Sometimes I worry about things that I’ve only recently come to realise are out of my control. I worry about never moving on from the hurt that’s forever almost healed. I worry that I’ll lose my friends, one by one - or that I’ll be too busy trying to keep the ones I’ll lose to keep the ones who’d stay. I worry, in fact, more about what certain people in my life would think about what I’m doing than what He’d think.
The fear that threatens to overpower me at times is so hard to hold off. You deal with it some days - some days your brain lets your feelings know that there’s nothing you can do about it anyway. Other days you give in to your feelings and let them override what you know to be true - that trying to control things that aren’t yours to control results in a perpetual fear. It is at those times that you panic.
I panic. Like Peter suddenly realising just how dangerous and uncontrollable the rushing waves are around him, I scream silently and start to sink into the darkness. I forget completely about just Who it was I was walking to and instead try to stop myself from drowning.
And just like Peter, I cry out even as I sink, then I stop. Jesus grabs me by my flailing hands and pulls me up.
It is at that moment of weakness, when I give up, when I know I can’t help myself and only He can that everything becomes OK.
And the worries, for the moment, are held at bay.
