Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

faith & spirituality

What is true today

I tend to worry. About a lot of things. Especially the things I can’t control. Like, the future. My mind is a snowflake-turned-avalanche of worries.

I don’t know how to turn it off. I read things in the Bible about not worrying and praying through my anxious thoughts, and yes, that often helps, when I remember to do that. But I can’t just not worry or think about not worrying. It’s like being on a diet and telling yourself constantly, don’t think about eating a donut. It doesn’t work for me.

I’m finding I have to replace my worry with something else.

This does not come naturally to me. What does come naturally is to dwell on worry and add to it all the other worries, related or not. For some reason, it’s easier to follow this downward spiral than to stop it in its tracks. For me, prayer helps undo the spiral after it has already happened. But what about when the first worry hits?

Daria Nepriakhina via Unsplash

Daria Nepriakhina via Unsplash

I chose my word for the year, present, because I wanted to be more engaged with the world around me. Less distracted. More intentional. I didn’t think about it in terms of “now.” Today.

Tomorrow is so unknown, yet I imagine all the worst case scenarios based on one set of circumstances. I mistakenly believe that the way things are today is how they will be tomorrow and the next day and the days to come forevermore.

Rarely has that been the case. Seasons are just that–seasons. Seasons change and circumstances with them, and while some things tend to repeat, hardly anything stays the same all the time in every season. Even the trees look different from spring to spring.

So, I’m practicing the art of reminding myself what is true today.

While meteorologists predict another snow on the horizon, I bask in the sunshine on a 50-degree-day and tell myself that today is a gorgeous day, and even if tomorrow brings a bitter wind and winter-like temperatures, I can enjoy today.

When the numbers in the checking account dwindle and I wonder how we’ll afford this or that, I remind myself that today, the bills are paid. We have food to eat. Clothes to wear. We may not be where we want to be, but we have enough for today.

I try not to think too much about how my kids are going to turn out, but when I start to worry about them leaving the nest, years from now, I say, “Today, they are here and they are loved and cherished and as safe as I can possibly make them.” Today, I have them in my life and can enjoy their giggles while we listen to my husband read The BFG.

Too I often I worry about the future, and I also let the past dictate today. I remember past hurts. Events that left me questioning all that is good about life. And I tell myself that those things happened then and while they have shaped who I am, they are no longer true of me today.

Living in the present, for today, does not have to be some sort of cavalier excuse to take risks because “carpe diem” and all that. It’s not about denying or avoiding the future or the past. It’s acknowledging that today is here now, and tomorrow will be a new day, and each day has merit, even if it is ordinary. And if it is not, the ordinary days will return.

Summed up over a lifetime, the balance of ordinary days and extraordinary ones evens out, I think. Maybe the scale even tips in favor of the ordinary ones.

I don’t want to worry about or live for tomorrow. I don’t want to stay stuck in the past.

I want today to matter, even if nothing epic happens. I want to see what’s true today. And acknowledge it.

If I am hurting today, I will say so.

If I am at peace today, I will declare it.

If I am overwhelmed today, I will tell myself that today is just one day.

If I am happy today, I will enjoy it.

It is so cliche to say that today is a gift, and maybe I’m just getting older, but I’m starting to believe it. I used to think my life would begin “someday.” After all this other stuff happened or passed. But it’s just not true. Life is what is happening to me today, and it might not be amazing or interesting or spectacular.

Or maybe just the fact that it is happening is the most amazing thing of all.

So, what’s true for you today?

After the storm comes

The rain blew sideways, thousands of drops pinging the windows as phones beeped alerts warning of conditions right for a tornado.

Stuck in a restaurant, waiting for my husband’s shift to end, we weathered it as best we could. We encouraged the kids to play in the play area. We kept away from the panes of glass that loomed all around us. We ordered coffee and monitored the radar from our phones.

When the threat expired, we braved the drive home, wishing each other safe travels. The roads bore witness to the severity of the storm. Water pooled over entire lanes. A fire truck, sirens blaring, lights flashing, sped past us to one of many incidents.

We made it home safely, but only morning would reveal just how much damage the storm had done.

***

Roads and driveways were strewn with fallen branches. There is a sort of noticeable chaos after a storm. Everything looks a bit different, less ordered, more distressed, as if the earth survived a hard-fought battle and lived to tell about it.

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The river’s banks could not contain it. Homes along its borders woke to find yards swallowed by the river’s gluttony. Roads were closed because the water dared to creep across it in the low-lying areas.

One town woke to devastation, roofs torn off, buildings collapsed, and an official declaration: tornado.

People banded together, an instant rally to rescue chickens, survey damage, clean up.

The storm was long gone by morning, but its memory lingers. Its aftermath remains.

***

This is how it is with storms. They blow in, sometimes with warning, sometimes not. They bring with them fear and worry, a sense of helplessness.

Who can withstand a storm’s full force and come out unscathed?

***

I hardly remember the biggest storm of my life, and I can hardly forget it. I remember how overwhelming it felt to try to navigate life while the storm raged. Even now, as I write about it, the anxiety builds.

It was like gripping the steering wheel tight, guiding my car on a road that should be familiar but instead is cloaked in fog, or a deluge of rain. I could not see beyond the headlights. I didn’t know when, or if, I would get where I was going.

And when the storm cleared, there was damage with which to contend. But a person had to know where to look.

Could they see my eyes swollen from a flood of tears? Could they see our dreams, downed and broken, like limbs from a tree in tornadic winds? Was the chaos obvious, like the morning after a storm? Our life was scattered bits of what it was only days before. The natural order of our existence was off, and only a trained eye could spot the difference.

I tried my best to carry on as usual, but when a storm ravages your existence, there is only so much maintaining you can do. The truth surfaces, like pools of water in the yard because the ground can’t absorb it.

The aftermath became too much for me to bear and what revealed itself was a life littered with hurt, fear, shame, bitterness, and anxiety.

I could not recover alone.

Nor could I pretend the storm had never happened.

I could not wish the storm out of my past, and I would not let it paralyze my present. It would alter the course of my future, but it would not be the end of the story.

***

I have yet to find a geographic location that is safe from any kind of storm. This should tell me something about life, as well. We are never out of danger of a soul-crushing storm. Not one of us will get through life without something that threatens to break us. Even Jesus, the Hope and Light of the world, promised we would have trouble in this life. We are not immune to hardship.

But we can carry on after the storm has passed.

Here, in Lancaster County, there was an immediate response from the community to those in need. The Amish rallied and started work on barns and roofs and schoolhouses. A church called on its people to help a family whose chicken barns were leveled. Family and friends checked in from across the country on Facebook, and those with damaged buildings got right to work on rebuilding.

Maybe this isn’t always the way it is with life’s storms, but I realize that one key component of rebuilding after the storm is community. Neighbors, friends, church people, family. These are the relationships nurtured before the storm comes. This is the support group in place before it is needed.

This is how we weather storms.

By noticing the needs and spreading the word and showing up. With tools. Or a meal. Or a word of encouragement. 

This is how we weather storms.

By looking for the damage. Maybe it’s not a collapsed building but a collapsed spirit. A broken dream. 

Love your neighbor as yourself, Jesus said. And, do to others what you would want others to do for you.

We weather storms together because the next time it could be us. We step in because we would want others to step in and help if it was our time of need.

This is how we weather storms.

Together.