When You Are Worried About What Might Happen

ByTracey

Holding both fear and hope when the people you love come together

Scripture Focus

“And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Philippians 4:7

Daily Devotional

The wedding is getting closer, and I have noticed something about myself.

I am spending too much time worrying about what might happen and not enough time enjoying what is happening.

Everyone I love will soon be in the same place. That should fill me only with excitement, but if I am truthful, it also makes me anxious.

My husband will be there. My children will be there. They don’t always speak to one another or see eye to eye, and over the years I have often felt caught somewhere between the people I love most.

Sometimes it feels as though I am living two different lives. There is the life I share with my husband and the life I share with my children.

I love them all.

That has never been the question.

But when the people you love are divided, you feel the division too.

As Christopher and Sarah’s wedding gets closer, I can feel that familiar worry creeping in.

What if someone makes a comment?

What if something is misunderstood?

What if an old hurt comes to the surface?

What if someone feels uncomfortable?

And then comes the question underneath all the others:

What am I going to do if something happens?

That’s when I have to catch myself.

Nothing has happened.

The wedding hasn’t even arrived, yet in my mind I have already walked through conversations that may never take place. I have imagined what someone might say and how someone else might respond. I have wondered whether I should intervene, redirect a conversation, stay quiet, or simply walk away.

I have been trying to keep the peace before there is even a conflict.

And in doing that, I am allowing the possibility of conflict tomorrow to steal the peace God has given me today.

I Cannot Control This Day Into Being Peaceful

This is difficult for me because when I love someone, I want things to be okay for them.

When there is tension, my instinct is to fix it.

But there are things I simply cannot fix.

I cannot control what another adult says or how someone else responds. I cannot rewrite the history between people. I cannot force forgiveness. I cannot manufacture reconciliation.

And worrying about any of those things beforehand doesn’t give me control over them.

Paul’s words to the Philippians have taken on a different meaning for me as the wedding approaches.

God’s peace will guard our hearts and minds.

I need Him to guard both.

My heart hurts because these are people I love.

My mind tries to figure out how to make everything okay.

Somewhere between my hurting heart and my racing mind, I need to trust God with the people I cannot fix and the outcome I cannot control.

I Don’t Have to Choose a Side to Love People on Both Sides

This has been one of the hardest things for me to learn.

I love my husband.

I love my children.

One love does not cancel out the other.

I can understand someone’s hurt without making someone else my enemy. I can hope for reconciliation without trying to force it.

For a long time, I thought being a peacemaker meant somehow finding a way to make everyone else peaceful.

It doesn’t.

I can watch my own words. I can refuse to carry negative comments from one person to another. I can refuse to add fuel to anger. I can pray. I can forgive. I can speak honestly when something genuinely needs to be said.

But I also have to leave room for God to work in hearts that are not mine to control.

Being a peacemaker does not make me responsible for everyone else’s peace.

That sentence is one I need to remember.

A Wedding Does Not Erase What a Family Has Been Through

Part of my anxiety comes from wanting this day to go well.

This is my son’s wedding.

As his mother, I want it to be beautiful.

As the person officiating Christopher and Sarah’s marriage, I feel the importance of the day in another way too. I want to be completely present when they stand before me and make their promises to one another.

But a wedding doesn’t erase the things a family has been through.

Everyone doesn’t have to suddenly agree.

Every relationship doesn’t have to be repaired before the ceremony begins.

Nobody needs to pretend difficult things never happened.

Peace does not require everything to be perfect.

I have been measuring a peaceful wedding by whether everyone else gets along.

But peace can be much simpler.

We can remember why we are there.

Christopher and Sarah are getting married.

We are gathering because we love them.

Whatever differences exist among the rest of us do not have to become the centre of their day.

Underneath the Fear, There Is Hope

There is another part of this that I haven’t wanted to say out loud.

I am hoping.

For all the worrying I have done about everyone being together, there is also a part of me that wonders whether this wedding could open a door that has been closed for a long time.

I don’t expect one day to erase everything that has happened.

But I hope someone might say hello.

I hope there might be a conversation that hasn’t happened in a long time.

I hope there might be laughter where there has been silence.

I hope seeing one another again might soften something.

Mostly, I hope my family might find its way back toward one another.

Not necessarily back to exactly what we once were. Too much life has happened for that. We have all changed.

But I hope we could become something whole again.

Even writing that makes me feel vulnerable.

Because hope carries the possibility of disappointment.

If I expect nothing, I cannot be disappointed when nothing changes.

But I don’t want fear of disappointment to make me afraid to hope.

So I am allowing myself to hope.

I am just learning not to turn that hope into an expectation everyone else has to fulfill.

The Wedding Cannot Become a Test

This is something I need to remind myself of as August 17 gets closer.

I cannot turn Christopher and Sarah’s wedding into a test of whether our family is healing.

That would place a burden on one beautiful day that it was never meant to carry.

The wedding can simply be the wedding.

If someone says hello, I will be grateful.

If a conversation begins, I will be grateful.

If people who haven’t been comfortable together simply share the same space peacefully, I will be grateful for that too.

And if nothing changes that day, it does not mean nothing ever will.

God is not limited to August 17.

That thought brings me peace.

Reconciliation has its own timing. Every person involved has choices to make.

There are hearts I cannot change and relationships I cannot repair.

But I can leave the door of my own heart open.

I can pray.

I can hope.

I can welcome whatever small step might come without demanding that there be one.

I can surrender the outcome without giving up hope.

Protecting My Peace Doesn’t Mean Avoiding Hard Things

There is something else I need to be careful about.

Protecting my peace cannot become an excuse to avoid every uncomfortable situation.

Sometimes God asks me to have the difficult conversation.

Sometimes I need to apologize.

Sometimes I need to forgive.

Sometimes I need to listen when I would rather defend myself.

God’s peace is not an escape from truth.

So when I feel the urge to step in or step away, I need to ask myself:

Is this mine to carry, or am I picking up something that belongs to someone else?

That question changes things.

If something genuinely happens at the wedding that needs my attention, I can respond to what actually happens.

I don’t need to spend the weeks beforehand responding to everything that could happen.

If a difficult moment comes, God will be present in that moment too.

I don’t have to rehearse it first.

The Fear That Something Might Go Wrong and the Hope That Something Might Go Right

I am realizing that these two things have been living side by side in me.

I am afraid something might go wrong.

And I am hoping something might finally go right.

That is why this has felt so heavy.

I’m not carrying only anxiety.

I’m carrying hope too.

I would love for August 17 to become one of those days we someday look back on and realize something began to change.

Maybe someone says hello.

Maybe nothing more happens than everyone being together peacefully for a few hours.

Maybe the change, if there is one, happens long after the wedding.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I don’t want to become so focused on either possibility that I miss the reason we are gathering in the first place.

My son is getting married.

That is what is actually happening.

And that is where I want my heart to be.

What I Want to Remember on August 17

When I stand there on August 17, I don’t want to spend Christopher and Sarah’s wedding watching everyone else.

I don’t want to scan faces looking for signs that something is wrong.

I don’t want to hear a conversation across the room and wonder what was said.

I don’t want to see an expression I can’t read and immediately assume there is a problem.

I don’t want to miss my son’s wedding because I was busy monitoring the room.

I want to be there.

Really there.

I want to see Christopher’s face when Sarah comes toward him.

I want to see Sarah’s face as they make their promises to one another.

I want to hear their vows instead of the conversations happening inside my own head.

I want to remember standing before them as their officiant while also knowing that I have the extraordinary privilege of standing there as Christopher’s mother.

There will be things happening around me that I cannot control.

But I can choose where I place my attention.

When my mind starts moving toward what if, I can bring it back to what is.

My son is getting married.

My family will be together.

God will be with us.

This moment deserves to be lived, not feared.

I Am Leaving August 17 With God

I don’t know exactly how the wedding will unfold.

I don’t know what everyone will say.

I don’t know how everyone will feel.

And I am realizing that I don’t need to know.

I have spent enough time trying to live August 17 before August 17 arrives.

There are still wedding preparations on my dining room table. There are things to finish, details to remember, and probably a few things I will realize at the last minute that I forgot.

But underneath all of that, something beautiful is approaching.

My son is preparing to marry the woman he loves.

I don’t want fear to take these days away from me.

So when my thoughts start creating problems that haven’t happened, I am returning to a simple prayer:

God, help me carry what belongs to me and trust You with what doesn’t.

I cannot guarantee a perfect wedding.

I cannot guarantee reconciliation.

I cannot guarantee that everyone will say or do what I hope they will.

But I can love.

I can remain open.

I can pray.

I can be present.

And I can leave room for God to work in ways I could never arrange myself.

Personal Reflection

I have been so concerned about keeping peace around me that I have sacrificed the peace within me.

Writing this devotional has made me see that more clearly.

I have believed that loving people meant carrying their pain.

I have believed that being aware of tension somehow made me responsible for resolving it.

I have believed that if I thought far enough ahead, I could prevent someone from getting hurt.

I can’t.

Accepting that doesn’t mean I have stopped caring.

It means I am learning the difference between loving someone and trying to control what happens to them.

I don’t have to choose a side in order to love the people standing on both sides.

And I don’t have to give up hope simply because reconciliation isn’t mine to create.

So I am bringing both things to God.

The fear that something might go wrong.

The hope that something might finally go right.

I would love to see my family reconnect.

I would love to look back one day and realize that something began to soften when we were all together again.

But I don’t get to decide when or how that happens.

What I can do is keep my own heart open.

I can love.

I can pray.

I can hope.

And somewhere between the fear and the hope, I can ask God for the grace to simply be there.

My son is getting married.

My family will be together.

For that day, whatever else happens, we will all be sharing the same room again.

Right now, that is enough.

Key Notes for Daily Living

  • Worrying about a future conflict does not give me control over it.
  • Being a peacemaker does not make me responsible for everyone else’s relationships.
  • I can love people who do not see eye to eye without choosing between them.
  • I can hope for reconciliation without trying to manufacture it.
  • Protecting my peace does not mean avoiding truth or responsibility.
  • A gathering does not have to be perfect to be meaningful.
  • When my mind moves toward what if, I can return to what is.
  • Surrendering the outcome does not mean giving up hope.

Journaling Prompts

  1. Am I worrying about something that hasn’t actually happened?
  2. What outcome am I trying to control?
  3. Have I taken responsibility for a relationship that doesn’t belong to me?
  4. What genuinely belongs to me in this situation?
  5. What am I afraid might happen?
  6. What am I quietly hoping might happen?
  7. Can I bring both my fear and my hope to God?
  8. What would being fully present look like for me today?

Closing Prayer

Loving God,

You know how deeply I love my family.

You know the relationships that have become difficult, the things that have been said, and the things that have been left unsaid.

You know how much I want everyone to be okay.

And You know the quiet hope I carry that having everyone together might open a door toward healing.

I give You that hope.

I also give You my fear.

As the wedding approaches, quiet the part of me that wants to prepare for every possible problem.

When I begin imagining conversations that haven’t happened, bring me back to today.

When I start feeling responsible for everyone else’s feelings, remind me what belongs to me and what belongs to You.

Help me love without choosing sides.

If there is an opportunity for reconciliation, give us the grace to recognize it. If the only step that happens that day is that everyone shares the same space peacefully, help me recognize the gift in that too.

And if nothing changes yet, help me trust that August 17 is not the end of the story.

If a difficult moment comes, give me wisdom to know when to speak, when to remain quiet, and when to step away.

Most of all, don’t let fear of what might happen keep me from seeing what is happening.

My son is getting married.

Let me be his mother in that moment.

Let me be fully present as Christopher and Sarah make their promises to one another.

Let me see the joy.

Let me receive the day for what it is instead of measuring it by what I hoped might happen.

And if somewhere in the middle of that beautiful day You begin something new within our family, help me notice it without trying to control it.

Guard my heart and my mind with Your peace.

Whatever August 17 holds, I trust that You will already be there.

In Jesus’ name I pray.

Amen.

Still Walking This Journey?

If you love people who no longer see eye to eye, you may know what it feels like to carry both the fear of what could happen and the hope that something might change.

You don’t have to solve tomorrow before it arrives.

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