Food Anxiety

God of Paleo eating, forgive me for I have sinned.

About four years ago, Brandon and I embarked on a month of Whole 30 eating in an effort to figure out what was destroying his digestive system. The Whole 30 cuts all added sugar, alcohol, grains, beans and legumes, soy, and dairy products for 30 days. For 30 days, you eat only fruits, vegetables, seeds, tree nuts, oils, and meat. After just a few days, we noticed amazing results - we lost weight, sinus issues disappeared, complexion cleared up, snoring ended, acid reflux disappeared, indigestion gone, major digestive issues for Brandon disappeared, afternoon lethargy disappeared, and we both were sleeping like rocks. We felt amazing.

After we finished the Whole 30 Challenge, we said good riddance to soy and grains. Adios, sandwiches! Goodbye, pasta! You get the idea. It has been our goal in the weeks and months and years since that first Whole 30 to stick as close to that strict diet as possible - all whole foods, no processed or pre-packaged junk. When we slide back into eating pizza and ice cream on a habitual basis, we all notice the difference. When we consciously cut those things that we know will make us sick out of our diets again, we feel better again.

For the most part this has worked really well for us. Cutting out all of the pre-packaged and processed stuff has made for significant changes in how we feel. Participating in the Whole 30 was a powerful, eye opening experience to how much diet affects the way our bodies operate.

But Brandon's digestive issues continue to spike, and so we try to cut out other parts of our diets that might be culprits. Chickens who are fed soy, for instance. Chickens who are fed soy that lay soy-fed eggs. Nitrates. Red meat.

The general progression of our dietary habits has looked something like this:

• We tried the Whole 30 in 2012 and felt overwhelmed, but figured it out.
• We switched to Paleo eating and felt overwhelmed, but figured it out.
• We watched Forks Over Knives and felt overwhelmed.
• We heard about Grain Brain and reinforced our anti-grain sentiments.
• We launched Whole 30 challenges again in 2013 and 2014 and made A Case For and Against Detox
• We learned how too much protein in your diet can affect your kidney health and started to cut back on meat.
• We learned from the World Health Organization that red meat is a carcinogen.
• I signed up for a plant-based diet wellness class at work taught by the Esselstyns of Reverse and Prevent Heart Disease fame who say, no animal anything, no dairy, no oils, no added sugars, just fruits, vegetables (lots of leafy greens especially), whole grains, beans and legumes, and today I'm beginning a seven-day plant-based diet challenge.

I am afraid to buy bread. And pasta. And rice. And cereal. The other day I bought a package of whole wheat spaghetti and felt a surge of shame.

I believe I suffer from FAD - Food Anxiety Disorder. I don't think it's a real thing but I bet it will become one soon, because of this:

 and this: 

PEOPLE. LOOK AT THIS. DO YOU SEE WHY I HAVE FAD??

There are plenty of recommended, modified, reduced, reorganized, This Is The Way diets I could reference. These are the two that are front of mind for us right now.

Eat meat.

Don't eat meat.

Don't eat grains.

Eat grains.

Don't eat beans and legumes.

Eat as many beans and legumes as you want.

Aaaaahhhhhhh.

I should not feel anxiety about buying a food product that most of the world subsists on, right? I want to live the healthiest, most joyful life I can and provide strong guidelines for lifelong health for my kids. The world is against me in this mission. School wants a sweet treat, a salty treat, a juice drink, a goodie bag, and a healthy snack for the Halloween party. Church hosts a donut hour every Sunday and dessert at every cheese- and meat-based potluck. Restaurants offer three vegetarian, cheese-smothered entrees and four salads, one without meat, with cheese. Butter, cheese, white bread, and meat, everywhere!

I wouldn't care about any of this if I hadn't done that Whole 30 Challenge four years ago, stripping away the staples of the American diet, cutting my addiction to sugar cold turkey, and discovering all of the benefits of eating for health, not eating to satisfy my desires. We have evangelized for Paleo eating and now I find myself eyeing another model, another option, wanting the very best for my body and my family's bodies for the long haul, wondering about all of that meat we've been eating and what it might be doing to our kidneys, our cells, our overall health.

And so I bought a bag of whole wheat pasta and a can of pasta sauce. I stirred in some spinach. My kids sung the praises of noodles over dinner and we Googled how much sugar is in one box of raisins (25 grams) and how much the average adult woman should eat each day (25 grams). We talked about eating well, about maybe even eating sandwiches again (SINNERS!!!!).

I wish I didn't care about any of this because it's just plain exhausting pushing against our cultural norms of cheese cheese cheese and meat meat meat. Countries all over the world and families in our own nation are malnourished and starving, anxious about where they are going to get their next meal and their next meal and their next meal. Here in the Fifty Nifty United States, we are anxious about consuming too much food and the wrong types of food. We eat junk and pay for it now and later. It's a money-making industry of diet plans and pharmaceuticals.

Last night at dinner, Brandon and I scanned the menu and tried to decide what to eat.

"You're making me freak out about meat," Brandon said as we looked in vain for a non-meat, non-cheese dish.

"Don't freak out," I said, "Order whatever you want. I don't want to be a slave to our diets, but I also want to feel good and be healthy." I took my own advice and ordered sea scallops (They are of the animalia kingdom, folks. I was secretly hoping they could be considered plants.)

That's the bottom line. Anxiety about food is not feeling good. It is not healthy. I need to remember that food is not an idol. Learning more about what foods are good for you and what foods may have negative impacts on your long-term health is good education and an important framework for making healthy decisions. I feel better when I don't eat added sugars. I feel better when I don't eat dairy. I feel better when I eat healthy grains. I feel better when I don't eat red meat.

I especially feel better when I remember that I have to eat for the rest of my life, and life is a journey of successes and failures, of gaining more knowledge and growing in wisdom and discernment. I can choose into health or I can choose to indulge, and both choices are mine to make, consequences on either side.

Those sea scallops were delicious. I don't regret them.

Praise God from whom all shopping bags flow...?

I stood in line for an hour and a half without a cart carrying a basket full of stuff and two boxes full of more stuff for $160 worth of merchandise today. There was much sighing. I kept telling myself, this might be the only day you have free child care and can actually go to the store and pick stuff out, so buy the stuff and get out, get out, get out!

I love this season. I love the anticipation, the longing, the delight, the promise of hope and joy and peace, all of which I think are essential to practice and promote when the darkness seems to encroach from all corners.

Lydia's Christmas List

It's hard to practice peace and hope and joy in a line that wraps around the perimeter of a store with a hundred other Scrooges out to buy buy buy some joy joy joy joy down under the tree.

I am a planner; I set up certain expectations for myself and I expect myself to deliver or exceed those expectations. No one says, Sarah, you really should blog daily in the month of December like you have the last two years, but here I am wrestling anyway with whether to attempt to blog daily in December or whether I should give it up. It's a challenge, so part of me looks at the doubting part of me and says, "Oh yeah, you BET I can do it, just you watch, I'll prove it to you," while the doubting part says, "Yeah, you're crazy." But surely I could get up earlier, stay up later, sneak it in over lunch, rush home to rush off to make cookies to wrap cookies to deliver cookies to sing and pray and read and hurry UP sit DOWN buckle UP let's GO... Surely I could make it happen. I can make it happen.

Advent is the celebration of the coming of Jesus Christ; it is the period of time during which Christians sing, "O Come, o come, Immanuel, and ransom captive Israel..." the coming of Christ marks freedom from the slavery of sin, ransom paid, release from debt, burden lifted. We are supposed to hope for things yet unseen, and yet, instead, I yoke myself to obligation and ritual - I have to do this because this is what I do, this is what is expected, this is what will earn me love and appreciation. "Rejoice, rejoice, Immanuel shall come to thee O Israel..."

It is hard to lift your hands in praise when you're still carrying your Black Friday shopping bags.

"Advent" is a part of the word "adventure," a pursuit to explore spaces we haven't before. This is a new season, new territory, with new challenges and new opportunities. An adventure has plenty of elements we hope for that are yet unseen.

Advent also means "a coming into being," like the advent of computers, or the advent of cell phones. Once there was none and now there is. Once it was one way and now it is another way. I once was lost but now I'm found, was blind but now I see.

So, too, with this advent.

I do not think it is possible, or realistic, or healthy, to set for myself a quantifiable goal of blogging/crafting/reading/event-ing every single night of December leading up to Christmas. I think it might serve the opposite purpose of the season - where there could be hope and joy and peace, there would be despair and frustration and anxiety. I do not want this season to be despair and frustration and anxiety. I want to use whatever minutes of the day I have for sowing love into my kids, and this is surprisingly difficult when you begin to believe the best way to demonstrate love is by signing them up for lots of activities or planning lots of outings or buying all the things.

I think what I will do this year is string up "hope" and "joy" and "peace," and maybe we will weave these in with some unscheduled nights to play board games or in the early morning hours on the couch under a blanket. Maybe we will pray for ways to make hope and joy and peace real in our daily goings-about.

And maybe, just maybe, there will be a moment like tonight after the giggling ceases and only the tree is illuminated, when I will feel so moved I'll sing, "Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright..." and believe.

2013: I was saying the exact same thing to myself.
2012: This is when I got this stupid I mean awesome advent activities calendar idea.
2011: This was the half-marathon, parents-30th-anniversary, season-of-Beans-going-crazy year
2010: This is when I was trying to make more quality time for my kids. I've obviously solved this problem.
2009: I was super-duper excited about Christmas and poetry and life.
2008: I posted a poem about Snow in Auburn that I still like because it's really a poem about hope and God's presence although you might not know it because it isn't the best poem ever.

Looking for the Goods

First off, sarahmwells.com is broken, and I'm unhappy about it.  I kept hoping it would reset itself or just reappear, and after multiple attempts to contact customer service people at Google and at GoDaddy.com, I have given up, deleted the domain name entirely, and with any luck it'll become available again in the next couple of days, so I can register it once more for my use.

This is one of the reasons I haven't written lately.  Another reason is because I've had two weeks of vacation over the last three (I wedged in five workdays somewhere in there), and most of this time has been dedicated to my husband and the three little people.  Heavenly, I tell you.  And the last reason is that I actually have been writing, quite a bit, but it's all super-secret-awesome stuff.  Not really.  It's for school, though, which means it is hopefully going toward my thesis, which is HOPEFULLY going to turn into a book.  

But before any of that can happen, I need to go yell at the circus animals hooting in the room above me.

Sigh. Okay. Threats of separation delivered.  I don't know why it is that they respond so well to this threat - I would think it a treat to get the whole room to one's self while the other one snuggles into my bed.  I like having the bed all to myself... once in a while.

I have the bed all to myself this weekend, a foretaste of things to come.  I admit I'm already panicking about Brandon's road trip days beginning again in August.  In fact, my heart rate just jumped a little.  It feels like summer is already over now that my vacation days are nearing an end and the MFA residency is approaching.  Before I know it, we'll be back to soccer games with an angry toddler and the husband out of the house half the week.

The quickened pace of life that will begin in a few short weeks makes me tired already.  I don't think I've had a long enough reprieve.  I don't want to feel like a single parent for half of the week again.  It is not easy.  

There are times, of course, when it isn't so bad.  A few weeks ago as Brandon worked to settle back into the full-time dad routine, every. little. thing. I. did. was. wrong.  Every thing.  Not wrong, but different from what he does, I should say.

"Did you put my water glass into the dishwasher, Gary?" he teased one morning after I had prepared breakfast, loaded the dishwasher, and cleared off the counter.  His dad, Gary, is known for the quick snatching and cleansing of the glassware, almost before your lips have left the rim of the cup.  I sighed.  "... The kitchen looks nice," he said with a smile, reaching to pinch my butt.

"When do you go back to work?!" I squeaked.  "Can't you call ESPN and ask them for work?"  This, after counting down the days until he was done with work for the summer.  This, after a mental breakdown this spring, after childcare challenges and scheduling conflicts and children who miss him and ME ME ME who missed him over and over again.  Go back to work, I said.  Leave me alone.

We laughed and squeezed each other.  "You have to stop critiquing everything I do, husband of mine. It's driving me bonkers."

I had gotten used to running things my way without Brandon around.  And then he was back, full-scale, with not much to distract him from the household and our children except the occasional round of golf and softball.  We had gotten out of step and in turn kept stepping on each other's toes as we did or did not take out the recycling, did or did not load the dishwasher, did or did not take Henry to the potty fifteen minutes or forty-five minutes after the last time he went.  

The trouble is now that we've worked out a few of these kinks, now that we've learned how to live together again, kinda, well, now he's going to go away again.  This is not the norm, this more laid back summer of temperate weather and short-distance road trips, of golf and barbecues and softball and boats and drinks with friends.

No, the norm is more like the last two days alone with the kids after Brandon left for the weekend to spend time with a friend.  The norm is me and my three little people eating pizza on a picnic bench at the park, walking across the lawn for ice cream, home in time for baths and bed.  The norm is me and my three little people on the couch for Saturday morning cartoons, the slow rise for scrambled eggs with cheese, and then a ride around northeast Ohio, to the tall ships in Cleveland with my mom, to the backyard swimming pool at my in-laws.  The norm is the long ride home with Henry sideways slouching in the backseat while the older two watch a movie and I seek through the stations for tunes I can sing to.  The norm is small feet stomping and giggles from the floor above me, empty threats of separation until they are quiet, sound asleep with feet and arms draped broadly across their beds.  The norm is this silent living room, the clicking of my fingernails on the keyboard, the flick of the paper as I turn the page on a memoir, the clock ticking past the time I'd go to bed if Brandon was here.

If Brandon was here, the Indians game would be on, and he'd be yelling at the TV or talking to the commentators about the last play or commenting on the job the stats guys are doing or laughing at the local evening news anchors.  If Brandon was here, the computer would be sitting on the floor charging, my book would be cast aside, and I'd be cradled between his chest and his arm, listening to the sounds of his stomach and heart (because if he had any of that pizza tonight, his stomach would have been talking louder than his heart).  We might be sipping whiskey (oh, who am I kidding, we would definitely be sipping whiskey) and listening to music, or maybe he'd be playing his guitar, or maybe none of that, maybe just us, alone in our living room, being husband and wife, occupying this space we've created together.

It is good when he is here.  It is good when he is gone.  Both are good.  In fact, when both are in their best gear, both are very good.

I don't always see it this way because I want both goods simultaneously and that isn't possible.  He cannot be here and not here all of the time, and if he was here and not here all of the time I would resent him for not being here when he is here.  You totally get that, right?

It is hard to learn how to balance this life.  How to make room for each other when we're together.  How to appreciate the space when we're apart.  How to shore up the foundation when the support beam goes missing.  How to lean into each other when the rain washes everything away.  How to be content - even when I want him near.  Even when I want him gone.  How to love deeply in every season.  It is hard.  But it is very good.

(That's what she said.)

Advent Day 13: A Special Treat

Public Service Announcement: Tonight's post is written with chocolate and merlot, preceded by a chocolate chip cookie, potentially followed by more chocolate. And more merlot.

I'm not sure why tonight beat the snot out of me. Maybe several weeks of whizzing about has finally provoked the over-tired toddler in me to throw a tantrum.  After I picked up the kids from their respective child care locales, we grabbed a hot-and-ready pizza from Little Caesars and darted home to eat in a hurry before Lydia's basketball practice.  After last time, there was no way in heaven or on Earth I was going to wrestle Henry into captivity for an entire hour in the gym, so while Lydia practiced, the boys and I went to Hawkins to pick up some groceries (yay, no grocery shopping tomorrow!) and to cash in the advent activity for today-- pick out a special treat.  We visited the delicious Hawkins bakery and bought two iced sugar cookies for Lydia and Elvis, a spritz snowman for Henry, and a chocolate chip cookie for mama.

Let. Me. Go!

Lyd had pictures tonight, too, so there was no avoiding bringing the boys back into the gym for the remainder of practice.  I should've gotten Henry a bigger cookie, ("Stillwell, angel, have another chocolate bar!") because he gobbled up the spritz snowman before I could say, Frosty the Snowman had to hurry on his way... which is what I wanted to do, hurry on our way.  Henry tried to escape but I was too fast for him and found some Thomas the Tank Engine video through the YouTube app on my phone, which pacified him long enough for practice to end.  Then, it was standing about with a 30-pound squirming worm in my arms and a 5-year-old clinging to my pantleg like I asked him not to five THOUSAND times while we waited for every girl on the team to get her picture taken.  On the way to the car, Henry kept squawking, "AWK! AWK!" so I let him walk but forced him to hold my hand, which he hated and did the wet-noodle-collapse-on-the-asphalt trick.  I picked his arched self up, which he hated even more, and tried to put him in his carseat, but it's hard to bend a U-shaped body back to a sitting position.  "Sit DOWN!  Mama's gonna lose it in a minute, Henry!" I squeaked.  All three kids laughed at me.

God, I love parenting.

Then it was home to take the fastest bath on the planet-- in fact, I'm not sure the boys got wet at all-- and then to bed to bed to bed!  Yay!  The older two were out before I headed back down the stairs, but I don't think Henry stopped singing and talking to himself until almost 9 p.m. He'll be buckets of fun tomorrow. 

The tantrum-throwing, over-tired toddler in me could've crawled underneath a crocheted blanket and watched a romantic comedy, but tomorrow is trash day, and thank God I saw the Hawkins plastic bag on the table because I would've forgotten all about the bags of eggs, sausage, bacon, and yogurt just waiting to spoil in the back of the kid hauler.  Trash can on the curb, groceries in the refrigerator, sticky spot on the floor grabbing my sock every time I walk past the silverware drawer.  Oh. Well.

I unloaded the dishwasher but turned off the light in the kitchen before I could notice the sink still full of dishes from this morning. But I had to flick the switch back on to find the wine and chocolate.  Don't worry, I was careful to shield my eyes and then dashed away again.  I'm safe now in the living room away from those oatmeal-crusted bowls and those lipstick-stained coffee mugs.

I thought about the laundry briefly, but blogging about advent seemed like a much better use of my time, even though I don't think Henry is going to be wearing any pants tomorrow. 

All of this to say tonight was one of those nights that makes me want to quit. All things. Am I absolutely insane to think I can do this AND take classes toward a master's degree?  I can't keep all of *this* (waving arms frantically, the universal symbol for utter chaos and disorder) together as it is.  Yeah, I see you --  o.O  -- stop looking at me like that.  We serve crazy here every night.

My advent calendar could've ended December 19-- all I'm anticipating right this minute is the end of work for 2012 and the beginning of agenda-free Christmas vacation.  That whole waiting-to-celebrate-the-birth-of-baby-Jesus-God-with-us-prince-of-peace thing is totally overrated.  Okay, not really.  I just want to see my husband for more than a couple of hours before he takes a plane to another state, to disengage my alarm for two whole weeks, to shift into a slower pace of life instead of this frantic running all the time.

And all I really want for Christmas is to think only about family, friends, love, joy, and peace... and to indulge in tasty food and good wine.  Bring it, Advent.  Bring. It. On. 

Occupy Tea Wall Party Street and Why I Dislike This Conversation

This afternoon I posted a link to Dave Ramsey's "Dear Occupy Wall Street" blog, which raised some discussion on Facebook.  I am a fan of Dave Ramsey's no-nonsense, pull yourself up from the bootstraps approach to personal finances, and I like his spitfire and sarcasm.  He is straightforward and pulls no punches.  He also holds strong opinions about Occupy Wall Street.  Several times I thought about jumping in to my Facebook wall's exchange, but after several typing sprees and then lots of backspacing, I decided to just let it go.

Political commentary-- left, right or dead center-- makes me really uncomfortable because it tends to be emotionally driven and confrontational, and I am a confrontational wimp.  You can almost hear the atoms start splitting in a room of mixed conservatives and liberals, and when it happens, I put on a frightened smile and wiggle deeper into the couch cushions. 

Why is it that we generally cannot have a rational conversation between sides about the economy and government?  Instead, one dissatisfied party shows disdain for the other and vice versa, when really, both parties should be rallying together for solutions.

The best way to ensure that nothing changes is for both sides to start flinging mud at each other.  Criticizing the Occupy Wall Street movement because they look like a bunch of camped-out, jobless hippies completely dismisses the fact that people feel so strongly about something that they are protesting.  Protesting is not a small deal.  Criticizing the Tea Party movement because they look like a bunch of gun-toting, anti-government rednecks dismisses the fact that "gun-toting hillbillies" are actually organizing.  Rallying for reform is not a small deal, either.

One thing is certain: The people, all of them, are dissatisfied with ____________. 

Both camps -- OWS and the Tea Party -- are made up of culturally different groups of people (generally speaking), and because they don't understand one another, they think they are fundamentally at odds and so they do not want to be associated with one another.  The media picks up on this dissonance and discredits the whole shebang because there are camped-out jobless hippies and gun-toting rednecks raising a ruckus, and if you can turn general dissatisfaction into ranting extremists, then the majority of people who don't consider themselves extremists won't affiliate with either side, and, like me, will probably keep their mouths shut for fear of being associated with a group of crazy people.  Instead of fostering discussion and dialogue, the media and other loud people shut down all lines of communication, turning the cameras on the crazies instead of on any kind of useful debate.

By far my favorite response to "the other side"-- left or right-- is sarcastic dismissal, ruthless jabs, and defensive one-liners.  There's no better way to isolate one's self and raise the emotional static in a room/facebook wall than to drop your favorite critical bomb on a topic, forcing the crowd to take cover under throw blankets. 

I know this is totally a "can't we all just get along?" post, but really, can't we all just get along?  Okay, so I think the fundamental difference between OWS and the Tea Party is that one is for bigger government and more control and the other is for smaller government and more freedom.  One presupposes that the government should know what its doing and regulate the people/corporations who don't seem to know what they need, and the other presupposes that the people are responsible, ethical, fiscally motivated, and smart and don't need the fist of Big Brother jabbing around in their business.  Those are two very different perspectives.

Meh.  I can't handle any more.  I'm afraid I might form an opinion and be classified as an Occupy Tea Wall Party Street member.

The Table of No Return

I just finished going through the stack of papers that have accumulated since Thursday on the table of no return.  Surely you have one of these--it's the counter/hutch/bureau/table/drawer where the mail, bills, newspapers, checklists, kids' drawings, homework, and other stuff that needs your attention goes when you need to clear off the dining room table to eat, or just regain sanity for thirty minutes or so.

There's a guilty satisfaction in sweeping up all of the papers off of the table and dumping them in a neatly shuffled stack on another hard surface.  They look organized, all tapped into a rectangular packet of Scholastic order forms, Market day, school pictures, and permission slips.  Breathe it in, yes, you are accomplished.  Yes, your dining room table is clutter-free, yes, yes, you can eat without worrying about spilling water and crumbs on your daughter's homework, and yes, it's true, you will forget about the forms so strategically arranged on the hutch.

Tonight's table-of-no-return surfaced a field trip permission slip, a moms and muffins invitation stapled to a book fair flyer, a school pictures order form, an evening event registration form for Lydia, and Lydia's homework.  And that was just the stuff that needed my immediate attention, never mind three newspapers no one read, coupons I meant to snip and take with me grocery shopping this weekend, a new hotel rewards card for Brandon, fifty sketches of our family in varying colors and sizes, a dozen oversized Handy Manny coloring book pages, papers with L-Y-d-i-a and M-O-M and y y y y y y y y y y y (Lydia needed to practice her y's), an old invoice for afterschool care, a checking account statement, three unopened envelopes, the Y schedule and the Kroc Center schedule, and a newsletter each from Lydia and Elvis's schools. 

Since Lydia started school, I have been experiencing minor anxiety attacks each week (i.e. SOCCER! Ah! LUNCH! AH! Pick up Lydia! AH! Soccer pictures! Ah! Library books! Ah! Gym shoes! Ah! Pick up Lydia! Ah! SOCCER! Ah! Soccer! AH! Lydia! AH! Brain! Ah!).  Does this end?  Someone tell me, will there come a day in the next twenty years of our lives where we do not panic that we've forgotten some minor yet critical component of our children's lives?

I should amend that last sentence - where I do not forget some critical component of my children's lives.  Brandon does not seem to have this problem.  Brandon remembers to pick up his daughter from school and remembers to remind me if I need to pick her up.  Brandon texts me from out of town to pack up the soccer mom van.

People, something needs to be done about the table of no return.  It's a reflection of the state of affairs in this house, and I'm feeling rumpled up and crinkled around the edges.  Every sheet of paper seems to shout MOM!!! LOOK AT ME!!! WE NEED YOU TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS OR ELSE YOU WILL BE CONDEMNED TO THE OUT-OF-TOUCH PARENT CORNER!!!  ATTEND THIS EVENT!!!  CHAPERONE THIS FIELD TRIP!!!  BUY THESE BOOKS SO YOUR SON'S CLASS GETS MORE BOOKS!!! THEIR FUTURES DEPEND UPON YOU, MOM!!!

Table of no return, it is Sunday night.  You are empty.  The forms that need my attention have been strategically relocated to the coffee table of immediate action, next to my wine glass and a pen.  Let's get to work.  There are future shelves of no return to fill with extra wallets of a goofy preschooler and a series of Fancy Nancy books.  Better to buy them now than to pay to have them on-loan for all of eternity from the library.

It's Out of Your Hands

I've been feeling some anxiety lately, that nasty little bug of an emotion that crawls in between your sheets each night, wriggling around so that all you can do is focus on it and where it might wriggle to next. Normally I'm not much of a worrier, but occasionally worry sneaks up on me and I find myself rolling around in bed trying to stop thinking and start sleeping.  And you know how effective trying not to think is.

Worry and anxiety manifest themselves in two forms for me: what could happen to me and what is happening to other people right now.  These scenarios have two things in common - both are almost totally out of my control.  I say "almost" because there is one thing I can do in the face of worry and anxiety, and it's spelled out for me in Scripture.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." I love this passage from Philippians 4:5-7.  What it doesn't say is pray about this and surely God will change your circumstances.  What it does say is pray about this and surely God will make it possible for you to cope with your circumstances.

When circumstances seem beyond our control, they probably are.  They probably need to be turned over to God.  We can always pray for God to change our circumstances, or pray for the best possible outcome, or pray for miracles, and I think God hears those prayers.  But when those requests are not answered the way we hope and we're faced with a difficult person, an unchanging job situation, a health complication, or some other anxiety-producing life circumstance, the one thing we can do is share our anxieties with God.  Give it over to him.  Let go of whatever silly notions we have of controlling the situation or changing the person and invite God to change us and how we are responding to the situation.

So much in this world is beyond our control, but we are able to control our reactions and our attitudes.  When the weight of anxiety, fear, and worry press down on us, God invites us to lift the burden off and hand it over to the one who spun the universe into existence in the first place.  He replaces that weight with peace and his strength to carry us through.  On the other side of the storm, God's work isn't just holding us together but refining us, and the suffering that produced perseverance that produced character also produced hope.  It's a tough road, weathering the storm, but with Christ, it's worth it.