Hope is Just a Look Away

 

Hope is Just a Look Away

Jesus left the city and went to the Mount of Olives, as he often did, and his followers went with him. When he reached the place, he said to them, "Pray for strength against temptation." Then Jesus went about a stone's throw away from them. He kneeled down and prayed, "Father, if you are willing, take away this cup of suffering. But do what you want, not what I want." Then an angel from heaven appeared to him to strengthen him. Being full of pain, Jesus prayed even harder. His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. (Luke 22:39-44)

It’s a picture of Jesus that puzzles a lot of us. Maybe it’s because we've never seen his face quite like this before. Jesus smiling, yes; Jesus weeping, absolutely; Jesus stern, even that. But Jesus anguished? Cheeks streaked with tears? Face flooded in sweat? Rivulets of blood dripping from his chin? A face full of pain? An angel sent to the rescue? That’s not our usual picture of God’s son.

You remember the night, right? “Jesus went out to the Mount of Olives, as he often did, and his disciples went with him. When they got there, he told them, ‘Pray that you won’t be tested.’ Jesus walked on a little way before he knelt down and prayed, ‘Father, if you will, please don’t make me suffer by having me drink from this cup. But do what you want, and not what I want.’ Then an angel from heaven came to help him. Jesus was in great pain and prayed so sincerely that his sweat fell to the ground like drops of blood.” (Luke 22:39-44)

The Bible I carried as a child contained a picture of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. In that picture, Jesus’ face was soft and his hands calmly folded as he knelt beside a rock and prayed. Jesus seemed peaceful. But just one reading of the Gospels destroys that image of serenity. Mark says, "Jesus fell to the ground." (Mark 14:35) Matthew tells us that Jesus was "very sad and troubled . . . to the point of death." (Matt. 26:37-38) And according to Luke, Jesus was "full of pain." (Luke 22:44)

Equipped with those passages, how would you paint the Gethsemane scene now? Jesus flat on the ground? Face in the dirt? Extended hands gripping grass? Body rising and falling with sobs? Face as twisted as the olive trees that surrounded him? What do we do with that image of Jesus? Simple. We turn to it when we look the same way. We read it when we feel the same way. We ponder it when we feel afraid because isn't it possible that fear was one of the emotions that Jesus felt? You could even argue that fear was Jesus’ primary emotion. He saw something in the future so fierce, so foreboding that he begged for a change of plans. "Father, if you will, please don’t make me suffer." (Luke 22:42)

What causes you to pray that kind of prayer? Boarding an airplane? Facing a crowd? Public speaking? Taking a job? Taking a spouse? Driving on the freeway? The source of your fear may seem small to others, but to you it freezes your feet, makes your heart pound and blood rushes to your face. That's what happened to Jesus. He was so afraid that he bled. Doctors describe this condition as hematidrosis. It’s a documented medical condition where, because of severe anxiety, it causes the release of chemicals that break down the capillaries in the sweat glands. And when this occurs, sweat comes out tinged with blood. Jesus was more than anxious; he was afraid. For himself? For his disciples?

We don’t know for certain, but fear is worry's big brother. If worry is a burlap sack, then fear is a concrete trunk. It doesn’t budge. It’s remarkable that Jesus felt that kind of fear, but how gracious that he told us about it because we tend to do just the opposite. We gloss over our fears or cover them up. We keep our sweaty palms in our pockets, and our nausea and dry-mouth a secret. Not so with Jesus. We don’t see a mask of strength, but we do hear a request for it – for strength. Even an angel was sent. "Father, please don’t make me suffer." And the first one to hear Jesus’ fear was his Father.

He could have gone to his mother, of course, or confided in his disciples. He could have even assembled a prayer group. All of those responses would have been appropriate, but none of them were his priority. He went first to his Father. We, on the other hand, tend to go everywhere else first. First to the bar, or to the counselor, or to the self-help book, or to the friend next door or WebMD. Not Jesus. The first one to hear his fear was his Father. A millennium earlier David was urging the fear-filled to do the same: "I will fear no evil." (Psalm 23:4) How could David even make such a claim? Because he knew where to look. "You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." (Id.) Rather than turning to the other sheep, David turned to the Shepherd. Rather than staring at the problems, he stared at the rod and the staff. And because he knew where to look, David was able to say, "I will fear no evil."

I had a friend who feared crowds. When surrounded by large groups his breath got short, panic surfaced, and he began to sweat like a sumo wrestler in a sauna. Fortunately, he received some rather curious help from one of our golfing friends. The two were at a movie theatre waiting their turn to enter when fear struck. The crowd closed in like a forest, and he wanted out. Our friend told him to take a few deep breaths and then helped manage the crisis by reminding him of the golf course. "When you’re hitting your ball out of the rough and you’re surrounded by trees, what do you do?" "I look for an opening," he responded. "You don't stare at the trees?" "Of course not. I find an opening and focus on hitting the ball through the opening." "Alright, then do the same in a crowd. When you feel that sense of panic, don't focus on the people; focus on the opening." Good counsel – both in golf and in life.

Rather than focusing on the fear, focus on the solution. That's what Jesus did. That's what David did. And that's what the writer of Hebrews urges us to do. "Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith." (Heb. 12:1-2) The writer of Hebrews was not a golfer, but it sounds like he was a jogger because he talks about a runner and a forerunner. The forerunner is Jesus, the "author and finisher of our faith." He is the author – Jesus wrote the book on salvation. And he’s the finisher – Jesus not only charted the map, but he also blazed the trail. He’s the forerunner, and we’re the runners. And, as runners, we’re urged to keep our eyes on Jesus.

I'm not much of a runner now, but I used to be. These days, more mornings than not, I just can’t seem to drag myself out of bed and onto the street. But when I did run, I didn’t run very fast. And compared to marathoners, I didn’t run very far either. I ran because I didn’t like cardiologists. I still don’t. So now I walk the dog instead – same prescription but at a slower pace. Truth be told, that’s not as frequent either. But aside from the shear boredom of running, I quit because my body groaned. It didn’t want to cooperate. My knees hurt. My hips got stiff. My ankles complained. One time, a passerby even laughed at my legs and that made my ego hurt. In other words, things hurt – all over.

And as things began to hurt, I knew I had three options. I could: (1) go home; (2) meditate on my hurts until I imagined I was having chest pains – cue the cardiologist; or (3) keep on running. At the time, my trail ran east which gave me a front-row seat for God's morning miracle. And as I watched God's world go from dark to golden, guess what? The same happened to my attitude. The pain passed and the joints loosened and, before I knew it, the run was half over, and life wasn’t half bad. Everything seemed to improve as I fixed my eyes on the sun. Thinking about it now, I’m not exactly sure why I quit. Maybe it was the move to a new community, older age, or maybe I just got lazy. But the lesson stuck: fix your eyes on the Son.

Wasn't that the counsel of the Hebrew epistle – “looking unto Jesus"? What was the focus of David? "You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." How did Jesus endure the terror of the crucifixion, or his disciples being scattered? He went first to the Father with his fears. He modeled the words of Psalm 56:3: "When I am afraid, I put my trust in you." So do the same with yours. Don't avoid life's Gethsemane’s. Enter them but just don't enter them alone. And while you’re there, be honest. Pounding the ground is permitted. Tears are allowed. And if you sweat blood, you won't be the first. Do what Jesus did – open your heart and be specific. Jesus was.

"Take this cup," he prayed. Give God the number of the flight. Tell him the length of the speech. Share the details of the job transfer. He has plenty of time. He also has plenty of compassion. He doesn't think your fears are foolish or silly. He won't tell you to "buck up," or "get tough." He's been where you are. He knows how you feel, and he knows what you need. That's why we should punctuate our prayers like Jesus did – “If you’re willing . . . ." Was God willing when Jesus asked? Well, yes and no. God didn't take away the cross, but he took away the fear. God didn't still the storm, but he calmed the sailor. And who's to say he won't do the same for you? "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." (Phil. 4:6)

Don't measure the size of your mountain; talk to the One who can move it. Instead of carrying the world on your shoulders, talk to the One who holds the universe on his own. Hope is just a look away. So, what are you looking at? Your fears, or your Father?

Grace,

Randy

A Head That Fits Your Hat Size

 

A Head That Fits Your Hat Size

A Head That Fits Your Hat Size - Audio/Visual

Then Jesus told this story to some who had great confidence in their own righteousness and scorned everyone else: “Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and the other was a despised tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed this prayer: ‘I thank you, God, that I am not like other people — cheaters, sinners, adulterers. I’m certainly not like that tax collector! I fast twice a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.’ “But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, ‘O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.’ I tell you, this sinner, not the Pharisee, returned home justified before God. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Luke 18:9-14)

Humility is such an elusive virtue. Once you think you have it you don’t, or you wouldn't think you had it in the first place. The truth is God doesn't just dislike arrogance. He doesn't just disapprove of arrogance. He's not just unfavorably disposed toward arrogance. God hates arrogance. "The Lord despises pride.” (Prov. 16:5) Or put more bluntly, "I hate pride and arrogance." (Prov. 8:13) God says, "Do nothing out of . . . vain conceit" (Phil. 2:3) and "(d)o not let arrogance come out of your mouth." (1 Sam. 2:3) In the same way that he gives grace to the humble, "God opposes the proud." (1 Pet. 5:5) As humility goes before honor, "pride goes . . . before a fall." (Prov. 16:18) Have you ever wondered why some churches are powerful in one generation but empty the next? Maybe the answer’s found in Proverbs 15:25: "The Lord will tear down the house of the proud." God hates arrogance.

He hates arrogance because we haven't done anything to be arrogant about. For instance, do art critics give awards to the canvas upon which the artist paints? Is there a Pulitzer Prize for the ink used by the author of the award-winning story, or report? Can you imagine a scalpel in the hands of a surgeon growing smug after a successful heart transplant? No. They’re only tools, so they get no credit for these accomplishments. As the 23^rd Psalm reassures, we have rest, salvation, blessings and a home in heaven, but we did nothing to earn any of it. God did, and woven through the psalm like a silk thread through pearls David declares that "He makes me . . ." "He leads me . . ." "He restores my soul . . ." "You are with me . . ." "Your rod and your staff . . . comfort me . . ." "You prepare a table . . ." "You anoint my head . . ." We may be the canvas, the paper or the scalpel, but we aren’t the ones who deserve the applause. And just to make sure that we get the point, right in the middle of the poem David declares who does: the Shepherd who leads his sheep, and not for our names' sake, but "for his name's sake."

Why does God have anything to do with us? For his name's sake. There’s no other name on the marquee. No other name up in lights. No other name on the front page. It’s all done for God's glory. But why? Does God have an ego problem? No, but we do. God takes the credit; not because he needs it, but because he knows we can't handle it. We’re generally not content with just a bite of praise and adulation; we tend to swallow it whole. It messes with our systems. The praise swells our heads and shrinks our brains. Pretty soon we start thinking we had something to do with our own survival. And not long after that we completely forget that we’re made out of dirt and have been rescued from our sins.

Pretty soon we start praying like the fellow at the religious convention: "God, I thank you that the world has people like me. The man on the corner needs welfare – I don’t. The prostitute on the street has AIDS – I don’t. The drunk at the bar needs alcohol – I don’t. The homeless need morality – I don’t. I thank you that the world has people like me." Fortunately, there was a man at the same convention who had deflected all the applause. Too contrite to even look to the skies, he bowed his head and prayed, "God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Like my brother on welfare, I'm dependent on your grace. Like my sister with AIDS, I'm infected with sin. Like my friend who drinks, I need something to ease my pain. And as you love and give direction to the homeless, grant some to me as well. Have mercy on me, a sinner." After telling a story like that, Jesus told his audience, "I tell you, when this man went home, he was right with God, but the Pharisee was not. All who make themselves great will be made humble, but all who make themselves humble will be made great." (Luke 18:14)

But with the same intensity that God hates arrogance, he also loves humility. The Jesus who said, "I am gentle and humble in heart" (Matt. 11:29) is the same Jesus who loves those who are gentle and humble in heart. "Though the Lord is supreme, he takes care of those who are humble." (Ps. 138:6) God says, "I live with people who are . . . humble." (Isa. 57:15) He also says, "To this one I will look, to him who is humble and contrite." (Isa. 66:2) And to the humble, God gives great treasures. For instance, he gives honor – “Humility goes before honor." (Prov. 15:33) He gives wisdom – “With the humble is wisdom." (Prov. 11:2) He gives direction – “He teaches the humble his way." (Ps. 25:9) And most significantly, he gives grace – “God . . . gives grace to the humble." (1 Pet. 5:5). And then he gives us this blessed assurance – “He crowns the humble with salvation." (Ps. 149:4)

The mightiest of the saints were known for their humility. Though Moses had served as prince of Egypt and emancipator of the slaves, the Bible says, "Moses was . . . more humble than anyone else." (Num. 12:3) The apostle Paul was saved through a personal visit from Jesus. He was carried into the heavens and had the ability to raise the dead but when he introduced himself, he mentioned none of these accomplishments. He simply said, "I, Paul, am God's slave." (Titus 1:1) John the Baptist was Jesus’ cousin and the first evangelist in history, but he’s remembered in Scripture as the one who determined that "He (referring to Jesus) must increase, but I must decrease." (John 3:30) God loves humility.

Could that be the reason why he offers so many tips on cultivating it? One of the first steps in this process is to assess ourselves honestly. Humility isn’t the same as low self-esteem. Being humble doesn’t mean you think you have nothing to offer; it means you know exactly what you have to offer and nothing more. “Don’t cherish exaggerated ideas of yourself or your importance but try to have a sane estimate of your capabilities by the light of faith that God has given to you." (Rom. 12:3) Note the emphasis on making a “sane” estimate of your capabilities; not some insane conclusion about how great you are. And don’t take success too seriously. Scripture gives this warning: "When your . . . silver and gold increase, . . . your heart will become proud." (Deut. 8:13-14) So counteract this pride with reminders of the brevity of life, and the frailty of wealth. Ponder your success and count your money in a cemetery and remember that neither will be buried with you. "People come into this world with nothing, and when they die they leave with nothing." (Eccles. 5:15) I saw a reminder of this some time ago at Oak Hill cemetery. Parked next to the entrance that day was a beautiful recreational boat with a For Sale sign – it made me wonder if the owner realized that he or she couldn't take it with them.

Next, learn to celebrate the significance of others. "In humility consider others better than yourselves." (Phil. 2:3) Columnist Rick Reilly gave this advice to a rookie professional athlete: "Stop thumping your chest. The line blocked, the quarterback threw you a perfect spiral while getting his head knocked off, and the good receiver drew the double coverage. Get over yourself." The truth is every touchdown in life is a team effort. So, applaud your teammates. It’s like the story of an elementary-age boy who came home from tryouts for his school play. "Mommy, Mommy," he excitedly announced, "I got a part in the play! I've been chosen to sit in the audience and clap and cheer." So, when you have a chance to clap and cheer, do you take it? If you do, your head is starting to fit your hat size.

Next, don’t demand your own parking place. This was the instruction of Jesus to his followers: "Go sit in a seat that is not important. When the host comes to you, he may say, 'Friend, move up here to a more important place.' Then all the other guests will respect you." (Luke 14:10) Demanding respect is like chasing a butterfly. Chase it, and you'll never catch it; sit still, and it may just light on your shoulder. The French philosopher, Blaise Pascal, asked "Do you wish people to speak well of you? Then never speak well of yourself." Maybe that's why the Bible says, "Don't praise yourself. Let someone else do it." (Prov. 27:2) And never announce your success before it occurs. Or as one of the kings of Israel said, "One who puts on his armor should not boast like the one who takes it off." (1 Kings 20:11) Charles Spurgeon trained a lot of young ministers in his day. On one occasion a student stepped up to preach with great confidence but failed miserably in his delivery. He came down from the pulpit humbled and meek. Spurgeon told him, "If you had gone up as you came down, you would have come down as you went up." If humility precedes an event, then confidence may very well follow.

Finally, speak humbly. “Let no arrogance come from your mouth." (1 Sam. 2:3) Don't be cocky. People aren't impressed with your opinions. Take a tip from Benjamin Franklin who said, “[I developed] the habit of expressing myself in terms of modest diffidence, never using when I advance anything that may possibly be disputed, the words certainly, undoubtedly, or any others that give the air of positiveness to an opinion; but rather I say, I conceive, or I apprehend a thing to be so and so. . . . This habit I believe has been a great advantage to me.” And it would be a great advantage to us as well.

Live life at the foot of the cross. Paul said, "The cross of our Lord Jesus Christ is my only reason for bragging." (Gal. 6:14) Do you feel a need for affirmation? Does your self-esteem need attention? You don't need to drop names or show off. You need only to pause at the foot of the cross and be reminded that the maker of the stars would rather die for you than live without you. So, if you need to brag, brag about that; you may just find that your head will fit your hat size.

Grace,

Randy

Worry's Deceit

 

Worry’s Deceit

Worry's Deceit - Audio/Visual 

No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and be enslaved to money. ¶That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life — whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? (Matt. 6:24-27)

Your ten-year-old is so worried that he can't eat; he can’t even sleep. "What's wrong?" you ask. He shakes his head and moans, "I don't even have a pension plan." Or your six-year-old is crying in bed. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" She whimpers, "I'll never pass college chemistry." Your eight-year-old's face is paralyzed with stress. "I'll be a rotten parent. What if I set a poor example for my kids?" Now, how would you respond to these statements? Besides calling a child psychologist, your response would probably be like, "You're too young to worry about those things. When the time comes, you'll know what to do." Fortunately, most kids don't have those thoughts. Unfortunately, adults do.

Worry is a gunny sack that overflows with "What If’s,” and “How Will’s.” "What if it rains at my wedding?" "How will I know when to discipline my kids?" "What if I marry a guy who snores?" "How will we pay our baby's tuition?" The gunny sack of worry. It’s cumbersome, unattractive, scratchy and hard to get a handle on. It’s irritating to carry, and it’s impossible to give away; no one wants your worries. And the truth is you don't want them either because worry divides the mind. The biblical word for worry (merimnao) is a compound of two Greek words, merizo ("to divide"), and nous ("the mind"). Anxiety splits our energy between today's priorities and tomorrow's problems. Part of our mind is on the now; the rest is on the yet-to-come. The result is half-minded living. Worse yet, that's not the only result.

Worrying is not so much a disease as it causes disease. It has been connected to high blood pressure, heart trouble, blindness, migraine headaches, thyroid disorders and a host of stomach problems. Anxiety is an expensive habit, and it might be worth the cost if it actually worked. But it doesn't. Our frets are futile. Jesus asked, "Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?" (Matt. 6:27) Worry has never brightened a day, solved a problem or cured a disease. One guy worried so much that he decided to hire someone to do his worrying for him. Eventually, he found a man who agreed to be his hired worrier at a whopping salary of $250,000.00 per year. After the man accepted the job, his first question to his boss was, "Where are you going to get the $250,000.00 to pay me?" The new boss responded, "That's your worry."

Sadly, worrying is one job you can't farm out, but you can overcome it. And there’s no better place to start than in verse two of the 23^rd Psalm. "He leads me beside the still waters," David declares. And, in case we missed the point, he repeats the phrase in the next verse: "He leads me in the paths of righteousness." He leads me. God isn't behind me, yelling, "Go!" He’s ahead of me, saying, "Come!" He’s in front, clearing the path, cutting the brush and showing the way. He leads us. He tells us what we need to know when we need to know it.

As a New Testament writer would affirm, "We will find grace to help us when we need it." (Heb. 4:16) Or, in a different translation, "Let us therefore boldly approach the throne of our gracious God, where we may receive mercy and in his grace find timely help." (Heb. 4:16) God's help is timely. Back in the day when my wife and I went to Disneyland with our kids, I carried all of our tickets in my backpack. When the moment came to enter the “Happiest Place on Earth,” I stood between the ticket-taker and the child, and as each child passed I placed a ticket in their hand. They, in turn, gave the ticket to the park employee. Each one received their ticket just in time. And what I did for my kids, God does for you.

He places himself between you and the need and, at the right time, gives you your ticket. Wasn't this the promise he gave to his disciples? "When you are arrested and judged, don't worry ahead of time about what you should say. Say whatever is given you to say at that time, because it will not really be you speaking; it will be the Holy Spirit." (Mark 13:11) And isn't that the message God gave the children of Israel? He promised to supply them with manna each day, but he told them to collect only one day's supply at a time. Those who disobeyed and collected enough for two days found themselves with rotten manna. The only exception to the rule was the day prior to the Sabbath – on Friday when they could gather twice as much. Otherwise, God would give them what they needed in their time of need. So, God leads us, and God will do the right thing at the right time which, in turn, allows us to enjoy today.

"Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes." (Matt. 6:34) That last phrase is worthy of a highlighter: when the time comes. "I don't know what I'll do if my husband dies." You will know when the time comes. "I don't think I’ll be able to cope when the children leave the house." It won't be easy, but strength will arrive when the time comes. Instead, meet today's problems with today's strength. Don't start tackling tomorrow's problems until tomorrow because you don’t have tomorrow's strength yet, but you have enough strength for today.

More than 100 years ago, Sir William Osler delivered a speech to the students at Yale University entitled, "A Way of Life." In his message, he related an event that occurred while he was aboard an ocean liner. One day while he was visiting with the ship's captain, a loud, piercing alarm sounded, followed by strange grinding and crashing sounds below the deck. "Those are our watertight compartments closing," the captain explained. "It's an important part of our safety procedure. In case of real trouble, water leaking into one compartment would not affect the rest of the ship. Even if we should collide with an iceberg, as did the Titanic, water rushing in will fill only that particular ruptured compartment. The ship, however, will still remain afloat."

When Sir William spoke to the students at Yale, he used the captain's description of the boat as a metaphor: “What I urge is that you learn to master your life by living each day in a day-tight compartment and this will certainly ensure your safety throughout your entire journey of life. Touch a button and hear, at every level of your life, the iron doors shutting out the Past – the dead yesterdays. Touch another and shut off, with a metal curtain, the Future – the unborn tomorrows. Then you are safe – safe for today. Think not of the amount to be accomplished, the difficulties to be overcome, but set earnestly at the little task near your elbow, letting that be sufficient for the day; for surely our plain duty is not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what lies clearly at hand.”

Jesus made the same point, but in fewer words: "So don't worry about tomorrow, because tomorrow will have its own worries. Each day has enough trouble of its own." (Matt. 6:34) Easy to say; not so easy to do. We are so prone to worry. In fact, just a few nights ago I was worrying in my sleep. I dreamed that I was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, a degenerative cognitive disease which took the life of my grandmother. I awakened from the dream and, right there in the middle of the night, began to worry. Then Jesus' words came to mind, "Don't worry about tomorrow." And for once, I decided not to. After all, why let tomorrow's imaginary problem rob tonight's sleep? Can I prevent the disease by staying awake? No. Will I postpone the affliction by thinking about it? No. So I did the most spiritual thing I could have done – I went back to sleep. Why don't you do the same?

God is leading you and timely provides. So, leave tomorrow's problems until tomorrow. Arthur Sulzberger was the publisher of the New York Times during the Second World War. Because of the world conflict, he found it almost impossible to sleep. He was never able to banish worries from his mind until he adopted as his motto these five words – “one step enough for me" – taken from the 1833 hymn, Lead Kindly Light, whose first verse concludes, “Lead, kindly Light . . . Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see the distant scene – one step enough for me.”

Recent studies suggest that the vast majority of the things people worry about do not happen, with percentages ranging from 85% to 91%. A Penn State University study found that 91.4% of a participant's worries never came true, and that 30.1% of actual problems turned out better than expected. There was a similar study done at Cornell University which concluded that 85% of what we worry about never happens. Research on this topic has generally concluded that worrying is a wasteful use of mental energy, with little benefit to actually handling future events. In fact, and for some, worry is nothing more than an “action” that we engage in to “feel” as though we’re being productive despite the fact that being a “productive” worrier is oxymoronic – kind of like a silent scream, or being at peaceful war with our minor crises.

Like the hymn, Lead Kindly Light, God isn't going to let you see the distant scene either so you might as well quit looking for it. Glenn Turner, a famous New Zealand cricketer turned motivational speaker put it this way: “Worrying is like a rocking chair; it gives you something to do but gets you nowhere.” But you don’t have to take it from Glenn. God promises a lamp unto our feet (Psalm 119:105), not a crystal ball into the future. We don’t need to know what will happen tomorrow because that’s the very nature of worry’s deceit. We only need to know that God leads us, and that "we will find grace to help us when we need it." (Heb. 4:16)

Grace,

Randy