I worry a lot.
That’s such an understatement that it borders on being a lie. I am so consistently consumed with worry that my anxieties have organized and entered into collective bargaining agreement with my subconscious.
Self-doubt is my soundtrack; I move through my day, racking up regrets and pre-grets. This has been my inner struggle for as long as I can remember. I see others move through life so simply with an abundance of self-assurance, that both amazes and annoys me. I wish I was like them, or maybe I wish they were like me.
Despite all of my worries and anxieties, I do manage to live my life, which requires a certain level of confidence in a lot of things.
Like concrete.
I really never doubt concrete. I walk on it, drive on it, live in a house built upon it, and yet I never really give it a second thought.
I wish I trusted God like that, but I don’t. I doubt Him all the time, even though He’s never failed me. People have failed me. Employers have failed me. Circumstances have failed me.
But God never has, and yet I doubt Him and blame Him for all those other failures.
I wish I had confidence in God like my confidence in concrete.
Of course, concrete isn’t always worth that confidence. There are so many examples of concrete construction failing. After all, concrete is made by people, and people don’t have the best track record.
Suddenly, I’m reminded of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, immortalized as “Gallopin’ Gertie.” Next week will mark 82 years since it collapsed, five months after it was opened for use.
Watching the video leaves me worried. Maybe I should doubt concrete more.
And maybe I should doubt God less.