As anyone who lives with clinical anxiety knows, anxiety doesn’t make sense. You can be going along just fine, and then suddenly something lodges itself in your brain. Before you know it, you’re an anxious mess. Sadly, that’s where this winter has found me—another anxiety relapse.
As a therapist, I know all the coping skills: mindfulness, relaxation techniques, and yes, I’m a strong proponent of psychotropic medication when it’s needed. But my first and most natural reflex has always been my faith. I really try to live what I write, working at surrendering my anxiety and keeping my perspective grounded in truth.
Rebecca Barlow Jordan once said, “Believing God is trustworthy is believing God will never act any other way than what will ultimately bring good.” I believe that—about 99.9999% of the time. And I trust God to help my unbelief with the rest.
But when my anxiety is triggered, I notice something uncomfortable about myself. My mind starts demanding a safety guarantee from God. I want assurance that nothing bad will happen—zero pain, zero loss, zero fear. And yet, I know better. There is no such guarantee in this world.
What this relapse has revealed to me is that I sometimes treat trust like currency, as if I can hand it to God in exchange for protection. As though my faith is a bargaining chip: If I trust You enough, You’ll keep me safe. Even as I write that, I cringe. It feels less like a relationship with a loving Father and more like a deal you’d strike with a mob boss—I’ll give you what I have if you promise not to hurt me.
That’s not trust. And it’s not who God is.
I don’t want my faith to be a rabbit’s foot I rub when I’m anxious or currency I try to trade for safety. I want it to be alive and breathing—a real testimony of an ongoing adventure with a God who has won my heart through His faithfulness.
David prayed, “Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10). This season has helped me understand that prayer more deeply. It feels like God has gently flushed something unclean out of my heart—something subtle but deeply rooted—and I know the only way to be free of it is with Him.
So why share something this cringe-worthy? Because I know I’m not alone. And if we want healthier minds and deeper faith, we have to get honest about what’s really going on inside us.
Once I recognized this pattern in myself, I started asking my clients about their own relationship with trust—whether they ever use it as currency, reassurance, or even a spiritual rabbit’s foot. Almost all of them said yes. But that’s not the kind of faith I see modeled in Scripture.
If you’re anything like me, you want something deeper. Grittier. Less polished. You want the off-road adventure of a real God—one who holds you when you hurt, who doesn’t promise pain-free living, but who is faithful in the pain. A God who helps us renounce rabbit’s feet and mob-boss bargains, and teaches us what real trust actually looks like.
A Prayer
God, help me trust You without trying to trade my faith for safety. When my anxiety looks for guarantees, remind me that You are still good and still with me. Create in me a clean heart, and teach me how to rest in You—even when things feel uncertain. Amen.
No responses yet