AP

Anxiety and God

Whenever anxiety rolls in like a black cloud, I try to remember the memorable way God taught me that He really means what He said: Do not be anxious (Matthew 6:25). 

It bugged me that my husband, Ian, didn’t stress like I did. In the morning, he went off to work, happy to treat patients while I tackled the housework and kids, and stewed over difficulties. We had moved 15 times since marriage three and a half years before. I’d given birth to two children, and now expected another. Where would this baby be born? The kids cried so much. I felt nauseous. Oh, to stop the world and get off, but Ian and the boys depended on me. How did we get here?

We had recently returned to Australia after 15 months in England, where Ian did postgraduate paediatric training. We had used up our savings, needed to find a job and home, and badly needed rest: Ian had worked in five different NHS hospitals doing 60-80 hour weeks, on call one in two nights and weekends, with six house moves. Now in Sydney with Ian’s parents, we investigated long-term employment and made ends meet with his General Practice locums. My stress accrued with his long hours away, morning sickness, and our unsettled, energetic boys. Our morale sunk lower with each long-term job prospect that turned out negative. We had insufficient funds to buy into any practice, without incurring a huge loan—a burden we didn’t want to bear. As parents would understand, we longed to exit this instability, sleep in our own beds, and get a steady income. 

Weeks turned to months. Each day, we prayed and seriously sought God in the Bible. Ian felt confident that God was leading us along the best pathway for our lives (Psalms 32:8). Making God’s principles our priorities, we trusted Jesus’ words: Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be provided to you (Matthew 6:33).

After a series of jobs, Ian netted a six-week locum in a distant suburb. He phoned around and, against all odds, found a furnished rental home for that time. Delighted to be a nuclear unit again, we packed our bags and rocked up to our new home. I stifled a groan as I looked at the ramshackle building and overgrown garden. Pulling my coat tighter around me, we stepped into the dimly-lit rooms to see some chairs, a table, bed, and basic kitchen equipment. I tried to be thankful at the prospect of glorified camping. Yes, I could endure six weeks here, but how many more jobs and moves could we handle? I poured out my complaints to God but hardly expected a response.

Having had breakfast, with nothing in the house to keep us entertained or warm, I bundled the boys into the pram, hoping for relief with fresh air and exercise. As we walked past houses, I recalled my thoughts as a bride marrying a doctor with a good income and planned my dream house and garden. But as we sought God, the power of pursuing money and status bowed to a much bigger goal: serving—to spread God’s good Kingdom on earth. Were we too idealistic? Why wasn’t God helping? I kicked a stone off the footpath, upsetting a little brown and grey sparrow. As she fluttered into the tree, these words flew into my mind: Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young (Psalm 84:3). I had read this in the Bible many times.

Up in the branches, the sparrow joined other birds in chorus, reminding me of another verse I’d memorized: Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So, don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows (Matthew 10:29-31).

God’s Spirit added one last sentence — the words Jesus spoke to His disciples, who so capably succumbed to anxiety and fear: Oh, you of little faith (Matthew 6:30).

I looked up at the bright sky, amazed at how God had spoken. I perceived God’s care, calling me to keep trusting. Would I rise above my feelings and stop listening to my anxious thoughts and speak words of faith to my troubled soul? I decided to try.

Some weeks later, my sister phoned to tell us about a job possibility in a town near her farm in north-eastern Victoria. We followed it up and later found ourselves sitting in front of the hospital board in Chiltern. 

Welcoming us warmly, they started the interview. “We have a 13-bed hospital fully equipped, primarily serving elderly patients. A doctor from another town drops in as a favour while the nurses keep things running. Otherwise, patients must travel half an hour on the highway to larger centres for medical help.”

Ian asked, “Where would the clinic go?”

Taking us to the annex, the chairperson said, “Here’s the consulting room, completely outfitted for a GP. Come across the hallway and see the Outpatients’ Department and X-ray facilities.”

“It sounds like a 24/7 job, 52 weeks a year.”

“True, but patient numbers aren’t high and nurses vet calls.”

“What would be the overheads?”

He quoted a token fee for all the equipment, facilities, utilities, and staff assistance. “We’re desperate for a doctor. And you might wonder about accommodation? A local farmer recently retired to the city, leaving his house vacant. His son lives next door and would like you to consider renting it. Would you like to see it now?”

Ian and I drove five kilometres through town, then past some farms and the national park. It seemed like a dream: no money to buy the practice, a fully equipped clinic, virtually no rent, trained nurses on call, a community that needed and wanted us, and my dear sister with her family just 20 minutes-drive away! I shivered more from excitement than the cold, not realizing bigger goosebumps would follow. 

Turning onto the gravel driveway, we drove past the small orchard, arriving at the back gate of the weatherboard house. We parked near a sprawling peppercorn tree, scattering chickens and sending sparrows up into the branches. The farmer showed us around, leading us through a fenced yard with its established lawn, flower beds and vegie patch. Inside, the kitchen, four bedrooms and cosy lounge room looked perfect – not elaborate, but clean and comfortable. Completing the tour, I opened the front door, which set a bird to flight. I stepped over a small pile of bird poo and looked up. A mud nest perched on the light over the door. 

The landlord apologized. “Sorry. I didn’t know the swallows had nested here.” 

Swallows! Goosebumps ran down my spine. Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young. I peered into the nest and saw three beautiful eggs. How could I miss it—sparrows out back and swallows out front?

The farmer quoted a ridiculously low rent. I said, “That’s much cheaper than the going rate.”

He said, “We’d love to have a doctor here, and my wife and I want to do this.”

Awestruck at how things dovetailed together, Ian and I walked hand-in-hand to the car. We turned back to look at the cream-coloured house. Sparrows serenaded us from the peppercorn tree and swallows darted around for insects. In the grey drizzle, my heart burst into praise with a song that stirred me as a child, “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me” (Martin/Gabriel).

We nested there five years, before moving on to Pakistan for more adventures with the God who cares for the sparrow and swallow. And, in every place we lived, sparrows fluttered around, constantly reminding us that no matter what the shifting sands of time may bring, or how tough the challenges may be, God is utterly trustworthy. 

His Eye Is on the Sparrow // Her Heart Sings – YouTube https://youtu.be/MPI7WbPyoM8?si=aNjrmHYwgnCKz5JM

– Dorcas Denness