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Last week, I learned something scary about myself.

My car was in the shop, so Bruce drove me to work. We’d stayed up too late, and I’d dragged my comatose body out of bed before its time. I sat in the car in Zombie wife mode. My whole being was communicating a message: Don’t talk to me. Trust me, this will not go well.

I really should have just stayed in bed and called in sick.

But I digress, I was telling you about the frightening self-revelation I experienced.

It all started when I decided to turn on the radio in hopes of waking myself up and hypnotizing myself into a happier mood. I turned the dial off my husband’s pre-set talk radio station (Yuck!) and landed on .K-LOVE.

The music was like caffeine in my veins. Soon, I was tapping along and even singing. Bruce was overjoyed to witness my resurrection from Zombieland.

After a song or two, the DJ’s started talking about something nonsensical and silly in the news. They bantered back and forth about how scientists have discovered that there is actually a Worry Gene.  Yep, that’s right. If you are a worry wart, it’s probably in your DNA. Blame your ancestors.

Bruce and I laughed about it as we pulled into the parking space at work. My knight in shining armor walked me in to the office and carried my heavy bags and even opened the door for me.

Squeak. “You’ve got a creaky door there, ma’am. I can take care of that for you if you have some WD-40.” I pointed my husband toward the office supply closet to see if he could find something to take the squeak out.

I watched him turn the corner and stayed by the door anticipating his return.

I stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. After a few minutes, I frowned at the clock.

Why’s he been gone so long? I imagined my husband prostrate on the floor and not breathing. I considered calling 911.

Right before I broke down in tears, my man came bouncing around the corner empty-handed.

“I have the worry gene,” I confessed.  Left alone with my thoughts for more than 90 seconds, I will construct an imaginary apocalypse.

The Worry Monster is lurking around in the corners of my mind seeking to squelch my joy and steal my serenity.

Have you met the Worry Monster?  His ability to magnify your fears knows no bounds if you give him free rein.

Just a few days ago, I received a series of frantic texts from a friend who was facing the bully head on.  My response was simple:

Stop, Breathe, and Pray.

It’s like stop, drop and roll when your mind is on fire. You must turn your worries into prayers.

How to Fight the Worry Monster:

Stop: Tell your thoughts to obey what you know is true. Remind yourself that God has not given you a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and of a sound mind (II Timothy 1:7). Remind yourself of what is right, noble, lovely, and pure (Philippians 4:8). Chuck the enemy’s lies and take your thoughts captive (II Corinthians 10:4-5).

Breathe: Let God’s peace invade your soul (Psalm 34:1-4, MSG). Be still and know that He is God (Psalm 46:10). Allow Him room to restore your soul (Psalm 23:1-3).

Pray: Turn your worries into praises and petitions (Philippians 4:6-7). Cast all your anxiety on Him, and let Him care for you (I Peter 5:7).

Don’t be a Worry Wart when God has already called you to be a Prayer Warrior.  

(Side note: I am in love with this graphic!!!!)

Let’s Talk:  How do you tackle the Worry Monster?

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My desire is to lift up holy hands and “Pray Big.” Want to join me? I’ve created a private “Pray Big” Facebook group for like-minded sisters to share their stories and surrender each one to our mountain-moving God in prayer. Let’s cry out to God together.

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I am sharing “How to Fight the Worry Monster” and joining like-minded sisters at Give Me Grace, Spiritual Sundays, Faith-Filled Friday, Fresh Market Friday, Blessing Counters, Tell His Story, Coffee for Your Heart, Three-Word Wednesday, Intentional Tuesday, Purposeful Faith’s RaRaLinkup, Rich-Faith Rising, Testimony Tuesday, and Moments of Hope.

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