By the time the New Year was rung in, I was wrung out with anxiety and draped in despair. It was neither a propitious ending to one year nor a beginning of the next. It was probably a good thing that New Year’s Day fell on a Sunday; I needed a spiritual boost. During the service, our pastor encouraged us to join him and desirous others in a fast for the first seven days of the New Year. Now, I am in the category of those who eat to live rather than live to eat, so I often end up unintentionally “fasting” when I get easily distracted with other activities and don’t remember to eat. Before any of my readers who struggle with weight issues begin to stone me, let me assure you that there is a down side to this dietary lapse. However, that is a rabbit trail for another day. Of course, as soon as not eating registers in me as intentional fasting, the option of eating immediately looks amazingly attractive, and I am convinced that I will not be able to contain my hunger or deal with the perceived misery.
Laugh as you will, that is exactly what happens in my thought process. Once I decide I want to be open to the idea of fasting, the “do fast” or “don’t fast” tug of war becomes less of a pull. The next hurdle in front of me is the decision as to what kind of fast to follow. This produces additional anxiety. It is important to me to fast for the right reason and in the right spirit; I am not off to a good start on either count. At this point, I am so befuddled by the carnal aspect of the battle, that I have my doubts as to whether I will be able to connect with the God’s-eye view of fasting as a spiritual discipline that He blesses—very much a heart-driven act of obedience and faith—that can open the door to a very powerful and intimate time with Him.
As I paused in the middle of my internal grapplings, a strange, rather unconventional fasting idea flitted through my mind and I couldn’t help but chuckle. I startled myself when I pronounced out loud, “I’m going to fast anxiety.” At first I was not sure whether or not to take my declaration seriously. I usually related a fast with following special diet restrictions or foregoing an activity, redirecting one's focus to spending time with God and listening for what He is speaking into one's heart.
As I continued to process my thoughts, the idea of fasting anxiety became less and less peculiar. If there was ever a time to fast anxiety, it was now, in the midst of the current windfall of hardships. How much of my days and energy were eaten up by worrying, despite having ample scriptural knowledge relating to the evils and futility of worry, and the assurance of God’s daily grace and provision. I challenged myself—yes, a rare case of my accepting a challenge without reluctance: Could I go a whole week without dwelling on my circumstances, without fretting while entrusting the situation and the outcome to God? Could I explore options or solutions without jumping at them from a knee jerk reaction, believing that I HAD to do something and do it quickly? Could I wait on God in worshipful resignation—at peace with whatever He chose to do or not to do; His will be done—His way, in His time?
I am five days into my no-anxiety fast. What has happened? Ten dominoes are still down, but one has been put back in place. What have I learned? God doesn’t need my anxiety in order to move and work on my behalf. Where am I now? Right where He wants me and where my heart longs to be—resting in His hands, confident that His promises are true; resting in the surety of His love, despite the messes I make or find myself in, never withdrawing His loving kindness and care. What will happen in the coming days? I don’t know, but I hope I will choose to continue my anti-anxiety fast and to grow in the knowledge of God and my identity as one of His chosen—beloved, and in Christ, one with whom He is well pleased.
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