My Warfare Against Worry: Faith Reflections from a Cancer Oven (#12)
[A note from our Managing Editor: Tim Shorey, pastor and author, is one of our Gospel-Centered Discipleship staff writers. Tim is also currently battling stage 4 prostate cancer. On Facebook and CaringBridge, he’s writing about his journey. We’re including some of his posts in a series on our website called “The Potter’s Clay: Faith Reflections from a Cancer Oven.” To preserve the feel of a daily journal rather than a published work, we have chosen not to submit these reflections to a rigorous editing process.]
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My Warfare Against Worry
April 25, 2023
Dear Journal,
Today could easily be a “worrying day.” The day is full of waiting, and waiting and worrying often co-habit. I’m waiting on lab work results due back today, which will provide an update on my condition. Lord, I am afraid; help me put my trust in you (Ps. 56:3).
Worrying hasn’t always been much of a struggle for me. Typically I’ve not been an anxious person. I’ve been blessed with enough God-enabled sense to know that in addition to being a lapse of faith in my Father’s care, worries about things outside of my control that are part of later today or tomorrow or beyond, are distracting and pointless (Matt. 6:25–34; Phil. 4:4–7). Sure, I’ve had my share of hardships and concerns, but God’s given me lots of grace to leave such cares in his sovereign and almighty hands—and to live each today for all it’s worth—without the distraction of anxiety.
But my worry-warfare has escalated. There’s a growing number of potential cares that are quite possibly going to happen that have come to mind and about which I try not to worry. But these are fighting fiercely to hold their ground in the thought-space of my brain, being the kinds of cancer cares that often accompany the angry disease inhabiting my body. For example . . .
I worry about bad blood work results, which is certain to happen one of these days unless God heals. (Will it be today?) I worry about long “insomniac” nights alone with my thoughts and pains. Increased fatigue and limitation. The pain I already have. The increased pain I don’t yet have. Depletion of daily energy by 4:00 pm, some six hours short of bedtime. Feeling too uncomfortable, weak, and tired to get much out of church. Then there is worry about feeling too uncomfortable, weak, and tired to even go to church. I worry about making ends meet. I have sorrow over the coming day that I’ll no longer be able to travel to children and grandchildren. I’m burdened over how my loved ones will do without me. I have concern over the grieving process going on even now in Gayline’s heart. I grieve for my dear bride’s alone time when her other half will no longer be here. I dread the day when my thoughts grow dim and my journal goes silent.
These are but general categories, under each of which I could list one hundred smaller cares. They are things that are quite possibly going to happen that have come to mind, but about which I try not to worry. But contending against worry has become a much fiercer battle than it was in days gone by.
I know that I need to pray about these concerns and not worry. And I’ll try. But I hope my praying army will contend with me in prayer to defeat worry and leave worry mortally wounded at my feet. Will you pray with me as I pray?
Dear Father of Light and Love,
You have told me that I need not worry, and that it is best, instead, to give thanks in everything (Phil. 4:4–7). And I know I have to cast my cares and anxieties upon you, that I might receive your care in their place (1 Pet. 5:6–7). But Father, this is getting harder—especially when my cares are almost certain to come to pass in the future, if they are not already here.
How do I pray, plan, and prepare so as to rest easy in my soul, knowing that you’ve got all of this in your hands? You call me to an in-the-moment way of life that neither lives in the past nor fears the future. You call me to begin each day with a prayer for today’s bread and to end each day with the praise for the bread you gave—and then only to care about tomorrow’s bread after I’ve gotten rest and the morning dawns.
I’m trying, Lord, but who is sufficient for these things?
When I am afraid, I want to put my trust in you (Ps. 56:3). Help me, dear Father, to remember again what you have promised: “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you . . . [and that] In returning and rest [I] shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be [my] strength . . .” (Isa. 26:3–4; 30:16).
Help me to keep my thoughts firmly fixed on you, my Captain-Commander, for on the worry-battlefield there is rest and peace when my mind settles its gaze on you.
Lord, I do trust you; help me to trust you more.
Amen.
* You can read all the posts in this series here.
Tim Shorey is married to Gayline, his wife of 45 years, and has six grown children and 14 grandchildren. After over forty years of pastoral ministry, he recently retired from Risen Hope Church, in Delaware County, Pennsylvania. Among his books are Respect the Image: Reflecting Human Worth in How We Listen and Talk; The Communion Truce: How Holy Communion Addresses Our Unholy Conflicts; 30/30 Hindsight: 30 Reflections on a 30-Year Headache; his award-winning An ABC Prayer to Jesus: Praise for Hearts Both Young and Old. To find out more, visit timothyshorey.com.