I think I worry too much.

Have you ever looked at some quality you see in yourself and worried about what it says about you?

I know I have.

See, there’s this part of me that yearns for things. Things I don’t necessarily need. Things that are expensive and useless. Things that use up money I could probably find better uses for. Things like a pair of pink Converse shoes I ran across in Academy Sports last night and prepared foods from fancy grocery stores simply because I don’t want to cook. Sometimes, I see that selfish desire in myself and wonder, in the words of the Isaiah, “Why do you spend money on what is not food, and your wages on what does not satisfy?”

I worry about the part of me that sometimes feels lonely. The part that doesn’t want to come home and cook a meal for one. The part that wants to cry a little when I leave the bustle and noise of my parents’ house to come to mine, where there’s only me and my dog—who happens to make a lot of noise, but it isn’t quite the same as the jabbering of my almost 10-month old nephew. I recognize that I’m not alone—I have great, dear, close friends—but I long for a family of my own. I was listening to a Katie Herzig song the other day and heard the lyric “I want to belong to you.” While I’m not sure it’s the best way to describe a marriage relationship, I did think those words got to the heart of the feeling of being wholly loved by someone. And I understood what she was saying, maybe on a deeper level than I can even communicate. I worry about this because I don’t want to spend my life focused on something I may or may not get, and in the end, miss out on the joys of life.

I sometimes worry about the part of me that wants everyone to like me. Because fact is, not everyone likes everybody else. But there’s this part of me that wants to be liked. To be a favorite. For the mention of my name to bring smiles to peoples’ faces. I worry about that because I know well the trouble this desire can lead to, especially if it’s fueled by low self-esteem. And I don’t want to be a “Yes Man” or people pleaser who morphs herself into whatever she thinks will most please the person she wants to like her. I mean, once when I first moved to Nashville, I started growing out my hair because some guy I was interested in told me he thought I should grow it all out to one length. Mind you, my hair looks better with layers. Mind you, the guy didn’t even like me that much. Mind you, in hindsight, that guy gets on my ever-living last nerve. But in the end, his rejection still hurt.

I worry about the part of me that gets jealous. And the part of me that worries over stuff I have no control over. I worry that my sarcasm is sometimes an example of refusing to let God have control over what I say. I worry that by writing this, I’m being too honest and too much and some of you will stop reading or think I’m depressed and in need of medical intervention. 🙂

I’m not, though. I’m fine. And I will be fine. I know that the God who created me holds me in the palms of His hands. And in the words of one of my favorite singer/songwriters, Joshua Radin, I know that “everything will be alright.”