A Note From Last Year Turned Up in My Winter Coat Pocket

On Wednesday morning, the moment I opened the front door, I knew the air had changed. Yesterday a light jacket was enough, but today every breath made the tip of my nose sting. I went back inside and took out the winter coat I'd stored at the very back of the closet. It was the first time this fall.

When I put the coat on and slid my hand into the pocket, I felt a folded piece of paper. It was a note the me of last winter had written. Three lines. "What if the team changes?" "What if I can't find a place before the lease ends?" "What if this year goes on just like the last?" The handwriting was pressed hard into the paper. I must have written it standing up, in a hurry.

While I waited for the elevator, I reread it line by line. The first line had passed. The team did change, and it was more bearable than I'd expected. The second had passed too. I found a place, luckily. The third was just the same. A year had gone by, and that "what if" was still sitting in my pocket.

Not a word that erases worry, but a place to take it

While my computer was starting up at my desk, I opened still().

In nothing be anxious, but in everything, by prayer and petition with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.

Philippians 4:6 (WEB)

“In nothing be anxious.” Honestly, every time I used to read this sentence, it took my breath away. When you can't stop worrying and someone tells you not to, it feels like one more worry added. But today I stopped on the later part, “let your requests be made known to God.” I read it not as an order to get rid of worry, but as saying there is a place to take it. I can't say the third line on the note was untangled by this one sentence. I still don't know, and I'm still a little scared. Even so, knowing there's somewhere I can carry it without knowing felt worth hanging on to.

Before lunch, I wrote this year's "what if" on the back of the note. Then I wrote the date next to the third line and put it back in my pocket. I found myself wondering how many lines will have passed when I run into this note again next year around this time.

Today's breath — Write one worry on a piece of paper, and as you breathe out slowly, put the paper in your pocket.