Since 2006 I've been aware of my struggle with anxiety. It was around this time five years ago that I sat in the living room of Nancy and John Linton in Lincoln, OR. Surrounded by heavy stillness, and the magic of living in a cabin for months, I was more fully aware of myself then I had ever been. Connections were being made between my past, and my current understanding of God and my spirituality. Nancy wondered aloud if my anxiety (specifically my fear of death) was connected with my sense of worth to my family. Would they be okay with out me?
In the years that have followed I've been acutely aware of the anxious voice that visits me daily. Only recently have I begun to disassociate that voice from God's. I would have liked to believe, years ago, that God's voice was one of comfort, but it didn't seem likely then. I trusted instead that God's voice was the loudest, telling me to be worried about everything, and to feel judgement when I let others down.
I've discovered that God's voice is the faintest, telling me instead that everything will be okay.
I'm inclined to listen to those who have experienced the voice of God as gentle.
And now, swirling in the winds of anxiety that comes with being a parent for the first time, it is a spiritual discipline to listen closely. Everyday feels like the work of deconstruction.
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