We tell each other not to do it. We try to encourage others by sharing quotes about faith conquering it. We insist that it won’t change anything.
And then we feel guilty because we do it anyway.
Telling me not to worry is like telling me not to be me. I can’t help it, it’s a part of who I am. It doesn’t mean that I don’t have faith. It doesn’t mean that I believe the end is near. It simply means I acknowledge the struggle. I do have faith and I do know that I’ll be okay. But waiting and not knowing can be the hardest part.
Will my worrying change anything? Actually, yes. Not the outcome, but the process. It gives me an energy I might not otherwise have. The impetus to explore and learn all I can to prepare myself for whatever is next. And the strength to be vulnerable – to ask for help, for prayer, for love. Allowing myself to be vulnerable can be one of the most frightening and difficult things I do. But worrying can provide me an opportunity to let it show and to ask others to stand beside me and help me through it.
It also provides something for those who love me. Although it may be difficult for them to see my vulnerability, it gives them an opportunity to reach out and give me the gift of their strength, their love.
It’s okay for me to worry. I’ll get through this. And when I do, I’ll be stronger, my faith will be stronger, my relationships will be stronger. So I think that maybe worry can sometimes be a gift in disguise.