Finding Freedom From Worry

In a world that constantly tells us we need more—more possessions, more control, more security—there's a radical message that cuts through the noise: misplaced trust leads to worry. When we anchor our hearts to the wrong things, anxiety becomes our constant companion.

The Weight We Were Never Meant to Carry
Picture the Venn diagram of anxiety. On one side, there's the physical reality—the chemicals, the neurons firing, the bodily responses we can't always control. On the other, there's the spiritual dimension—the worry that consumes our thoughts about decisions, events, and uncertainties. These circles overlap, but they're not the same thing.

When Jesus tells his disciples in Luke 12 not to be anxious about life, food, or clothing, he's not dismissing legitimate physical struggles. He's addressing something deeper: the divided mind that tries to serve two masters, the heart that places its trust in temporary things rather than the eternal God.

The Greek word for "anxious" literally means "divided." It's the mental state of trying to focus on two things at once—worrying about tomorrow's meeting during tonight's family time, fretting about future needs while missing present blessings. It's the exhausting attempt to carry burdens we were never designed to bear.

The Tyranny of the Material
We live under what might be called "the tyranny of the material"—the belief that only physical realities matter. If we can touch it, see it, eat it, or wear it, then it's real and important. Everything else gets pushed aside.

This thinking creates a never-ending treadmill of desire. "If I only had a girlfriend... if I could get into my dream college... if I lived in that neighborhood... if I made just a little more money... then I'd be satisfied."

But that goalpost always moves. Next year, the salary number goes up. The vacation destination changes. The house needs to be bigger.

Consider the professional golfer who reached the pinnacle of his sport—number one in the world for 170 consecutive weeks. Yet he confessed that accomplishment, while fulfilling in one sense, left the deepest parts of his heart empty. "You get to number one in the world, and they're like, what's the point?" he said. "If I win, it's going to be awesome for two minutes. Then we're back here again."

Possessions and accomplishments were never meant to carry the weight of our identity. When we force them to fulfill our deepest longings, they snap under the burden, and worry floods in.

Consider the Ravens and the Lilies
Jesus points to creation as our teacher. Ravens don't sow or reap. They have no storehouses or barns. Yet God feeds them. Are we not of more value than birds?
Lilies don't toil or spin thread. They can't reposition themselves for better sunlight or decide to produce different flowers. Yet Solomon in all his glory wasn't dressed as beautifully as these simple flowers that bloom today and are gone tomorrow.

The point isn't that we should be idle. Birds aren't lazy—they simply aren't anxious. They don't worry that the worm supply might run out, but they also don't expect worms to crawl down their beaks. They fulfill their purpose without the burden of existential dread.
We were designed with a purpose: to know God, glorify Him, and enjoy Him forever. Everything we have should serve that purpose. God ordains both the ends and the means to reach them. We pray for good health and eat nutritious food. We pray for success and do the work. We trust God's provision and use our hands.

An airplane exists to transport people from point A to point B quickly. If you want comfort, legroom, and unlimited snacks, your living room couch is far superior. But that couch completely fails at getting you across the country. Each thing has its purpose. When we try to make material possessions fulfill spiritual longings, we're expecting a couch to fly.

The Illusion of Control
Perhaps the most challenging aspect of Jesus' teaching is this: "Which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?"

The answer is obvious—no one. Yet we live as if we can. We carry burdens we cannot bear and make choices we were never meant to make.

There's a direct correlation between the explosion of information and choices available to us and the anxiety epidemic we're experiencing. We weren't designed to carry the weight of knowing about every war, disaster, crime, and tragedy across the globe while simultaneously dealing with our own local problems.

The expansion of choices creates paralysis. Where previous generations had limited options for where to live, work, or study, we face nearly unlimited possibilities. And some have even been told they must choose fundamental realities that previous generations understood as givens—realities like gender and identity.

No wonder anxiety levels have skyrocketed. We're trying to be the masters of our fate and captains of our souls, carrying weights that would crush Atlas himself.

The good news? There are decisions we don't have to make. There are burdens we were never meant to carry. There are assumptions we can take for granted because a loving Father has already determined them.

Seek First the Kingdom
The diagnosis is simple: little faith. The solution is equally clear: faith-fueled seeking.
We're all seeking something. Either we seek the things of this world—which will fail us and lead to anxiety—or we seek the kingdom of God, which is what we were made to do.
To seek isn't passive or lukewarm. We don't stumble upon the kingdom accidentally. Seeking is purposeful, confident, radical expectation that we will find what we're looking for. Despite setbacks, pain, and a culture telling us it isn't worth it, we press forward, looking expectantly for God's kingdom to break through.

Why seek the kingdom? Because it is our Father's good pleasure to give it to us. Not grudgingly, not as a burden, but with delight. The same God who holds oceans in His hand, who numbers every grain of sand, who stretches out the heavens and never grows weary—this God is our Father who delights in providing for His children.

The result is a beautiful cycle: God gives us faith to seek. Our seeking is rewarded as He gives us the kingdom. Seeing the fruit of our seeking, our confidence grows. We seek more diligently. God gives more of the kingdom. Our faith increases.

As we navigate life's uncertainties, the question isn't whether we'll trust something—it's what we'll trust. Will we trust in possessions that rust and fade? In our own limited control? Or will we trust in the everlasting God who clothes the lilies and feeds the ravens?
Life is more than what we have. We are more than what we control. And our Father is far more faithful than we can imagine.

Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. May our hearts not be weighed down by the cares of this world, but satisfied by the treasure of heaven as we journey toward the promised land.