Worry is the interest paid by those who borrow trouble.
This is a true saying. Any time I’ve gone through a worrying spell, short or long, I can always track the roots to something I brought on myself. How am I going to pay this bill? That’s a question I’ve only had to ask when I’ve over-extended. When will our family be able to go camping again? This wouldn’t be an issue if we’d planned ahead to afford caregivers. What’s that clanking in the wheel well of my car? This is an unavoidable question, but one that would have no worries attached if we were better stewards, preparing for such things. I wonder if this friendship can ever be restored? Sometimes that one is somebody else’s issue, but …sometimes those burdens are my own doing.
It’s a hard pill to swallow, but the fact is, while Jesus reminds me I’m more valuable than a sparrow—and God feeds it—I have to admit, I’m facing consequences of my own actions. I’m paying that interest—compounded.
Most of the time, I’m not a worry wart; very few times over the years has worry had a strong impact. With God’s help, I try to nip worry in the bud, before it turns into a gnarly weed that chokes out my joy. But I have had worries; I have the gray hair to prove it.
So this week, as I send off this big check to Uncle Sam, I think I’m being faithful in my stewardship—and I do not want to give in to worry.
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? Matt. 6:30