I don’t enjoy
flying on airplanes, regardless of how aware I am that it’s the quickest way to
get from point A to point B. And while I’ve only flown about twenty or so
times in my entire life, it’s only become slightly easier with each trip. It’s funny because I talk to people all the time who say that take-off
is the most exciting and favorite part of flying for them, but for me, it’s the
exact opposite. Landing is my favorite part because, well, let’s
face it; I’m back on the ground. Mission accomplished.
I don’t know, there’s just something about the weightless feeling
of lifting off the ground and the wheels rising up back into the plane that’s
jarring and terrifying and oh-my-word, I’m think I'm going to die.
Back in 2010 when I was living the events that would forever change the course of my life,
I was a master of trying to puppeteer the final outcome. I was the Queen,
sitting on the throne of all
that needed to happen. While I was away in prison, I received a copy
of the thirty-five characters letters written on my behalf from my lawyer to
read through, which had been sent to the judge on my case. These letters,
I knew, could very well be the deciding factor to my potential release and so I
held on to them and the words they presented with absolute vigor and fierceness.
I scrutinized and inspected their tattered corners as if they held the answers
to all of life’s secrets. I remember sitting on my bunk bed day after day
and after reading through them for what had to be the hundredth time and I would
wonder to myself, how
could she not release me? How
could she read these letters about how people felt about me as a person, their
view on the mistakes I made, but their faith in my ability to overcome them…and
not have mercy? And so with those thoughts bubbling back up to the
surface of my now less-anxious mind, I would be filled with a calmness and
assurance that everything was going to work out for the best. But this
never lasted. It would prove to be a vicious cycle that would repeat
over and over again – fill
up with hope and then be depleted into bleakness. I was obsessed with
grasping control of the situation, regardless of knowing deep down that I was never in
control in the first place.
They say that
the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and
expecting different
results. This could also be true for anxiety and worry and fear and so many
other emotions we desperately cling to. We replay events in our minds,
analyzing them to the point of utter madness. But to what end? And does it make a
difference?
The downside
to this as well is that control and anxiety are often a breeding ground for
negativity. My incessant thoughts of worry on an airplane will never
effect how fast the plane is going or how the engine is functioning. I
cannot adjust the amount of turbulence in the air or whether I will arrive on
time for my connecting flight. We become burdened and overwhelmed with a
myriad of situations in this life, and even so, we choose to burden
ourselves by worrying. Our mental state suffers and our viewpoint is
corrupted.
Matthew 6: 27
says, “Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?”
Our persistent
need to worry is a clear indication of our lack of trust in the One who IS and
always WILL be. Imagine if you promised your child that you would
always protect them, love them, and be there for them, yet they came to you day
after day asking for your constant reassurance. Wouldn’t your first
thought be, my
child, why don't you trust me?
Why spin the
wheels of our minds trying to take control of this life?
It is not ours to control.
It is not ours to control.
It’s His.
