To: Worry.

9.21.11

Dear Worry,


     I'm writing you this letter because I have some things I need to tell you.  I chose a letter because most people, myself included, tend to be a little more harsh and a little less guarded when writing.  And we've had this talk before, and putting it down in black and white is more permanent than spoken words.


     But let's cut to the chase here.


     You've overstayed your welcome.


     I know I am partly to blame.  I've kicked you out before.  But somehow you always manage to wriggle your way back into my good graces.  I see you on the corner while I'm driving down the road.  Then we bump into each other at the supermarket.  The next day we're sitting next to each other in the waiting room.  And I run into you on my walks.  Which is probably the most annoying because my walks are good and you are not.  Before I know it, you're sitting in my living room with your feet propped up in your favorite chair and you've moved your things back into the cabinet above the sink.


     I've been trying to figure out why it's so hard to let you go.  My first thought is the simple fact that you are familiar.  A torn up, dirty, dingy old security blanket.  You've been with me for quite awhile now, so your nagging existence is woven into the daily routine.  It's always hard to get rid of something that is familiar.  But it's not always reason enough to keep it around.  Like those smelly old moccasins I used to have.  Another reason is that if I part ways with you, it means I can't feel like I'm in control, carefully planning and plotting to avoid impending disaster.  The problem is disaster still comes with you in my midst.  The only difference is I've been fretting away the time until the said disaster strikes.


     So even though you're worn in, and, in a twisted way, I feel safer with you around, you're getting old.  And I'm getting pretty sick of you hanging around.


     Remember that "Better" part of me I was talking about the other day?  The part that is good and right and true?  Well, I'm fairly certain that's the Holy Spirit.  And so you know, I'm going to be inviting Him over for dinner from now on.  He's much better company.  What that means is that your seat is now filled and if you come skulking back here, you're just going to have to sit on the floor.  Preferably in the corner.  The furthest corner.

Sincerely,

Me

p.s.  Please don't contact me with a response.  I'm quite busy practicing peace and trust, so I don't have the time or desire to hear what you have to say.