Hello, Anxiety...

There are some people I simply don't want to say hello to.

You know the ones. You spot them in the grocery store, quickly look away, and turn down another aisle hoping they didn't see you. You just don't have the energy for the same tired conversation or the familiar complaints all over again.

My Southern upbringing usually gets the best of me, though. My kids hate taking me to the store because they know I'll stop, talk, and often end up praying with someone in the aisle. And while I genuinely love those unexpected God moments, I've realized I've also entertained other visitors—to my own detriment.

It doesn't matter if I'm in the shower, getting dressed, or drifting off to sleep. Anxiety has a way of barging in.

Completely uninvited, she slips into my thoughts. Instead of turning the other way, I lock eyes with her. I nod along to the same tired conversations and worn-out complaints she brought the last time she visited.

She's sneaky.

She often arrives disguised as something responsible—a reminder to pay a bill, move the laundry to the dryer, or answer an email. But it's a bait and switch. She turns reminders into emergencies. She makes simple things feel overwhelming. She takes uncertainty and twists it into catastrophe. She convinces us that difficult seasons will last forever.

Do you know her?

I certainly do.

I don't like her, but I've entertained her more times than I'd like to admit.

She's the kind of guest who does all the talking. Give her a little room, and she'll gladly take your time, your peace, and eventually your strength. The longer she stays, the more exhausted you become. So exhausted, in fact, that showing her the door feels harder than simply letting her stay a little longer.

So she stays.

She talks through the night while we quietly listen, occasionally asking her to stop but never really demanding her to leave.

Eventually she begins showing up whenever she wants, as if she's an old friend.

Why?

Because we've treated her like one.

We desperately want her gone, but we keep giving her a seat at the table. Instead of confronting her, we agree with her. Instead of taking our fears to God, we invite anxiety into the most sacred places of our hearts. Instead of calling a friend to speak life, we let anxiety speak into the dark of the night.

So how do we evict such an unwelcome guest?

Psalm 19:14 gives us a beautiful roadmap:

"Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer."

Notice the connection between our words and our meditation.

We may not control every anxious thought that knocks on the door, but we do have a choice about which thoughts we allow to stay.

We can speak back to what is speaking to us. Meditation is not just a frame of mind, it’s learning to frame our minds.

When anxiety whispers that hope is gone, we can answer with the faithfulness of God. What He's done before, He can do again. When anxiety predicts disaster, we can proclaim God's promises.

The moment we stop agreeing with anxiety, its voice begins to lose authority. The moment we claim her as our own, “my anxiety,” is the moment she cuddles up to stay.

Stop welcoming unwelcome guests and start inviting voices of victory into your life.

Stop meditating on despair and start a new story- one where God gets the glory.

Meditation simply means what we repeatedly allow our minds to dwell on. Scripture calls us to be intentional with our thoughts—not passive. To guard our hearts because everything we do flows from what is nurtured there.

What if, instead of replaying the worst-case scenario, we began rehearsing God's faithfulness?

What if we remembered every prayer He has answered instead of every fear we can imagine?

Jesus Himself asked, "Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?" (Matthew 6:27)

Worry has never added anything to our lives.

But it has stolen plenty.

Let's stop meditating on what we've lost and start remembering the One who found us.

Our Rock and our Redeemer is able to reclaim everything anxiety tried to steal.

What feels dark can become light.

What seems wasted can be redeemed.

What feels lost can be found.

Isaiah 35:4–7 reminds us:

"Say to those who have an anxious heart,

'Be strong; fear not!

Behold, your God...

He will come and save you.'

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened...

waters shall break forth in the wilderness,

and streams in the desert..."

That's who our God is.

He brings streams into deserts.

He brings hope into fear.

He brings life where anxiety promised only despair.

So if you happen to see anxiety, tell her I don't miss her.

Tell her I've heard her stories before, and I'm no longer interested in her far-fetched predictions or her empty conspiracies.

Then tell her all that God has done.

Keep talking about His goodness until her voice grows quiet.

And above all, don't let her settle in your heart.

Guard it with all diligence, because from it flows the wellspring of life.