How To Deal With Today's Anxiety

I have this habit of scratching when I'm nervous or afraid. Often I don't even realize that I'm doing it until I notice some blotches on my skin. Others I know start to stutter or blink their eyes rapidly or twitch their mouth. We all manifest anxiety or fear one way or another. In the most extreme situations people become hypochondriacs.

For hypochondriacs everyday functions become obsessions. They misinterpret normal bodily functions. A rapid heart rate is probably a heart attack. Sweating must mean kidney failure. Hunger pangs and fatigue obviously mean the onset of some form of cancer. Surely I must quickly get to the emergency room or at least obtain another doctor's appointment today, tomorrow at the very latest.

Sometimes I wonder if Psalm writer David was not a bit of a hypochondriac. Take Psalm 39:1-13 for instance. He starts out by talking to himself. He is absolutely going to restrain himself before those total idiots he has to work with. He suspects they're out to get him one way or another. He gets so troubled by this that he starts burning up inside. This is bad, really bad.

But then he shifts and I realize these are not the words of a hypochondriac. These are the words of a devout man troubled not merely by what men say or think, but about the brevity of life. I can relate directly to that. He is aware that he can measure his days with a few handbreadths. Life is but a mere breath, a shadow. Why is that? Why do we all die? Why do we even concern ourselves about this?

Many years ago I distinctly recall stumbling across a passage from King Solomon's disturbing writings. He wrote, "God has made everything beautiful in its time." That, I thought, is true. We can sing about that. But then he went on, "Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end" (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

How easy it would be for David, Solomon and me if we were like dogs. Mine in particular is quite incapable of worrying about the brevity of his life. He has a problem with seizures every couple months. The vet says he can do little about that problem other than to dumb him down with some drugs. Neither my pet nor I want that, so when a seizure comes I hold him tight and we tremble through it together. After its over, he bounces up in about an hour and is ready to move on the same as always. He is not capable of all the fretting and fussing the two kings and I go through.

But we're not dogs. We are the cap of God's creation, bearing His very image within, made by Him for eternity. We can do nothing other than to beg our Creator, "look away from me" (Psalm 39:13). Please, God, do not look me in the eye and tell me again how I have messed up, failed and deserve to be utterly forsaken by You—forever! Help me before I depart and am no more.

And then I hear another cry from a direct descendant of King David. I see Him hanging on a Roman cross, crying out in Syro-Chaldaic, his native tongue, the words of another of David's psalms (Psalm 22:1), "Eli, Eli lama sabachthani?" Matthew interprets the strange words, "That is, My God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthew 27:46).

As I hear those words my hypochondria begins to dissipate like morning fog. I realize again that He hung there so I can begin this day with a smile on my face. I am forgiven. My God is my heavenly Father who, for Christ's sake, has forgiven me. And when I depart, I will not cease to be, but I will dwell in the Father's house and among His children forever.