When I recall my early teen years, I remember that I was often a brat. For example, one day my dad was pacing through the house with a frown on his face, stressed about something at work. In a most inconsiderate way I said, “Dad, you shouldn’t worry about stuff. The Bible says it’s a sin, so you’re committing sin every time you worry.”

I don’t remember his exact response, but at 14, I figured I knew more than he did and walked away thinking I’d delivered the wisdom of the ages. Since then, however, I’ve learned a great deal about worry. First, God doesn’t want us to do it (I had the right idea about that), but second, it can dominate a person anyway, day and night, for weeks at a time.

Recently I’ve worried about a couple of matters to the point of concocting fantasies of worst-case-scenarios. Then I’ve let those imaginary scenes torment me as if they were actually real, especially during the night.

While sharing this with daughter Linnea last week she said, “Mom, God doesn’t give grace to cover our tomorrows or our yesterdays, only our todays.” Of course I knew that, but I hadn’t heard it put quite that way. I’ve repeated that sentence to myself frequently since then, whenever my mind leans into future fantasies.

Then last night as I climbed into bed, I noticed the sub-zero frost outside the window just inches from my pillow. After unrelenting snow and wind for 5 days straight, frosty crystals had formed on the glass next to a ledge of snow, reminding me it was a frigid -16 degrees outside. But I didn’t worry about it. I knew I wouldn’t freeze to death in my sleep, even though the glass was thin, very breakable, and ice-cold to the touch.

How come?

Because my experience has been that windows keep out the weather. So when I slipped under my down blanket, I believed I’d be cozy throughout the night. There was no fantasy about my family finding me frozen to death with a layer of snow covering my stiff body. I had faith in my window.

So why is it so difficult to have faith in God? Since I’ve had plenty of experience with his sufficiency, why can’t I live in my todays without fabricating disasters for my tomorrows?

Son Nelson gave me another helpful quote, this one from Corrie ten Boom: “Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow. It empties today of its strength.” Through harsh worry-experience, I’ve learned the truth of that.

Our spiritual enemy, Satan, wants us to turn from trusting God to trusting our fears (and fearful fantasies). When I let myself get caught up worrying, I’ve pleased the devil and have (as C.S.Lewis says) “barricaded my mind against God.” That’s the last thing I want to do!

So tonight as I crawl under the covers, I’m going to let that ice-covered window serve as my reminder to trust in God, not in foolish fantasies.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid.” (John 14:27)