Your local YMCA is crowded with people who have come to relax. They take refreshing swims or work up a healthy sweat in the weight room. It’s a place where you go for recreation—unless you happen to be the man in charge. George McCauslin directed a YMCA facility in the Pittsburgh area, and things weren’t going well for him. The job was eating him up inside.
George was struggling with his work. The club’s membership was on a downward spiral. It was operating in the red with high debt, and George had to contend with critical staff problems. People came here to work off their tension, but where could the director go with his own?
He went nowhere at all, of course. George worked obsessively, feeling that if he simply put in a little more time, he could somehow put together all the pieces. It wasn’t long before he was behind his desk eighty-five hours per week. And somehow, when he finally came home, he was too tired to sleep; he was already thinking about an early start for the next day. Vacations were few, and when he was away, the YMCA and its problems weighed even more heavily on his slumping shoulders. A therapist told him that something had better give because a nervous breakdown was well on its way.
That’s when George began to think about God. Where did He fit into this unhappy, chaotic picture?
Daniel was a promising college student. At age nineteen he had committed his life to serving Christ, and his sights were set on entering the ministry. All around him were fun-loving students—just kids, really—who were soaking up all the good things about the college life and its atmosphere. But not Daniel; he was struggling to simply keep a meal down. His stomach was tied in knots, and it had been months since he’d enjoyed dinner without the fear of terrible stomach pain. The doctor did some tests and told Daniel he had the beginnings of a serious ulcer.
An ulcer—at age nineteen? Weren’t those for fast-lane executives and Wall Street traders?
No, said the doctor. Ulcers are for chronic worriers. And Daniel knew he was speaking the truth. It seemed as if the mildest thing could cause him to snap—a car that wouldn’t start, a textbook he couldn’t find. He was as tight as a bowstring. And he was dwelling in the world of the worst-case scenario. What if this, what if that? What’s the worst that can happen?
Daniel knew his health had been compromised, but, just as damaging, so had his joy. Wasn’t he supposed to be living the abundant life? Hadn’t Jesus said His yoke was easy and His burden light? Surely this anxiety couldn’t be a pleasing thing for God to look upon; surely the Lord must have better plans for His child.
We can all agree that when it comes to membership in the human race, worry is part of the package. We also know that it’s a useless and unhealthy vice. Corrie ten Boom used to recite a little couplet: “Worry is an old man with bended head, carrying a load of feathers which he thinks are lead.” She understood that anxiety is ultimately foolish because it concerns that which isn’t. It lives in a future that can’t be foreseen. It deals in what-ifs and could-bes, speculation and possibility. And as long as we dwell on the worst-case scenario, we guarantee our own misery, for an extensive catalog of calamity is always within reach of the imagination.
The Bible chooses its language carefully when describing worry. The basic biblical word has the meaning of “to take thought” or “to be careful.” Those are good things, at first glance. But the Greek gives us the word picture of a divided mind. The worrier has a mind torn between the real and the possible, the immediate and the potential. He’s trying to fight the battle of life on two fronts, and he’s bound to lose the war.
The worrier attempts to live in the future, and that presents him with two problems: the future isn’t here, and the future isn’t his. Nothing can be done, and no amount of worrying affects the issue one iota. The future is unknown, uncontrollable, and therefore irrelevant in terms of our peace of mind.
These truths are especially poignant when it seems as if our world is upside down. In such moments of distraction and despair, we are desperate to find something we can cling to that will offer some stability—some hope. Yet worry offers no such handholds because the future contains no such solidity.
When Jesus preached the greatest sermon of all history (found in Matthew 5–7), He was very clear on this issue of anxiety. In a nine-verse passage in Matthew 6, He uses the expression “Don’t worry” three times. So if you’d like to have the teachings of Jesus on the subject of anxiety, we can state them in full in two words: don’t worry. The next time you do give in to worry, you can ask yourself which section of that teaching you don’t understand.
Before we take a close look at the passage in which Jesus discussed worrying, may I offer two simple disclaimers?
It’s true that in Matthew 6:34 Jesus says, “Do not worry about tomorrow.” The King James Version has it as, “Take therefore no thought for the morrow,” and many people have seized on that as a prohibition against career ambition, financial planning, life insurance, or any number of things. But no one who takes the time to read the Gospels would say that Jesus has a problem with planning. He planned for His ministry after His death, resurrection, and ascension. He spent plenty of time preparing His disciples for Jerusalem and beyond. He also taught that we shouldn’t break ground on that new high-rise until we’ve done the paperwork (Luke 14:28). To live without planning isn’t pure spirituality; it’s pure insanity.
There are those who quote Philippians 4:6 (“Be anxious for nothing”) as an excuse for a careless lifestyle. “Don’t worry, be happy.” But that’s not what we’re talking about at all. If you don’t worry about your children playing near traffic, you’re a terrible parent. If you’re not concerned about walking off the roof of a skyscraper, you’ll learn the meaning of that old poster that said, “Gravity: It’s not just a good idea. It’s the law.” There are things you need to be concerned about. There’s a difference between carefree and careless.
But realistic concern and restless anxiety are separate matters. So what is the difference? In short, concern focuses on the present; worry is attached to the future. The present is before us, and there are actions we can take. The future is out of our hands.
What Jesus is teaching about is the captivity of worry, and in Matthew 6 we’ll discover what worry is all about and how we can face it as part of our efforts to keep the faith and finish our race.
We’re going to explore one of the most encouraging and comforting of all Jesus’ teachings. It’s part of the Sermon on the Mount, and it’s actually divided into two sections—verses 25–32, then verses 33–34. Let’s find out what is revealed in the first of those sections.
“Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?”
—Matthew 6:25
Worry is simply inconsistent. Jesus is asking, “Who gave you the body you live inside? Who established its requirements—for food, for clothing, for shelter? Do you think He has gone anywhere? Don’t you think that same Provider will see to your needs?”
In essence, this is an argument from the greater to the lesser. Consider the God who created us a little lower than the angels, ordaining and establishing the miracle of human life in all the beautiful complexity of the human organism. Then He fashioned with His powerful hands the heat of the sun, the revolving world, and the four seasons. He took an awful lot of trouble, didn’t He? Why, then, would He be careless about these little things—a crust of bread, a patch of clothing, a dry haven from the storm? A God so tall could never overlook something so small, according to Jesus. “Is not life more . . . ?” Those are His words.
If you buy into a Creator God, you must buy into a Sustainer God—or you’re simply inconsistent. The evidence of His loving and timely care is all around us. Use your mind and you’ll find comfort for your soul.
“Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?”
—Matthew 6:26
Jesus’ first argument is irrefutable. He who gave us life can surely sustain that life. But Jesus has anticipated the follow-up question: God can provide, but will He provide?
Jesus attacks this second question from the opposite direction. Now He moves from the lesser to the greater—in this case, from birds to human beings. He says, “Look into the trees and you’ll see the little sparrows. A plain copper coin will buy you two of them. Few things are sold so cheaply. Does your Father value you less than a copper coin? His hand is behind every bird that falls to the ground; if He’s got the whole world in His hands, doesn’t that include you?” (Matthew 10:29, paraphrase).
Sometimes we make fascinating discoveries when we bring two separate Scripture passages together. Consider this matter of the value of sparrows. Take a side trip over to Luke 12:6, and you’ll find another market value: five sparrows for two copper coins. Put Matthew and Luke together and it’s two for a penny and “buy four / get one free.”
A copper coin was worth one-sixteenth of a denarius; a denarius was one day’s wages. So what Jesus is saying is this: “A copper coin gets you two sparrows; two coins get you five. Not even the free sparrow, who has no market value, can fall to the ground without your Father knowing about it. He follows every movement, whether it’s bird or beggar or baron.”
As a matter of fact, says Jesus, if He knows every sparrow that falls to the ground, He knows when one of your hairs does likewise. Somewhere He has a database that tracks the very hairs on your head. And if He is so meticulous with the smallest, most incidental inventory items, won’t He also tend to your deeper concerns?
Once again, Jesus gives us an argument we can’t refute, this time from the lesser to the greater. We must conclude that worry is inconsistent and irrational. But there’s another problem with it.
“Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?”
—Matthew 6:27
Have you noticed all the units of measure in this passage? It’s fascinating how Jesus deals with the concept of anxiety by calling on various lengths and weights and values. It’s because when we deal with worry, we’re dealing with matters of perspective and true worth. So we have coin and cubit, hair and sparrow.
A cubit, as Noah knew, comes to about eighteen inches—the length of your forearm, since rulers and yardsticks were rare in those days. There are two possible interpretations of Jesus’ point here. One is, “Who can sit back in his chair and worry himself a few extra inches in height?” If that were possible, the implications for basketball would be profound. But it’s not possible, and I say that with some regret. When I was growing up, I watched the great players of the NBA and wanted to add a cubit—well, at least a few inches—to my height. I was six foot one, and I wanted badly to be six five. But no amount of dreaming, no amount of yearning, could add an inch to my height. Wilt Chamberlain’s and Bill Russell’s jobs were safe.
That interpretation of the verse seems clear, but perhaps Jesus was going a bit deeper. What if we’re talking about days instead of inches—futures instead of forearms? “Which of you by worrying,” He might be saying, “can add a day to your life?” The answer, of course, is that we can’t add a day, an hour, or a flickering moment. Worry divides the mind and multiplies misery. It subtracts from our happiness. But it never adds.
What if we took a walk through the cemetery in your community and discovered that each tombstone included a gauge indicating the years of life that person lost through worrying? We might be amazed. Could it be that some of us take five, ten, or fifteen years off our longevity by the force of gravity weighing us down with needless anxiety? I’ve known a few of these individuals. I’ve counseled people who have worried themselves out of this world early, simply because they couldn’t leave things in God’s hands.
Worry is the most ineffective use of your time. A friend of mine told me about visiting his brother, who kept a little white mouse in a cage. The mouse could climb onto the inside of a big wheel, and as he ran the wheel spun ’round and ’round. My friend’s brother said, “It’s fun to watch this little guy. It’s as if he wakes up and says, ‘Must get on the wheel! Must keep running!’” The average pet mouse, we’re told, will run nine thousand miles on such a wheel in his lifetime, and he’s still inside the cage.
That’s the way it is with worry—a lifetime of frantic running with no destination. After a while you run out of the strength God gave you, and you’re still in the cage. “Worrying doesn’t rob tomorrow of its sorrow,” someone said. “It robs today of its strength.”
“So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?”
—Matthew 6:28–30
We can agree that worry is an unattractive thing, shabby and gloomy and careworn. But what does lightheartedness look like? Jesus gives us a clue in these verses. Have you walked through a beautiful garden in the springtime? It’s very difficult to be weighed down by the cares of the world when you’re surrounded by the majesty of God’s beautiful art. Solomon was a glorious king, Jesus tells us, with the wealth of several kingdoms at his disposal. But all of his sparkling finery pales in comparison to the simplest lily that God placed beside your feet.
And how many office hours have those lilies put in? How many dues have they paid? Have you ever seen a lily suffering through an anxiety attack? They neither toil nor spin. They simply sway in the breeze, reaching heavenward toward the source of their water and sunshine and sustenance. They do neither more nor less than they were designed to do, and what they were designed to do is to glorify God. Would that you and I could glorify God with the simple eloquence of that little flower.
Yet the greater point is that God values you so much more than a lily. The lily is merely something He created for your pleasure, for you’re the one that bears His image. If He cares for each petal or stem that blooms and fades within a season, how much more does He care for you? How much more does He take to heart the things that cause your anxiety?
He took the answer to that question and displayed it on a cross two thousand years ago. He’d never suffer and die for the same children He planned to neglect. That’s why worry is illogical, and that’s why we can press forward toward the finish line with confidence.
“Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.”
—Matthew 6:31–32
Inconsistent, ineffective, illogical, and irrational are concepts we can quickly latch onto. The next one requires a bit more contemplation for modern thinking, but it comes from the Word of God, and we must mold our minds to it. Jesus shows us that worry is irreligious.
What does irreligious mean? Isn’t it true that the word religion is out of fashion among evangelicals today? Jesus’ point is that to worry is to be just like everyone else—and “everyone else,” to the Jew of that time, meant the Gentiles. There were two kinds of people: the Jews and everyone else. Through a special relationship with His special people, God had spent thousands of years demonstrating—through covenant and conquest, through wilderness and wandering, through kingdom and calamity—that He would be their God and they would be His people. Gentiles had no reason to believe such a thing, and it was natural for them to spend their lives in anxiety over food and shelter and clothing. But God’s people should know better; it was written in bold letters across their law, proclaimed in their tabernacles, and should have been emblazoned in their hearts.
The goodness of God was the essence of their religion, and worry was a total denial of it. Worry denies our Father in heaven and our family on earth. It reduces us to the ways of the pagans who worship blind, deaf, and powerless idols; who live as if the desperation of a sacrifice at the altar will bring another few drops of rain. In the old days that might have been expressed in Baal worship, but it’s just as alive today. We’ve simply removed the stone gods and replaced them with shiny new ones such as career, materialism, pleasure, and power—all the attainments we worry about in our denial that God will care for every need.
Do I ever worry? Of course I do; I’ve raised four children to adulthood, and that qualifies me as an expert on the subject. But for me, worry is a small town I pass through, not a place to hang my hat. It’s a momentary phase, not a lifestyle. For many people, worry becomes so ingrained in their personalities that, once the old worries are gone, they search for new ones. They’ve become dependent on worry as a lens through which to view life, and they’ve forgotten any other way to live. Do you want to become that kind of person? I know I don’t.
Jesus is talking about our unbelief, and yet notice the tenderness of His words: “For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.” He is saying, “Rest, take comfort. Every need you have is on God’s agenda. Have you forgotten He is taking care of everything? Let your runaway mind come home and find rest.”
We find so many inconsistent, irrational, illogical, ineffective, and irreligious factors when we take a close look at worry. We have as much reason to avoid it as we do some deadly narcotic—for that’s exactly what it is. But perhaps you’ve already become dependent upon that drug. Perhaps you need to become free from its tyranny.
How can you do it? Let me offer two suggestions.
“But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.”
—Matthew 6:33
We’ve seen that the biblical prognosis of worry is a division of the heart. It’s a mistake to try dealing with the issues of today while dwelling on the questions of tomorrow. We need all our energy and concentration for the here and now.
And where do we find Jesus’ words on worry? They’re right in the center of His teaching on personal possessions. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. The great overriding issue, after all, is priorities. What is most important to your heart? Those who base their lives on the acquisition of things tend to be the ones saddled with anxiety. But Jesus has a simple prescription: get your priorities in order. Seek the things of God first; live the righteous life He would have you live. Focus right there, putting aside every distraction. Then, let the chips fall where they may. As you do so, everything you need will materialize (“all these things shall be added to you”).
Can it truly be that simple? Could such a formula really work?
If not, then you might as well put your Bible away, for nothing else in it will stand up. This teaching goes to the very heart of the central message of Scripture. But if these words are true—as you and I confirm in our hearts—then life can be embraced with joy and exuberance. It’s something to enjoy, not to worry about, and the what-ifs no longer have any power over us.
Keep the faith by seeking God’s kingdom and His righteousness as your first priority, and all these other things (possessions and accomplishments and goals) shall be added to you.
Most of us know this verse; actually living it is another matter. When I worry, I know I’m guilty of violating the ringing declaration of Matthew 6:33. I know I’m failing to live out my beliefs. Maybe it’s that way in your life. Maybe the cycle of worry has become so powerful that you can’t seem to break it. If so, then you need to step back from the complex tangle of your life and ask yourself how you’ve ordered it. What are your priorities? Do you really trust the Father who loves you, or is it all simply lip service? Can you live out your belief that God is sovereign?
Rebuild your system of priorities, with God at the center of the structure. If you build from that brand of brick, you’ll be sheltered from the storms of worry and stress.
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”
—Matthew 6:34
What we have here may be the most important ammunition of all—a systematic strategy to weed out your worry. Jesus is saying something quite interesting: you won’t sink under the burden of today’s crises, but tomorrow’s agenda puts you over the weight limit. Have you ever tried to carry too many bags of groceries at the same time? After cleaning the eggs from your driveway, you’ll know better—and next time you’ll make two trips instead of one. Jesus tells us to carry today’s bag today and make a fresh trip tomorrow.
Living in the present tense is an art. Do you know someone who’s “not all there,” for his or her eyes are focused on some invisible horizon? This person is preoccupied with absent problems. But have you ever known someone who lives completely in the present? Such people seem lively, full of energy and charisma and getting their money’s worth out of every new thing that comes along, and you won’t catch them worrying. That’s how Jesus wants us to live—a day at a time. There’s a reason God placed us within the moment, bracketed away from both the past and the future. They’re both off-limits to us, and we need to post No Trespassing signs. The past is closed for good, and the future is still under construction. But today has everything you need. Come here and make your home.
Many years ago, a prominent physician by the name of William Osler made some wise observations about worry. Throughout his career he had observed the physical effects of worry upon the lives of his patients. He used an analogy about the careful design of an ocean liner. If the hull of the ship is pierced by means of some collision, the steel doors of the hold can be lowered so that only a portion of the ship is flooded. Then Dr. Osler wrote that we should design our lives just as carefully. We all have our unforeseen collisions, and we must learn how to lower the forward hold doors against dangerous tomorrows; we must lower rear hold doors against the past; and we must learn to live safe and dry in the compartment of today.1
All the water in the world
However hard it tried,
Could never sink a ship
Unless it got inside.
All the hardships of this world
Might wear you pretty thin,
But they won’t hurt you one least bit
Unless you let them in.
—Anonymous
Here are four specific elements of Jesus’ program against worry that will keep us running the race in the present only.
Jesus told us that tomorrow will take care of itself. Take note also of this powerful word: “As your days, so shall your strength be” (Deuteronomy 33:25).
As your days go, so goes your strength. What does that mean?
I’ve walked with the people of my church through bankruptcy, disease, divorce, legal problems, and every variety of trial. People tell me, “I don’t know how I can face it.” And I’m never insensitive to their anguish; in no way do I minimize their crises. But I do share with them the rich practical wisdom of the Bible: leave tomorrow alone. When that day dawns, God will give you the grace and the strength you need for it. At the present time, you have the grace and the strength He has given you for today. Your calendar gives each day its own number. Live them in that order, just as God arranged them. Stay in one square at a time.
A friend of mine takes his family on long automobile trips across the country. He has two small children, and each day they look forward to the day’s “treat.” The treat consists of a little bag for each child with an inexpensive surprise—and a Scripture passage. As they undergo each daylong ride, they have a little surprise to look forward to in the form of a simple gift and an eternal truth from God’s Word that the family will discuss together as they drive. Life’s road trip holds the same for you and me. Each new day will bring a new little package from God, with a little grace-gift to refresh us and the always-present truth of God’s Word. But you have to wait for each day to have that package in your hands.
We don’t totally ignore the future. We plan and prepare. But calm preparation and obsessed anxiety are two different things. Lower the door in the forward compartment. Shut off the waters of tomorrow that always drain today of its strength.
Mark Twain once said, “I’m an old man and I’ve known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.” Future-based anxiety is empty.
One thing is always true about yesterday—it’s gone. It’s complete. It’s out of reach, and there’s nothing we can do about it. My son was a quarterback in college football, and I can watch videotapes of his wins and losses. Instant replay is a cruel thing when our team doesn’t come out on top. No matter how many times I run the tape, our team misses the tackle or drops the pass or stumbles just short of the goal line. Every time I play it back, something in me thinks that this time the play may come out differently. But once the whistle has blown, the play is over, and we have to let it go.
That’s difficult to do sometimes, isn’t it? I know believers who have come to Christ from very troubled, perhaps sordid backgrounds. Occasionally the past creeps up on them and the Enemy whispers, “Don’t forget who you were and what you did—you haven’t really changed.” Guilt is powerful. I remind these people of the infinite forgiveness of God. He has placed our past sins as far from us as the east is from the west. God has forgiven us.
But still, people insist that they can’t forgive themselves. At that point I observe, “That’s amazing—you have a standard higher than God’s!”
If He can cut away the past, we must be able to do likewise. If you’ve confessed it, it’s been forgiven. Put it away forever and move on; imagine it’s been buried in the bottomless ocean of God’s grace, and it has no more power over you. You might as well worry about something that happened several hundred thousand years ago, for it has that much relevance.
It’s possible to feel anxiety about positive things too. What if there were a time when everything seemed right in your life? What if you received that great award or had a wonderful experience in your youth or had a happier period in your family? An aging athlete can think back to the time when he had that little bit of extra speed or endurance that made him an all-star. We dwell on these things, lamenting the good old days and how they’ve passed away.
Paul the apostle, one of the most successful men who ever lived, made an interesting declaration at the close of his life and career. He said that he hadn’t achieved his great goal yet, but that he kept his focus on one thing: forgetting what was behind him and pushing forward to the one wonderful thing still before him, which was the high calling of Christ (Philippians 3). Paul could have sat in that prison and lingered in the scrapbook of his memories—the miracles, the young churches, the glorious spread of the gospel at his hands. But he put even those wonderful memories behind him because the future sparkled even brighter.
That’s what you and I must do when the world seems upside down. We must dwell on the miracle of what lies before us today, this moment, this second. All else is dim by comparison.
This could be the hardest thing to do—letting go of our heartbreak.
Everyone is served their cup of sorrow in season. There’s no avoiding that in this world. And a considerable portion of my work of ministry is holding the hands of people and walking with them through the valley of the shadow. But I hope I can help them walk finally back into the light, for that valley is no place to build a home. Grief and mourning are clean, biblical emotions, but they’re not permanent ones. Every extra day of dwelling in those shadows is a day of joy lost—a day of not seeing the wonderful things God wants us to see.
The important thing is to keep on walking. Don’t look over your shoulder to yesterday’s happiness or sadness; don’t crane your neck to see what may lie ahead. You need to put one foot in front of the other and take one step at a time. Live in the present tense, and make every day a beautiful gift to God, unmarred by the lines and wrinkles of worry.
An anonymous poet wrote,
My name is I AM.
If you live in the past,
It will be very hard,
For I am not there.
My name is not I WAS.
And if you live in the future,
It will be very hard,
For my name is not I WILL BE.
But if you live in the present,
It is not hard,
For my name is I AM.
I saw a sign not too long ago that said Free Gas Tomorrow. What a deal! But when I returned the next day, the sign still said the same thing—and tomorrow was still a day away. It’s always just beyond our reach. We might as well be fueled by the grace and strength God has made available to us just for this day.
J. Arthur Rank had a system for doing that. He was one of the early pioneers of the film industry in Great Britain, and he also happened to be a devout Christian. Rank found he couldn’t push his worries out of his mind completely; they were always slipping back in. So he finally made a pact with God to limit his worrying to Wednesday. He even made himself a little Wednesday Worry Box and he placed it on his desk. Whenever a worry cropped up, Rank wrote it out and dropped it into the Wednesday Worry Box. Would you like to know his amazing discovery? When Wednesday rolled around, he would open that box to find that only a third of the items he had written down were still worth worrying about. The rest had managed to resolve themselves.2 I challenge you to make a worry box. Take some kind of action against worry.
George McCauslin knew he had to do something. The YMCA director’s anxiety problem was a threat to his emotional health. He scheduled an afternoon off from work. With the hours he was putting in, that took a great deal of determination. George drove to the western Pennsylvania woods, a place he associated with peace and tranquility. He took a long walk, trying to empty his mind and concentrate on the fresh air and the pleasant aromas of nature. It was a good idea. His tight neck was relaxing, and he could feel the slightest few ounces of tension draining away. As he sat beneath a tree and pulled out his notebook, he breathed a long sigh. This was the first time in months he’d felt anything close to relaxation.
George felt as if he and God had grown far apart, so he decided to write his Creator a letter. “Dear God,” he began. “Today I hereby resign as general manager of the universe.” He read it back to himself and signed it, “Love, George.”
George laughs as he tells the story. “And you know what happened? God accepted my resignation.”3
Daniel, the college student beset by an anxiety-riddled stomach, did much the same thing. He packed up his little car and headed into the mountains for a two-day retreat with nothing but a sleeping bag, a canteen, and a Bible. He asked God to break through his torment during the retreat, and that’s what happened. As he read the Gospels, he came to the verse we’ve already discussed: Matthew 6:33. For the first time, he really understood the vital significance of seeking first the kingdom. From that moment, he’s had a battle plan for challenging his anxiety.
“As we become people who can praise the Lord in spite of our needs,” he writes, “He has promised that we will become a people who will find their needs met.”4
I’d like to leave you with some weapons you can use against worry—four verses to help you when your mind is prone to anxiety, and six words to rally around. Copy the following verses down and keep them handy. Better yet, commit them to memory.
And here is the pinnacle passage concerning worry:
Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
—Philippians 4:6–7
And what are the six words of wisdom for worriers?
Worry about nothing—pray about everything!
Make those words your battle cry as you take on the giant of worry.