminder. I need to cling to it like oxygen, breathe it in and let it lift the weight of worry on my chest.
If I’m honest, I have done a pretty crappy job of coming to Jesus with my Worry Robe. I usually just snuggle down in it and try to take deep breaths that never really go deep. I tuck my head down and attack my to-do list with a vigor and damned be anyone who gets in my way (often including my husband and children). Which never ends up working out well for anyone.
And yet, that Voice still calls me. Come and rest. Let Me lift the weight of Worry…take my robe instead. It’s nice and light. You can breathe. Just keep looking at Me.
I reach out to take His hand and let my eyes rest on His…and I find rest.
And tomorrow morning, when I pick up my Worry Robe again (as I inevitably will), I will allow the weight of it to remind me to seek His face again, until His rest is the only garment I seek.