The sun is setting behind me now. The last rays of brightness hang onto the backs of leaves and drip down the sides of these duplicated houses. In the last moments of their day the sparrows skip and dive from rooftop to power line as if unaware these are in fact the last moments of their day. Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds?  It is easier to consider these things here. It is easier to understand why Jesus tells us to consider these things at all…

The familiar string of tension so dedicated to playing under this worn ribcage has been missing for days now. Gone is the deceptive control telling me there was some sort of glory to be found in my suffering, teasing me with hope where there was none. Built up inside of me once stood the gods of anxiety concealing themselves with masks of “concern”, the gods of self, erupting with frustration every time someone failed to worship me. There is so much encumbrance here, so much weight in trying to be God. That’s what most of us are doing, right? That’s why our souls are so disquieted, right? I am convinced that all of our fears are the stem from a root in us that desires to be God. With this we put upon ourselves a responsibility that no man but One was created to bear (and He already bore it) but we’ll try to pierce the nails through our own palms and no wonder we only find pain and impossibility before us. So we fail at helping ourselves, and feel like failures.  We sin, and wonder why we can’t stop.  We fear, and feel hopeless. There comes a great despair with having to be our own (or anyones) Saviour when we can deeply sense our incapability.  Yet no one has ever denied to me their innate ache to be saved and made whole.  So is there any hope for us here, in our dryness and our desperation, in our ignorance and our wanting?

I suggest that perhaps all of our attempts, all our keeping up, all our futile ideas and disappointments would point us to a deliverance not found within ourselves or our things.  Maybe our Lord tells us to be anxious for nothing because He cares about my feeble arms bearing the load of a burden that will quickly crush me. Maybe He tells me to exchange my yoke with His because He understands His back is the only one truly fit to endure the full blows of my infidelity, the lashes of my dark thoughts and the strikes of my faithless worry. It seems to be a difficult thing to have it so easy, to throw off all our accusation and acquire liberation.  It seems to be a difficult thing to sacrifice our frantic thoughts and intricate plans to rest in One who knows better than I.  Can it be so?  “But maybe if I think this situation through a hundred more times I will be more at ease!” And He sighs, “My child, be still…” “Maybe if I run to the ends of the earth and spend my money there, I, (and everyone I know) can feel better about our troubles!” and He replies, “I AM.” Our worry asks for something that has already been done. Our fear yearns for everything He has already set on the table before us.  So, yes I say there is hope for us here, and we don’t have to wait a second longer for rescue!  I am telling you, even you who say you are free - you can be freer!  We must come again and again to this set table, to feast on Him, to drink deep from the Only One who satisfies. Hour by hour we must humbly arrive at His altar to lay down the suffocating yokes that creep upon us so quietly.

The responsibility of my anxiety has dissolved into a responsibility of gratitude. I hope from now on these words, these hands, can somehow communicate this gratitude, because my words, my hands are the least of what I owe for years of self-preservation; for years of surrendering to the stay of every intrusive thought. Even now, as the dusk sets upon the day and shadows swell against the light, the Spirit of my Father still remains bright within me! Even as the birds sacrifice their careless flight to the cover of unseen nests, He offers me security under the shadow of His Wing. My heart is heavy only with the mass of my Saviour’s love, only the chains of His beautiful freedom bind me.  Can I begin to tell you about the lightest burden my shoulders have ever worn? How do I begin to tell you about a Love heavy enough to crush death under its fullness?

Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?  Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the Kingdom.

(c) Stephanie Diaz-Schumm