Hello My Name is…Worrywart

When I was in kindergarten, my mom received a call from a panicked school official. “Jennifer told us that her father died last night!?”

While I have no memory of this incident, my mom tells me that the night before she and my dad received terrible news. One of their friends had died suddenly, leaving behind a wife and children.

I must have been listening in on their conversations and picked up on their sadness. My compassionate mom thinks I told the lie to explain the profound heartache I really was feeling. At the tender age of five, I took on that story as my own.

Well, sometime over the course of the last thirty years, I learned to handle situations like this one in a much more “civilized” way. Instead of telling lies, I battle secret anxiety – quiet “what if” thoughts that I rarely even speak aloud.

I travel to the Land of What If via many roads. Sometimes I get there by watching the news. A conversation with a hurting friend can send me there. Other times I travel there by reading a blog. Heck, even the sound of a siren when my husband isn’t home can propel me there. And sometimes, it is the memory of pain and heartache in my own story that transports me to that unpleasant land.

There are many problems with living in the Land of What If, but when I find myself there in the quiet of the night, sleep is impossible. The brain doesn’t distinguish between the Land of What If and the Land of What Is. When my imagination is running wild with a disaster theory, my brain cues my body’s natural physiological response to the “threat.” That response is never sleep-inducing.

It’s easy to feel trapped, to pour every last drop of my energy and attention into the “what if” thoughts. It’s so tempting to let my fears define me. But, God has provided me a way out – He has given me the Land of What Is.

Like Dorothy, who thought she was trapped in Oz, I have the power to leave the Land of What If whenever I want to. I just have to close my eyes, tap my heels together three times and keep repeating, “There’s no place like the present. There’s no place like the present.”  Before long, I’m a sponge soaking in the minutiae of the present moment.

Sometimes, the voice I’m trying to drown out at night is that of a worrywart. When I hear her this week, I’ll pray with intention for the future, and then ask my Father to lead her to the beautiful Land of What Is.

P.S. This post is part of a series on my own identity crisis. Check here for other “Hello My Name Is” posts.

Anybody else living in the Land of What If? Let’s take a one-way trip back to the Land of What Is together! I’d love to hear your story!