When I was a missionary, I experienced some anxiety. Not just some anxiety, the worst anxiety of my life. It got to the point where I was crying multiple times a day, terrified to leave the house where I was staying. Through this time, I had an amazing companion who held me when I cried and reminded me how to breathe. Her support was amazing, but I never got better. I was just looking over a hymn I contemplated during that time, "Master the Tempest Is Raging." Then and now I can relate to lot of the feelings attributed to the disciples of Jesus as they were tossed in the storm. The tempest of covid, the rising wave, growing bigger, coming closer, "Carest thou not [Jason Kenney] that we perish? How canst thou lie asleep When each moment so madly is threat'ning A grave in the angry deep?" The song calls out, to some powerful other, to act, to change the situation, to speak and be obeyed. The song trusts that the will of the almighty is peace and stillness. And yet, the disciple, I, continue to cry out as if not heard over the raging storm. "Master with anguish of spirit I bow in my grief today. The depths of my sad heart are troubled. Oh, waken and save I pray! Torrents of sin and of anguish Sweep o'er my sinking soul, And I perish! I perish! dear Master. Oh hasten and take control!" While the song continues to a place of rest on a blissful shore, no matter how much I cried out, that promised shore remained a frail hope. The third verse of the song too quickly turned positive that I couldn't quite believe it possible. Though I wish now that those in charge would take stronger actions to prevent the third wave from rising ever higher and crashing down on us, I am left feeling insignificant. Nobody is listening to me. The peace and calm of a post covid world are beyond my grasp and past a daunting third wave. I see only the wave. It blocks both the sun and any hope from my view. How long must I wait? How much longer? I thought 2021 was the year.
As a missionary, I too waited for the end to come. Then, after I'd been a missionary for about a year, my anxiety began to go away. Never completely, but the impending doom was lifted, and the sunshine no longer obscured. There were some situational changes that were beyond my control, but those weren't the reason I could see the sun. At some point I realised that happiness was a choice, it was a mood I could choose, and I didn't have to wait for God to change the circumstances. I didn't have to wait until I went home. I could find happiness where I was. It worked. My attitude changed because I decided it would change. I sang. I sang happy songs, not song about some distant hope nor pie in the sky, but songs about goodness on earth, now. I sang:
"In a world where sorrow
Ever will be known,
Where are found the needy
And the sad and lone,
How much joy and comfort
You can all bestow,
If you scatter sunshine
Ev’rywhere you go."
Rather than waiting for happiness to find me, rather than trusting some other being to rid me of anxiety, I took that decision into my own hands. I wonder if I can't do that today. Sometimes I feel that I have a right be be upset. I have a right to be anxious as I am often in close contact with others at work. I have a right to blame to government for letting people die, for keeping my workplace open. I have a right to worry about the health of those I love. I have the right to be grumpy when I start work early. I have the right to be miserable. So, maybe I do, but what good does any of that do me, or those around me? I may have a right to be anxious, but what if I can choose to be happy? I know it isn't easy, but I've done it before, so I trust that it is possible. With some counselling, with constant little choices to see good in the world around me, with a smile on my face and thanksgiving in my heart, it is possible.
"When the days are gloomy,
Sing some happy song;
Meet the world’s repining
With a courage strong.
Go with faith undaunted
Thru the ills of life;
Scatter smiles and sunshine
O’er its toil and strife."
* Master the Tempest Is Raging: Text: Mary Ann Baker
** Scatter Sunshine: Text: Lanta Wilson Smith
