‚ÄúTherefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” – Matthew 6:34

Today, all is well. No surgeries, no infections, no big doctor’s appointments. Today we just get to live like “normal” people with requests for Kermit the Frog, high-fives, repeated questions of “Mommy, whatcha doing?”, asking for fruit chews, or us telling the kids “Stop picking your nose…take your fingers out of your mouth.” But tomorrow is coming.

I struggle with tomorrow. Tomorrow likely means unhappy stuff like surgery, fevers, long recovery times, pain, discomfort, frustration, etc. In the special needs world, over time experience begins to form expectations of what will be, and as a result tomorrow can be a fearful thing. I begin to think “Tomorrow means breakthrough seizures. Tomorrow means trips to the ER. Tomorrow means waiting anxiously for the doctor to come in and say ‘Done! Everything went fine.'” For me, in my doubt and fear, tomorrow means facing the uncertainty of the things I think I’m fairly certain will happen.

Matthew 6:34 has been a goto verse for me for many years as I’ve struggled with doubt, fear and anxiety. It’s one of those verses that I wish I could just read once and say “Whew! Everything’s going to be okay.” and go on with my life. But it’s not that easy. Many times I’ve taken this verse to the Lord in prayer with the same words of the father of the boy with the unclean spirit in Mark 9:24, “I believe; help my unbelief!” I know it’s true. I know in my heart God is good and faithful and in control, I just have a really hard time getting my body to understand that.

Is my faith weak? You betcha! But am I faith-less? No. Faith in these kinds of promises will never be perfect this side of heaven because, though I’m redeemed, I’m still in this earthly frame, with earthly eyes, heart, mind and body, all still fallen, still weak, still convinced more by what I see and touch than by what I do not. But faith is a fight. Faith is the constant spiritual battle to subdue the body, mind and emotions with the things God has granted the heart to believe. Faith wields God’s Word against the flesh, telling my mouth to stop biting my nails, my stomach to stop churning, my heart to stop pounding, my feet to stop pacing. Faith erases the doom, gloom and terror that I have fearfully penciled in on my future calendar of doubt.

Today, right now, all is well. I don’t know about tomorrow, but I know I’m not supposed to be anxious about it. Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!