anxiety

I started playing the piano for church when I was in sixth grade. (I wasn't very good. The pastor's wife often gaspingly requested that I slow down my playing so the congregation could breathe occasionally.) I was always really nervous to get up and play the piano, even though I loved playing. My hands would turn to ice and get all sweaty. I sat next to dad every Sunday, and before I would get up to play he would grab my hands, put them in between his, and gently rub them until they warmed up. He could read my anxiety.

I woke up with anxiety this morning. My little girl leaves the nest this year. Is she ready? Am I ready? Will there be money to send her? Work hasn’t been so great lately. Will we be really short on meeting budget in January? Responsibilities press in -need to clean house, need to write lesson plans for teaching, need to take down Christmas decorations. So many need-to’s.

Hands turn to ice and get all sweaty.

The promises of God reach over. Callused from years of working. They grab my cold, anxious thoughts and start to rub. Warm and strong. Calming.

Psalm 139:5-6. “You hem me in –behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me…”