I first ran across this quote when I was in high school. I don't remember how I first came across it, but I do remember that my mom made me a sign that I put up in a visible place in my room, with these words carefully lettered on it. It was adorned with a picture of a rocking chair, carefully clipped out of an old Sears catalogue. It lasted there for quite a while--and came up frequently in conversations with my mom for years afterward. (Sometimes, it still does!)
I am a natural born worrier. I think I always have been. I'm prone to adopt problems that aren't really my own. Just tonight, I was reminiscing with my dad on the phone about the 'challenge' that my two younger brothers and I sometimes presented to babysitters when we were younger. For the record, I maintain that my behaviour was usually not the challenge. I do, however, remember on at least one occasion lying in bed sobbing after my brothers had been particularly naughty because I was so worried that my favourite babysitter would never want to come again. I remember that the babysitter eventually had to come and get me, and she let me stay up late with her while she did my hair. (As the one who is now the babysitter, I'm sure that after dealing with two energetic little boys all evening, the last thing she wanted was to soothe a tearful, anxious older sister--but her quick thinking did the trick.)
I know that worrying is unproductive. I know the situation won't change if I continue to worry it around in my mind, turning it over and over. Nonetheless, I find myself mulling situations over for hours, turning them around, wondering if I could have done something differently, or hoping if I think about it long enough a new solution will materialize. I just can't seem to set it aside and move on to something else, no matter how hard I try or how often I tell myself that's what I need to do.
At a retreat a few years back, I was initially really annoyed at my spiritual director for the week-end who kept telling me to stop as I was trying to express what I was worried about, and instead told me to take a few deep breaths. On the face of it, I had genuine concerns that week-end, and it felt like she was not taking me seriously.
But in spite of my resistance, she helped me to recognize that when I'm worrying my energy gets stuck in my head, spinning around up there. And by taking a few deep breaths, I can slow that energy down. By taking a few deep breaths, I can become more attuned to the presence of the Spirit--probably no coincidence that the very same Spirit is ruach, 'breath,' in Hebrew. When I slow down the mental activity in my head, I can become more aware of the deep peace that abides within me, that's always present but that's so easily missed in the midst of my constant mental activity.
So often, when the worry is overwhelming, it's hard to find the words to pray, and I find myself actively doing everything but praying, simply because finding the language to describe the situation to God is itself overwhelming. But maybe, to breathe is to pray. Maybe, to breathe deeply is to invite ourselves to an awareness of the abiding presence of God, which is closer than we ever realized, within our very beings. Maybe, to breathe is to "be still and know that I am God."
And maybe, letting God be God is the only honest way that I can deal with aches and problems too big for me to carry on my own. Maybe sometimes the spinning worry is actually just a way of getting stuck in the impossibility of trying to fix something that's beyond my capacity to fix, or that isn't mine in the first place.
It reminds me of the lyrics to a song I've heard on the radio, "Just Breathe" by Jonny Diaz:
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Come and rest at My feet.
And be. Just be.
Chaos calls but all you really need
Is to take it in, fill your lungs
The Peace of God that overcomes
Just breathe
Let your weary spirit rest
Lay down what's good and find what's best
Just breathe.
May you find God to be as close to you as your next breath!
xoxo
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