Worry Never Sees the Plot Twist
I had the calendar memorized, not because I wanted to, but because every time I glanced at it, my heart picked up speed and my stomach tied itself into a sailor's knot.
First, a team meeting. Then a harvest service, meaning extra time on church pews, those lovely wooden torture devices designed by someone who clearly never had a back issue. Then Sunday: out the door at 8:00 a.m., two and a half hours of travel, a full day of services, and the drive home, rolling in after 8:00 p.m. Then another harvest service, more pews, and another weekend away with another long drive, an overnight stay, and yes, more pews.
Meanwhile, life refused to take a vacation. The dog still needed walking. The dishes still multiplied like rabbits. Paperwork needed filing, devotions needed writing, and events needed planning. I had been dreading it for weeks. I told myself not to, and I really tried. But my nerves, apparently, didn't get the memo.
Then, the plot twist arrived. I made it through the team meeting. After that, nothing. No harvest services, no road trips, no pews. I attended none of it because, for the better part of a week, I was flat on my back in bed with one ailment after another, sometimes stacked like a sickly sandwich. (And who doesn't love that?)
All that dread, and it wasn't the schedule that took me down. It was something I never saw coming. I didn't spend my energy navigating events. I spent it trying to get well. I also didn't get to do the things I enjoy during that stretch. So my worry was mistaken, but not entirely wrong. Things turned out differently from what I imagined, and yet somehow the same: tired, hurting, and behind. To quote my dear friend, Charlie Brown: Good grief!!!
What Worry Really Does
Here's the humbling part. I rehearsed the wrong play. I spent weeks memorizing lines for a show that never opened, while the real drama was waiting backstage with a fever and a box of tissues. (Okay, who am I kidding? Several boxes of tissues!)
Jesus put it plainly: "Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof" (Matthew 6:34). Notice He doesn't say tomorrow will be easy. He says each day has enough trouble of its own. When I borrow tomorrow's troubles, I'm paying interest on a loan I may never owe.
Luke records a question that stings a little: "And which of you with taking thought can add to his stature one cubit? If ye then be not able to do that thing which is least, why take ye thought for the rest?" (Luke 12:25-26). My worrying didn't add a single ounce to my strength. It didn't prevent the illness or protect my back. It only made me tired before the tiredness arrived. I'd been exhausted twice: once in my imagination and once in real life.
Worry is a lousy fortune-teller. It gets the details wrong, the timing wrong, and sometimes the whole storyline wrong. Even when the hard thing does come, it rarely arrives dressed the way we pictured it. That's no reason to panic about the unexpected, though. It's a reason to stop playing the guessing game.
What to Do Instead
So what do we do with the dread? We can't just flip a switch. I tried, and I'm not a lamp. David gives us something better: "In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul" (Psalm 94:19). David had a multitude of thoughts too. The answer wasn't to have fewer of them (thank goodness!), but to let God's comforts get in among them. He didn't say the thoughts vanished. He said God's comforts delighted his soul right in the middle of them.
Peter goes further: "Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you" (1 Peter 5:7). Notice the word "all." That includes the knotted stomach, the calendar, and the pews. It also includes the ailments I never predicted. God wasn't surprised by my sickbed. He saw it long before the first day I started fretting, and He was already there, ready to care for me.
Finally, David reminds us whose hands hold the schedule: "My times are in thy hand" (Psalm 31:15). Not my calendar, not my fears, and not my forecast. His hand. A hand that knows what's coming and will carry me through, whether it's a two-and-a-half-hour drive or a week in bed.
I can't tell you I'll never dread again. I'm human, and I'm a champion at it. But next time I stare at a crowded calendar, I hope I'll remember that my worries wrote a script, and God threw it out. His plan, even the unexpected parts, was held in hands far more capable than mine.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go sit somewhere with a very soft cushion, a cup of herbal tea, and several boxes of tissues.
🔍 PULLING BACK THE CURTAIN: A Peek at the Study Behind This Post
This devotion started with an irony: a month of dread, and a sickbed that made every bit moot. That sparked one question: what does the Bible say about worrying over a tomorrow that never arrives as expected?
Start with the sting. I wrote down the facts: the dread, the week in bed, and the fact that I had predicted wrong. The key question was, "What does worry actually accomplish?"
Search the obvious, then dig past it. I ran "take no thought" and "morrow" through a free KJV search tool (like Blue Letter Bible) and landed on Matthew 6:34. I skipped Philippians 4 and Proverbs 3 because they're so familiar, and kept hunting.
Follow the cross-reference. Matthew 6 pointed me to Luke 12:25-26. Its argument about adding a cubit to your stature fit my situation perfectly: worry couldn't add an ounce to my strength.
Chase the "thoughts" rabbit trail. Looking up "thoughts" led to Psalm 94:19. I noticed David didn't ask for fewer thoughts. He asked for God's comforts to join them. Then Psalm 31:15 and 1 Peter 5:7 (checking "care" with a Strong's lookup) tied everything together.
Let the lesson crystallize. The moment came when I saw that God's hand was holding the schedule I was clutching in a death grip.
Time note: About two hours, including one tea break and one long pause to feel mildly humbled by my own dread.
Your turn! Pick a verse that's been poking at your heart, and type a keyword from it into a free Bible search site. Follow the cross-references like a treasure map and see where they lead. You may be amazed at what's buried just a few verses over!