What do my worries look like, sound like, feel like to you, God? You see everything. By the time I hesitantly lift a worry to you, you’ve already seen it, weighed it, shed some light on it. The muddled mass of troubles doesn’t faze you. Your hands remain outstretched to receive because you want me to have peace.
Today I begin a practice that will become as ordinary as getting out of bed and selecting the strongest brew setting on the coffeemaker: I’ll give you this day’s worries. I’ll entrust to you these humble pieces of me you’ve seen coming and that you’re already tending to in your mercy.