I have been called in the past a chronic worrier. I cared about what I cared about and no one would tell me differently. I cared about those dear to me and I couldn’t rest until they were taken care of. I was impulsive and unrestrained.
I realized some years ago that if I had continued that, I would be swallowed in a self-destructive web of anxiety for those for whom I felt responsible. As I prepare to become a husband and, eventually, a father, I realize that there are weights that I cannot lift, no matter how noble my desires to save the world or at least one person in it.
While in Mongolia, I was once asked if I was worried about two of my friends. To this day, I have no idea how Byambasuren knew. She knew that I had been worried about my good friends because they were so concerned about three of their deaf students that they had lost sleep and weight. She simply said, “You’ll know what to tell them.” I just sat in silence. I didn’t have an answer.
Later that night, I had one revolutionary question: What is the difference between worry and concern? And does it matter in our spiritual lives?
There are many people for whom we are responsible. Sometimes it can be overwhelming. But we are assured that everything will be all right, and those whom God has committed to our care, whether it be friends, students, or even our own children, will be watched over by the Lord in his wisdom.
I know of a mother of ten, most of which are grown now, who had great anxiety for her children. Her husband had a myriad of jobs from bass guitar player in a rock and roll show band that played in casinos and clubs, social work, and finally earning a Ph D. For many years, they struggled with money and feelings of anxiety as they were constantly on the road for all of 10+ years. With such a large family, over the years the woman learned the power of prayer and diligently teaching her children the principles of happiness. Though she always tried with all her might, at times feelings of inadequacy and frustration over her own limitations were sure to creep in. At, times, after an argument with her teenage son who had said unkind things, she would go to her room, lock the door, and shed tears over her feelings of having not taught her son well, or that in some way, she was losing him. When she came out of her room, she would wipe off the tears and come out with renewed determination to make her home a place where the Spirit of God could dwell and where her children could be brought up in light and truth. The anxiety did not overwhelm her, and darkness never conquered her. To this day, she remains with a bit of that anxiety, but conquers it through sincerity, prayer, and knowledge of the God’s promises.
I know this woman very well. I’ve known her my entire life because she is my mother. How I admire her courage. The memories of what she taught will always remain with me.
Perhaps no one knows better than our Heavenly Father the anxiety of a parent. In one of the most tender moments recorded in scripture, God weeps, and in answer to Enoch’s question of how a perfect being like God could weep, answers in essence My children won’t listen, they won’t choose me, and they hate their own family (Moses 7:33).
He knows what it is like to have a son rebel, and I’m sure he wept bitterly that day when he was forced to send Lucifer away with a third of his children (D&C 76:26).
But God, in his infinite wisdom, as he told Enoch, looked and saw his work and glory and all those who would come home through the Atonement of his son. He did not allow others’ choices to affect, for too long at least, his perfect happiness. He felt the pain deeply, but he knows that one day his children will come back. To all you parents, follow the example of a Heavenly parent who sees his children fail 7 billion times a day—but who knows beauty of the end result. Pray and don’t worry.
When I was younger, I had an especially hard time dealing with depression and anxiety; sleepless nights and restless hours were my companions often. In a conversation I had with a counselor while in Mongolia, I learned an important lesson:
Concern is when we show care for others and do all we can for them within the bounds of things we can actually control. We do everything in our power to help those around us, especially those we love, and for whom we are responsible. Worry is dwelling on the dreaded what if’s of life when we have no control over what the outcome is.
Concern is from God. Worry is from Satan and is a condition of mortality.
God doesn’t worry, but rather he shows concern. This is why he gives us commandments—instructions, scriptures, living prophets, and especially the Holy Spirit. He has also given us agency for us to choose the path upon which we will travel. The consequences are ours to see. It is because he cares for us that he allows us to choose ill, or allow the result of terrible choices to affect and sometimes hurt his other children. In the end, all losses are made up and repaid ten-fold.
The prophet Jacob understood that worry for those for whom we are responsible is counter-productive in the work of the Lord and in life. Because of his calling and because of his anxiety, he moved to action: “And ye yourselves know that I have hitherto been diligent in the office of my calling; but I this day am weighed down with much more desire and anxiety for the welfare of your souls than I have hitherto been,” (Jacob 2:3).
If you are worried, move to action. Do all you can—all the Lord allows you to do in your sphere of influence, and leave the rest to the care of the Lord. Realize, as Jacob did, that over-anxiety over things you cannot control disrupts the Spirit. He said he would teach the people, “…if I do not, by any means, get shaken from my firmness in the Spirit, and stumble because of my over anxiety for you,” (Jacob 4:18).
As always, the Savior is our perfect example:
Before his final hours, the Savior met with and taught his disciples and best friends essential principles and ordinances that would be of effect for them later. Though he must have been weighed down with grief for himself and for the pain he was about to endure as he performed the Atonement, he turned toward his disciples, teaching and serving them.
Probably lurking in the back of his mind were things that he knew would make him want to worry. He knew and had prophesied that one of his closest associate would betray him, and for a measly 30 pieces of silver—knowing full well “it had been good for that man if he had not been born” (Matt 26:24), having an idea of the punishment that awaits him in eternity.
Christ knew that the disciples would leave him and all would be offended (Matt 26:31) and that even the impulsive and strong willed Peter would deny him three times (Matt 26:33-35). He knew the scripture of Isaiah when he spoke of the Messiah, “I have trodden the wine press alone, and of the people, there was none with me… and I looked, and there was none to help; and I wondered that there was none to uphold [me],” (Isaiah 63:3, 5). He knew he would do it all alone. Yet he was not afraid, nor did he fall to the anxiety of the overwhelmingness of the task of saving us and drinking the bitter cup—alone.
Beyond that in time, he knew of the persecution that awaited his chosen few. He had told them plainly, “Then shall they deliver you up to be afflicted and shall kill you; and ye shall be hated of all nations for my name’s sake. And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another. And many false prophets shall rise and deceive many,” (Matt 24:9-11).
Perhaps as he said so, he looked into the eyes of James, his close friend, knowing that, in time, he would be beheaded by Herod Agrippa, or knowing of Peter’s eventual fate of crucifixion, addressed it to him in a direct stare. Furthermore, he knew that, at one point, his church would entirely fail because of the hatred of the people of the world, because of their agency. They murdered his friends, yet he paid the price for that crime too. His heart must have ached, knowing what they would have to endure. He even told Peter, “But I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not,” (Luke 22:32).
With this knowledge, though Christ had ample opportunity and probably a right to be anxious and worried on their behalf, and though he could have asked God for anything and it would have been given to him, though he could have asked that his friends be spared the pain, the suffering, and the loneliness, he simply said, in acceptance of the Father’s will, “I pray for them,” (John 17:9).
Christ had no fear, no anxiety, nor did he worry, but, in concern for them, doing what was within his power and the will of God to do, he prayed to the Father earnestly and sincerely for them and left the rest to the care and tenderness of the Father—our Father.
In this time of uncertainty and anxious hearts, when our tendency to worry of the position and situation of those we love is overpowering, when we know they will be in danger, when we know they are falling and wounded, I hope that we will keep in mind whose plan this is, and who turns the world in its course.
As long as we are doing all we can, we have a right to the peace that comes from knowing we have done our best for us and others to receive God’s help. The Lord will never ask you to do something you cannot handle with his assistance. This is true of your loved ones.
There is a balance we try to find in life: “It is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength. And again it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize,” (Mosiah 4:27). The balance is in not making excuses but not pushing ourselves past what we can do in our sphere of influence or what the Lord even wants us to do.
As we keep ourselves in tune with the Spirit, we will know what is expedient for us in finding that balance, so that we can be assured that we and those we love will be saved by the grace of God “after all we can do,” (2 Nephi 25:23). Doing all we can ensures us peace in that grace.
When I was in high school, there was a family in our church congregation whose son was a young and talented horseman. He fell ill and passed away quickly despite constant fasting and prayers. Shortly after, I remember a poem the father wrote, the first line of which will always stay with me: “We always say, ‘Thy will be done,’ but it’s so hard when it’s your son.”
Though he and his family had done all they could for their son, the Lord still called him home. Despite our best efforts, sometimes we must still accept the will of the Lord in his larger plans and the conditions of mortality that do not conform to our will. This is when faith becomes our greatest asset and trust in Heavenly Father becomes our support. How wonderful it was for that family to know that God had prepared a way for their family to be together again never to be separated. I’m sure their son is waiting patiently for them.
As we strive to fulfill the large responsibilities God has given us, remember these principles. You will receive inspiration for your children if you seek it. You will receive direction for those you are asked to care for if you balance it.
No matter what the situation, do all you can, and leave the rest to God. Be optimistic and assured of his love and that he knows best. This leads to the optimism that allows us to say, “Things will work out. Stay positive, keep trying; don’t get discouraged. Things will work out.” Who knows, we may end up being the ones who give this advice to another worried child of God.
As we trust in God to take care of the things that we cannot, we will have the peace of knowing he is there. The answer may come with the simple and sweet assurance, “Pray. He is there. Speak. He is listening.”
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