“Finally, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.” Philippians 4:8
Two years of my life were stolen by fear. I was nineteen when the anxiety began, anxiety about death, about loss, about illness. Anxiety every time my heart skipped a beat, my breath was drawn out of sync, my fingers trembled or a funny shadow tricked my eye. Once the student always front and center, I now sat beside the door in case the panic began to incapacitate me. I always had an exit strategy. Some days I stayed in bed, afraid of standing up. By night or day I welcomed sleep, the one pitiful escape. Every waking second for those two years—and I write this without the slightest exaggeration— I was a prisoner to the grip of constant and unrelenting fear. Every thought was mangled in it, every happiness tinged by it.
The panic washed over me so suddenly and with such force for the first time, one spring night, that I felt pinned in its undertow, certain I would drown by it. I wondered if I could be dying. My systolic pressure at the doctor’s office the next morning was a full 175 points which, for nineteen years old, was alarming enough to plunge me into further panic. On and on the anxiety came that day, and the next, until in despair, over many months, I was sure I would never recover. I thought I was smart, and yet I couldn’t outwit this. And I prayed and prayed to a God I couldn’t find. I was desperate for help.
Jesus showed up in the form of a Lutheran minister, Pastor Buono, who I didn’t even know personally, but through one of his parishioners. He was willing to counsel me for no fee, a helpful thing in college. And so I went every week to see him, questioning his credibility because, quite simply, I thought his religion and his Jesus were foolish. And yet he welcomed me freely, and I knew he genuinely cared. There was a determination in him to see me well. And he taught me, slowly over time, the healing power of words. Of taking thoughts captive.
My assignment, one among many, was to write down my fear-based thoughts. Then, I was to come up with an alternative for each one.
“I’m out of control here” became “I’m safe in this place.”
“I’m sick” became “I am well.”
“I will always be anxious” became “This too shall pass.”
And it did pass, over a lot of time and through many setbacks, with enormous perseverance.
Pastor Buono knew I wasn’t too receptive to his Christianity then, but he assigned for me to read the Bible anyway, and gave me a particular verse that I kept near to my heart. The anxiety antidote:
“Finally, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things.” Philippians 4:8
In the daily practice of these and other affirming words, I found the Comforter. And though I did not accept Jesus then, I was closely held in the arms of his Spirit. I experienced Spirit in very strange and palpable ways. These faith-filled words began to “take,” literally forging new neural pathways in my crippled head, until my thoughts shifted. Lifted. Words were my only medicine, and they (by the grace of God which I could not see then) cured me.
I haven’t had anxiety problems in nearly ten years. It’s completely gone, this thing I believed once would forever shackle me. And from this experience, I’ve learned that every second, we choose darkness, or Light. Fear, or faith.
May I embrace faith.
~written by Wendy Connelly
