Worry Wart / Prayer Warrior

          I have been told that I worry too much.  I have been told that I get anxious.  I guess it’s true.  There have been several instances in my life where a friend or family member had to calm me down from an unseemingly dire situation.  Some people may find this unbelievable.  The young woman who seems to laugh at the most simplest of things, who can be care-free….who is known by her closest friends as a “prayer warrior” deals with anxiety, and off and on, times of depression?  Yes. 

            I probably should discuss the objective of this post.  I have struggled mentally with this issue called “Anxiety” silently for so long, and I’m tired of hiding it.  Perhaps all the Facebook posts this month about how to recognize depression, and how to treat someone who lives with some form is also a part of it.   But I don’t want this to simply be another post.  However, I am trying to understand why my mind acts the way that it does, as well as come out of this hole. This isn’t to say that I can explain the psychological and physiological aspects of every person who may struggle with such a case.   Every person is different, and the causes for their situations vary.

And yet, I am anxious to write down what goes on in this brain of mine.  Maybe I’ll write it; save it for a future book I may or may not compile…just not make it public, for now.  I don’t how it will be received.  I have had family members and friends tell me that, “[I] just need to get out and do something,” or to “[not] stress,” while I was in the midst of anxiety or depression.    Neither have been helpful, and often drive me deeper into this pitiful pit.  In writing this, I don’t mean to condemn anyone.  I know that my family and friends were trying to help, and I must be thankful in their attempts.

I have been told that I worry too much.  I’m tired of it; I’m tired of feeling shame, and I am desiring to throw this off once and for all.  As of now, this seems to be where I am, however, I long for a better future filled with hope.  If you are willing to understand fully one of my struggles, please read on. 

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What Goes Through My Thoughts with an Anxiety Attack  

When a situation arises that I become anxious, I shut down mentally.  My sense of logic becomes paralyzed.  People have told me to just “snap out of it”, and I don’t understand why, because the truth is, I can’t.  In the moment of my anxiousness, the world is so much bigger than me, and I want to feel protected.  I want to curl up in a ball (and when the anxiety is at its worse, I literally do); hide away from the problem until it is solved on its own, or dissolved - whichever ends up occurring.  I know that a solution is more likely.  Realistically, I am the one needed to come up with the solution.  I have been told to just go outside and “do something.”  Yet, when I am faced with whatever is making me either anxious or depressed (I’ve dealt with both), my mind becomes so fixated on the issue, as the paralysis that resulted from the stroke I had before I was born.  In that moment, I want to be rescued.  I want someone to come to me – not telling me that I’m okay.  Because, right then and there, I’m not.  But I want them to tell me that everything will be okay. Reminding me that time is greater and stretches further than the present moment helps me hope that this struggle will not last.  

Why I Become Anxious

I finally had to sit myself down, and ask why I become anxious.  Looking back on the different reasons, I realized that my mind becomes frantic when something is out of order.  I don’t like it when I can’t come up with the solution, or if the solution is not able to be implemented automatically.  The waiting is probably one of the hardest things for me to internalize.  Not that things have to ‘my way or the high way’ (though I can be stubborn at times…), but as long as there is some form of communication, it helps to know there is progress. 

All in all, I like to help.  I like to be needed, wanted.  And if there is something I can’t fix or at least assist in a solution, I start freaking out, because suddenly whatever out of order – whatever chaos- now must be weathered instead of ended.  Not being able to help wreaks havoc on my nerves, because I fear that the weakness I see in myself is out in the open.  I hate being weak.  I hate being broken.  Furthermore, when I exasperate the situation rather than aid, I suddenly believe myself to be broken.  

The Internal Struggle that Accompanies 

I am fully aware of what 2 Timothy 1:7 states.  “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”  In my God, there is no fear.  So, why then am I so prone to fear when my loved ones can see things from the proper perspective, and move along?  To be completely honest, I do not have a full answer to that.  What I can tell you, however, is realizing the discrepancy of my reaction to situations compared to my friends, I not only curl up trying to dissuade my fear, but I also can be at fault in cowering in shame.  I hate it whenever I have had an anxiety attack. 

I know that God is bigger than this whole world, but when things have fallen apart, my mind frantically searches for a way out, like one caught in the midst of a fire.  I know that there is a fire hose near me (i.e. Jesus, and the Bible), but sometimes, it seems as if He’s so far away.  I’m better now, than when I was younger.  At least now, I will acknowledge and cry out to God.  I used to just cry and freak out.  But that is only comforting to a certain extent. 

I hate how anxiety comes and goes.  I hate how when things go array, I huddle in fear rather than stand in courage.  After all, that is what Christians are supposed to do, right?  Stand in courage, be fearless.  Trust God without any shadow of doubt.  For me, the causes of the anxiety is situationally based.  I can even discern the fear coming on…Nevertheless, even when it is foreseen, I still fall for it…The result is shame. 

“I should know better.  I’m so stupid.  How could I become so concerned about something so little,” I tell myself.   After waves of doubt have been windswept, I am then battered with words that force me to look into a mirror which shows a reflection I don’t want to believe to be my own.  In the piece of glass, I see: “unlovable”, “unwanted”, “coward”, “stupid”, and “childish”.  These are just some of the words, but I think you can get the idea of what plagues my mind after an anxiety attack.  It is in these moments that I need to be reminded of truth.

I know that people try to help.  Really, I do appreciate their efforts.  However, when I’m told that I “just need to get out”; that I “shouldn’t stress”, it actually makes things worse.  Because I KNOW that this shouldn’t be normal.  I shouldn’t regress into a toddler mindset when I am overwhelmed.  As an adult, I know that I shouldn’t run away, hide, and wish the world could solve everything on its own.  And yet…I do.  Because of it, I feel like a failure as a human, and as a Christian.  The kinds of phrases I mentioned earlier are like the man who told his wife to “Just calm down!” when she was worried.  The reaction that the woman gives is very similar to that scenario.  Those kinds of comments can actually escalate the raw emotions being felt, not help settle them.  I need to be reminded of truth.  As childish as it may seem, I have needed someone to come to me at times, while I have been depressed.  I wish people would remind me that God’s goodness is still sovereign, instead of pointing to how I am sucking at adulthood.  When I ask for help, instead of making a point of what I’m doing wrong (because, I am very well aware), remind me of how great my God is.  How He formed the stars and holds us – holds ME – in His hands.  (Personally, I have found that suggesting, inviting me to do something rather than telling me is more beneficial.)  That however big my God is, He is bigger still.  And when I fall off, He is willing to pick me up, if I run to Him.  Remind me that He loves me, because it’s in those moments that I feel so alone and unlovable.

 

Looking to the Future

I have finally figured out why I become anxious, personally.  It’s been my norm for a long time. I don’t know if I can remember when I wasn’t nervous initially.  Probably back in early primary school.   Yet, I’m not satisfied in having this be a thing I “deal” with.  It is easy to claim that this will always be my unwanted accompaniment in life.  After all, my Oma and my mother also have dealt with anxiety at certain levels.  They have become anxious to the point that they will fear something out of order, and will desire perfection.  Perfection of themselves, sometimes of others.  (I remember when my family went to visit my Oma and Opa, my Opa’s heart raced to the point that he had to spend the remainder of the week in the hospital.  My Opa was just excited!  However, my Oma blamed herself for his plight.)  Not only have I dealt with the same anxiousness, but I also have battled against perfectionism and legalism.  I have desired to be good.  I have desired to be loveable, and somehow, my method of madness to prove that I’m loveable is to have no blemish.  When that perfection falls apart, so do I.  For the exact reason why my grandmother and mother (and were there any other women in my ancestry that has also dealt with some form of anxiety?  Yes, I am hinting at generational curses and blessings here) become anxious, I do not know. 

But for me, I can’t stand for a problem to left without a solution…and there is also probably a belief that the solution must weigh on my shoulders.  It will not get fixed unless I do something about it.  And if I can’t solve it, then I must be weak and broken.  Thus the cycle continues.  After an anxiety attack, I beat myself up emotionally for allowing myself to fall into a stupid trap.  Shouldn’t I, as a Christian, know better?!  And ergo, the reconfiguration of how to do things more perfect, more well, more desiring so that I may be more wanting to others…perhaps, even to God. 

God.  Let’s get the focus back on Him. 

I know that I should look to my heavenly Father.  I know I should.  I try.  I guess there is still a part of me that struggles with letting go of control.  Letting go of the ability to just let God deal with it as He knows best.  This is something I have been aware of for a while, and am still in the midst of fully trusting God.  The good news is that I am not content with allowing anxiety or depression to crush my emotional, psychological, and spiritual well-being.  This generational curse must be broken.  And it will be. 

The irony in all of this is that in the same line of women who become anxious, they are also known to be prayer warriors.  Warriors who look to God and usher in the Holy Spirit to move on the behalf of their families, friends, nations, and other things that concern their hearts.  How is it that one woman – or in this case, generations of women – can wear two masks that depict completely opposite emotions?  On one end, fear.  The other, boldness.  Sometimes there is a sense of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  However, I am finding that God is glorified in the ironies of life.  He uses the foolish things to confound the wise (1 Corinthians 1:27-31).  He calls out the unqualifiable to declare that it is by His hand that heaven and earth move.  Anxiety will not have a hold on me.  There WILL be a day that the dubbed, “Worry Wart” will fall away like the old skin of a snake.  I will take up my generational blessing as a Prayer Warrior and look to the One who holds the whole world in His hand. 

           

The Stage-Fright of Worship

          After a year of prompting from friends and my pastor, I finally made the jump to help be on the Worship Team.  I held out for so long, because I was nervous.  Standing in front of people – singing – not much my forte.  But in August, I had been praying about it, and the only reason I could come up with for not being on the team, was because I feared what people may say about my voice.  I knew that the only way to combat this fear was to do exactly the opposite of what it was trying to persuade as being the “better” and safe route.  Now, two months in, and I’m wondering if I should be on the team anymore.

            When I joined the team, I told God that I didn’t want this to be about me, and I wonder how much of it has since become about me.  It seems like every Sunday, as I hold the microphone, I suddenly freeze up.  It takes every conscious effort to focus my attention on Jesus, and not look at the crowd.  Goal one:  be able to sing without sounding like I’m about to fall apart vocally.  I think I achieved that.  However, there is something that happens when I see people, and it halts me from focusing on Who I want.  Is it really the right thing for me to be on the Worship Team?  Is this my “nitch”, as my pastor would say?  Maybe I just made a mistake.  After all, if I was meant to be on the team, then I wouldn’t so freaked out about what people say, right?  It’s about worshiping and praising Jesus!  The Lord of creation, the King of majesty, and the Savior of mankind!  And yet…there is something that hinders me from a freedom to worship – both personally and as a leader on Sunday mornings. 

            I have been taking this week to think and pray about why it has been such a hurdle to focus on Jesus while leading in worship.  Unfortunately, I can’t blame nerves entirely.  I have sung in choir concerts, recitals; last year, I sang the National Anthem solo in front of 200 individuals for the school games.  So, I am used to being in front of people.  At least I think so.  To be completely honest, I hate microphones and am still learning how to use them.  However, the insecurity that is birthed in lack of experience isn’t the sole reason.

            I am fearful.  I am fearful of judgement.  Which is ironic, because if you ask anyone at church, they’ll say I have a good voice.  Maybe they can’t hear me, but that’s because I need to sing into the mic better.  My parents would say the same thing.  When I admitted to my father about my fear about singing in front of people, because people have (negatively/indifferently) commented about my voice, he had to remind me that Missoula is my past, and Browning is my present.  The judgement from others is not the problem.  Truth is, I judge myself.  I have a hard time, even though my friends tell me I have a beautiful voice, owning it for myself. 

I decided Tuesday, to open my guitar and sing.  It started out alright.  I began to sing.  But something was wrong.  I noticed that I sang to convince myself that what came out of my mouth was lovely to me.  I had to stop, because the words coming out were just words.  They were not the truth of what was going on in my mind and heart.  They were just repetitions of songs I knew from church, because they’re popular, and I wanted to match the emotional expectation I had when I’ve heard these songs.  I paused.  And when I decided to sing a melody again, I put away any songs I knew from Bethel or IHOP, and uttered what was really on my heart.

“What if people were deaf; what if people were blind?  Oh how I would sing the words I wish to say! What if people couldn’t hear; what if people couldn’t see?  Oh how I would lift my hands in praise!  I wish for an audience of One!  Would You come, Jesus, to this table I made?  I wonder if people really care.  And if they don’t, why do I?  There is a fear in my past that haunts me.  How can I lead others in worship, if I am afraid of what they’ll say?  This is a new land.  They’ve seen my flaws, they’ve seen my faults, yet they still love me.  Who am I trying to convince anymore?  You are holy, You are worthy; You are majesty, You are Jesus!  You were shamed, so I don’t hide.  You were pierced, so I could be saved!  You are Lord, but You trade a crown for three nails!”

In the midst of this struggle and honest worship, it finally hit me.  I was fearful of me, because I had learned growing up that I better make sure that I was good enough; perfect. I received compliments…sometimes.  Unfortunately, I received more reprimand and criticisms.  There was a pressure to be perfect in different areas of my life, and my insecurities left an engrained scar of self-doubt that pursues lies that have entangled me for years.  There is so much I want to praise Jesus for; there is so much I wish I could shout out.  But because there are people (and hidden standards that I inwardly believe I must meet), I then shut up.  What has nagged at my conscience on Sunday mornings is that I yearn to hit the right note, the right tempo, the right melodies and harmonies – just I have been trained in choir and voice lessons.  With all that in mind, it’s easy to forget about Jesus, because I have been persuaded that relief comes in pursuing perfection at some level. 

If I make some set of guidelines and are able to reach them, I feel better about myself, don’t I?  Nevertheless, focusing on my voice and the arrangements of a song (after all, don’t we want the worship set to be as amazing and awe-inspiring as the CDs sold in stores?) only then compromises authentic worship to the one true God.    And at that point, I then wonder if I should be on the team anymore.  If it has become about me, then shouldn’t I step down? 

I know leaders aren’t perfect.  However, is there something to say for church leaders who are getting caught up in sin and/or devilish attacks that perhaps they need to take a step back and rethink, realign themselves with God?  If I am fighting every week to remind my silly brain that it’s about my Creator and not about how it sounds, isn’t there something wrong?  Fear is funny like that.  It creates doubt.  And with doubt comes the belief that you must be unqualified to step up and minister.  In this case for me, in the line of worship.  However, I know…I know that God has equipped me with the ability of music (both vocally and instrumentally); He has equipped me to write, and to write poetically.  And there is a desire for some of my poems to turn into songs, because I know that the words that have been given to me can help others heal and know who Christ is.  This voice, just like my photography and writings, is meant to be a blessing.

  

Perhaps this nervousness is not actually about me.  Fear is something given by the enemy to trap us into a cocoon disguised as safe, but really is a chamber of suffocation.  The only way to break out is to throw it off. 2 Timothy 1:6-7 states, “Therefore, I remind you to stir up the gift of God which is in you through the laying on of hands.  For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love and of a sound mind.”  After I privately worshiped on Tuesday, I was edified, and felt like I could conquer this fear.  Today is Friday, however.  And I wonder if it’ll really be different this Sunday.  I wonder if it would be best to no longer stand on the front stage, if that is all I seem to see this present moment.

But…Perhaps, if I were to step down, it would be giving into fear.  Allowing it to win.  To step down would mean that I allowed myself to hide in shame once again, because I once again bought into the life-long lie that I have to be perfect to receive God’s grace, and the freedom of what it means to be His child.  What a cruel chain to carry.  And one that need not be borne.   I do not state this out of arrogance, but I have come to the conclusion that I want to continue to stir the gifts of God that have been given me.  I am determined that fear will no longer hinder my ability to glorify God.  As of now, I will continue to stand and sing.

Being Too Bold To Ask?

            This week, I called my mom for the first time after returning home from visiting Flathead Lake.  While updating her on how the past week had been, she had news for me.  “I have to have surgery.”  She reminded me of the allergies and asthma she dealt with over the course of the summer, and in the process had a CT scan for her enlarged heart.  Something was noticed by her kidneys.  I remember my dad telling me about it when I visited, but assured me that it was most likely a skin tag (adjacent to a mole), and nothing to worry about.  So, I didn’t worry. 

            “The doctors found cysts on my kidneys.”

            The cysts were by both my mom’s kidneys, but the left one of more concern.  It is 18 cm around, which is, relatively, the same circumference that of a softball. A kidney is the size of an adult fist. The surgery not only requires removal of the large cyst, but her left kidney as well.  I guess I should be thankful.  It was caught early, and at least it isn’t a tumor (which was my fear when my mom was leading up after breaking the news of needed surgery).  Surgery has been scheduled, and from what I hear, it is a simple procedure, and my mother will be fine.

            But, it’s still a hard blow. 

            I know that God is good, and that He is bigger than anything, but it still hurt. To be completely honest, I wasn’t (and still am not) okay with the news. But again, God is sovereign.  So, I looked to find things to help sustain my faith in Him while hearing the news.  I had a little time on my hands after getting off the phone with my mother that night, and I found this verse: “Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful and worship acceptably and with reference and awe.” (Hebrews 10:28, NIV).  The following morning, I found a video of Yolanda Adams singing “Victory” on the Late Night Show (God bless Jimmy Fallon -   http://www.nbc.com/the-tonight-show/video/yolanda-adams-victory/2890422 ). Both of these reminded me that God’s truth doesn’t fail, and in the end Jesus conquered the devil, in all of his schemes.  We will see the fulfillment of that one day.

            However…do I dare ask?  Do I dare ask that God miraculously heal my mother?  The surgery is set; nothing to worry about.  But is it too pretentious to ask for God to remove the cysts Himself?  Am I standing over the boundaries of His sovereignty and breaking the understanding of trust in His control, by asking such a bold question?  The last couple of days I have struggled with this question.    I want to dare to ask.  But, I have known friends who have died of cancer; others still believing for healing in their bodies.  I have been waiting on healing personally for 25 years, and aside from a leg growing, not much.  His ways are not our ways; His thoughts not our thoughts (Isaiah 55:8).  Should I just be content knowing that God is good, and that no matter what, He’ll work all things to His glory (Romans 8:28)?  I know I should.  

            Then why the heck did Jesus command us to lay hands on the sick (Matthew 10:8; John 14:12-14))?  What purpose would that statement be, if the promise of healing was not ever meant to be fulfilled on earth?    Forgive me of my frankness and my frustration.  If it’s a sin, I repent.  But as much as I have a list of individuals who have waited for healing, I know other people, and I have heard testimonies of such miracles occurring!  I do not mean to usurp God’s authority or sovereignty on the issue of my mother (or other situations I will witness throughout my life).  I know sometimes people believe for His promises, only to find the time of their fulfillment was in Heaven (Hebrews 11: 39). 

However, it’s easier to mention that there is something wrong, and head it off to God with a, “Well, please figure this out,” with not much expectation.  Easier to not be let down on the basis of God’s promises and the issue of time.  But by not asking…am I really believing?  (This healing topic is a deeper issue than what one blog-post can dive into, but with this week about the news of my mother, I knew I had to get my thoughts on paper.)  And if I am not believing, what is the reason?  I emailed my friends about my mom, but I didn’t point out what exactly was on my heart.  I didn’t mention that I desire for a full healing without surgery.  Part of me wondered about the sovereignty question; a part of me wondered if God would do a miraculous healing for someone in my own life.  I know how easy it is to become comfortable to just ‘wait on God’s promises’, rather than ask for them, because the pain of a “No” is too great.  It hurts to see (in our view) God’s goodness withheld from us (even if we know it to be momentarily in the perspective of eternity).  It's hard, sometimes. 

            In Matthew, Jesus pointed out how it’s important to trust and ask God the things on our hearts (Matthew 7:7-11).  I want to dare to ask.  I want to be bold and ask.  Last night, I thought about my mom (which I have been doing lately), and considered the “worst-case scenarios” that might occur.  Such as... she’ll need both kidneys taken out, because the cyst on her right kidney grew (and then, she would need a transplant).  Or her cyst could burst, and then it becomes a life-threatening issue.  (Oh glory.  What my mind likes to do when it hears bad news…)While pondering on the depressing portion of my thoughts, a proverb popped in my head, “The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are saved (Proverbs 18:10).” 

            This morning, I am reminded that God is in control, and He is my salvation.  God is not a super-genie where He does everything we ask just because we ask, but I doubt that He gets offended when we pray boldly for His hand to move (in situations great or small, determined by our accounts).  I think in praying these prayers, we show our complete dependence on God.  Surely, God already knows how this will work out.  Perhaps my mom will have cysts miraculously removed (yay!!!), but maybe God will use surgery to remove them (yay!!!  I know that God will provide the money to help my folks pay for it.).  About the “worst-case scenarios”, they aren’t on my mind anymore.  By this morning, I have no fear concerning my mom.  The thing is He knew what was going to happen, and we are along for the run while the tapestry is being sewn.  And looking back, God’s glory will be revealed.  I know that God is good, and whatever happens, it will end up being good.  That being said, I still don’t want to hesitate to ask for His hand to move in my mom’s circumstance (“The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.” –James 4:16b, KJV).  I want to boldly believe.