As much as I fight it . . . I'm a worrier. I am. I hate it. But I'm a worrier, and I always have been.
When I was a kid, a friend of the family suggested that I try an old Indian remedy of using a "worry rock." He instructed me to go find a rock that I liked. Every time I started to worry, I was to hold the rock in the palm of my hand and rub it with my thumb. The idea was that as I rubbed, all my worries would exit my body and enter the rock.
Sounds fishy, I know. But don't knock it 'til you try it. It is a surprisingly effective tool for young people.
I have kept my worry rock ever since I was a kid. I don't use my worry rock anymore, but I'm never getting rid of it. It's been a good friend to me. Years of my worry are forever caged within that little stone.
I got to thinking about my worry rock last night, so I went and found it. I told Greg about it, and he was shocked at how much it had obviously been rubbed. ;)
And then it occurred to me . . . I haven't felt the need to use my worry rock in years. But why?
The reason is because I have a new rock in my life, and his name is Jesus Christ.
Just like the wise man that built his house upon the rock, my new "rock" is my growing relationship with my Savior. The more I get to know Him, the more I love Him and the more I trust Him. The rains may come tumbling down, but my rock stands firm.
Now when I begin to get anxious, I send my worries to a new home . . . the broken body of Christ who willingly took on all my angst and nailed it to the cross.
"But the Lord has become my fortress, and my God the rock in whom I take refuge."