Years ago, if you asked me if I was a worrier, I'd have looked straight at you and said, "Nah, I hardly ever worry."
Man, was I was clueless.
I'd make Tom's lunch for work in the mornings and then worry I'd not put enough food in it.
I'd tell Naomi good-bye and then worry about her walking to school alone.
I'd look at one of our cats, notice that he didn't have that Happy Cat look about him, and worry that he was sick.
If I wasn't dressed and made-up by 9:00, I'd worry that someone would knock at the door and see me looking like a wreck. And if the house wasn't straightened, I'd also worry that someone would come to the door and make that discovery.
I'd heat my breakfast in the microwave and worry about all those deadly rays seeping through the door (because, after all, I could smell the tomato sauce of my leftover spaghetti).
If the sun was shining through the windows, I'd worry that it would fade our couch.
If I'd written a letter to a friend and had not received a timely reply, I'd worry that I wrote something to offend her and now she despised me.
If I paid our bills that day, I'd worry about the low (non-existent?) balance left in our checkbook.
When it came time to make dinner, I'd worry that I'd not be able to think of something delicious to make before Tom arrived home from work.
Naomi was out in her car at night? I'd worry that she'd be in an accident or with whom she was spending time.
Sheesh. You go worrying like that a few years and then one day a voice inside says, "What a horrible way to live! If you don't stop it, you'll not only someday become sick, but you'll reach the end of your life having spoiled every single day. Is that what you want?"
Well, that's pretty much what I heard, anyway. And over time I realized, yes! Worrying, truly, was beating me down.
And something strange--it felt almost like I was too tired to worry anymore. As though suddenly I saw all the energy it took to worry and I just no longer had it.
(Or something like that.)
And that was the day/month/year of new beginnings. Finally I began passing over my worries to God so He could worry for me. In my 40's now, I just didn't have the energy for worrying. Thank-goodness.
And that's what I remind myself now each day. "Debra, you're older now and this worrying needs to stop. Let it go."
"Just let it go--and be free. And strong."
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Perhaps I'm writing so much about my past lately because of the hours I'm spending digging through it.
All the sorting of drawers and cupboards of my past seasons in preparation for a new one. I don't know.
But there I was at 17 in the mainline church denomination I'd grown up in, the one which taught it's a million to one chance that God will supernaturally heal anyone today. And good luck if you ever see a miracle because they all died out after Acts chapter 2. And yet I believed, all along, that God still healed people, still answered prayer and nothing was too hard for Him.
That He could do anything He wanted.
And there I was in my 20's (in a different church) believing that the biblical gifts of the Spirit are still very much given and in use today. That God can speak through the gift of prophecy and knowledge, wisdom and mercy and well, all the rest. And watched Him do that and participated, also.
And there I was in my 30's believing that God is not like a boring church service. Nor does He resemble dull sermons, songs which never change, routines which never vary, unteachable people or a yawning, sad, defeated Sunday School teacher.
Always, God is more.
More creative, more inspiring, more incredible. More than our imaginations can fathom and always more than we will allow Him to be.
And here I am in my 40's still unafraid of the supernatural parts of God, knowing that if there's nothing supernatural about God, well then, we are all sunk. And I'm grateful that I didn't have to wait until strolling around Heaven's streets to see that supernatural side of a God who will not be stuffed inside a box.
And may I never be seen on some street corner trying to shove Him inside a boring, safe box. May I never grieve Him that way.
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Okay, I'll confess. Tom and I are still watching American Idol.
And I know that certain bloggers have chosen to resume watching only when the Hollywood shows begin, especially after seeing that dreadful (I'll agree) Washington state episode. I get that and I respect it, too.
So why do I watch American Idol year after year? Truthfully? It's the human nature of everyone involved which fascinates me. Everyone from the judges to Ryan to the contestants and their parents and friends. And well, I love observing what Candid Camera used to call 'people caught in the act of being themselves.'
And ok, some of what happens is staged--I get that. But what I study, learn from and find utterly interesting is the stuff you couldn't stage in a hundred years. The real drama. The wild actions which come from insecurity, the deep, gut-level cries for appreciation, the wanting to be--not just known--but famous (and believing fame will fill up all the huge gaps inside ones soul). The way peoples' needs can cause such unbelievable delusion and how disappointment can bring out the worst in folks--
--oh, and the way the contestants act, too. (Heh. Just kidding, Simon, Paula and Randy).
I don't know. I watch American Idol weekly, fascinated like I said, and am reminded nearly every moment that even a huge, awesome, world-known singing career is still not big enough to totally fill the gap inside anyone. How only God, Himself can complete what He began--and created--in the first place.
And maybe, after I sort through all the other reasons--maybe that is why I watch American Idol each year. To be reminded that God is still God and only He will ever be enough.
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So why do you like American Idol? (Like--not hate.) ツツ
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