Worrying Doesn’t Make Life Last Longer And Gets You Nowhere

Worrying is like a rocking chair—it gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.

“Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?” Matthew 6:27

Growing up I had a speech impediment. I couldn’t say words with “r’s.” Pretty tough. Do you know how many r’s there are in this world! Even my name “Troy” has an “r” in it. So I couldn’t even pronounce my name correctly. So instead of “Troy” I called myself “Tio.” Then when I started school I noticed something. Kids can be really mean. So I decided that no one would make fun of the way I talked anymore. I started to go to speech at school twice a day. I practiced rhymes about some guy singing in the rain in Spain and some girl selling clams on the beach. After a year or two I pretty much had it whipped. But I still cannot roll my “r’s.” No matter how much you practice that’s just a skill you inherit.

I tell you all this because the most dreadful thing that could ever happen to me would be to stand up in public and talk. The little boy who was made fun of because he couldn’t say his “r’s.” I can tell you story after story on how I would adamantly refuse to get up and talk in front of people.

Well, that is before God called me to the ministry.

I pretty much have the “r” problem under control now. But every once in a while I get stuck on a word and can’t seem to get past it. Especially if it’s one we don’t normally say in everyday conversations.

Not too long ago I was leading the congregation in reciting one of the Apostle’s Creeds. We were switching from the Traditional to the Nicene to the Korean Creeds and enjoying the different versions. So I stood at the podium in front of a bunch of people and asked them to follow along in the hymnals. I would read a short passage and then they would read a passage. It was all going swimmingly until I got to the word “Apostolic.”

That is pronounced a po (as in poor) sto (as in stole) lic (as in lick). But for some reason my brain could not process that information to my mouth. I started and stopped and stuttered and finally growled and said in an exasperated voice, “OK, someone help me out!”

When I was a little boy I would worry about how I pronounced words. Now that I’m a big kid I know that every once in a while there’s going to be a word like apostolic that will get stuck in my vocal chords. As a kid I would have run off, embarrassed because I couldn’t talk. As a big kid, I’ve learned to just ask for help.

As a kid I would have probably cried and gotten mad at myself for not being able to say the word. As a big kid I’ve learned to make a joke out of it and move on.

You see, God knows the words we’re trying to say. The Holy Spirit on the day of Pentecost let everyone understand all languages. Greek could understand Hebrew who could understand Aramaic who could understand Latin. There’s no need to worry about things that really aren’t all that important on our God scale. God knows what you’re trying to say.

Let us pray.

Holy God, you have revealed yourself to us in a trinity of ways: as our powerful Creator, our dying Savior, and our comforting Spirit. But we also know you as a loving parent; a risen Lord; and a dynamic breath of fresh air. We’re never really sure of how you are able to be all these things to us, but you are. And we praise you. You are an awesome God, limited only by our ability to understand. Inhabit our lives this morning, and teach us the grace of placing our limitations within the wonder of your unlimited hands. In Christ’s name we pray. Amen.