Living Without Worry E-Book

J. R. Miller

• Herausgeber: Editora Oxigênio
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Serie: Hope messages for quarantine
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Seitenzahl: 213

Beschreibung

Living Without Worry is one book of J.R Miller author.One meets few unworried people. Most faces bear lines of care. Men go anxious to their day's duties, rush through the hours with feverish speed, and bring a hot brain and tumultuous pulse home at night for restless, unrefreshing sleep. This is not only most unsatisfactory, but is also a most costly mode of living.Worry exhausts vitality. True, all good in life costs. Virtue goes out of us in everything we do that is worth doing.The ideal theory of life is, therefore, work without worry. At least, this certainly ought to be the ideal for a Christian. We have an express command not to be anxious about anything. Our whole duty is to do the will of God and leave in his hands the outworking of circumstances, the shaping and overhauling of all the complicated network of influences, so as to bring about the right results.The working plan for a Christian life is clearly laid down in our Lord's words: "Seek first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you." "Don't worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today's trouble is enough for today." This ideal leaves no place whatever for worry.This is all the human part. Then God will look after the outcome; will take care of us and of the results of our acts. It is the function of faith, when we have done what we can, to put all into the divine hands, giving ourselves no anxiety, while we go forward in peace and confidence to the next duty that awaits.This book has a message of faith and comfort for your soul. 

Leseprobe

Living Without Worry

One meets few unworried people. Most faces bear lines of care. Men go anxious to their day's duties, rush through the hours with feverish speed, and bring a hot brain and tumultuous pulse home at night for restless, unrefreshing sleep. This is not only most unsatisfactory, but is also a most costly mode of living.

One night the train lost two hours in running less than a hundred miles. "We have a hot box," was the polite conductor's reply to an impatient passenger who asked to know the cause of the long delays at stations. This hot-box trouble is not altogether unknown in human life. There are many people who move swiftly enough, and with sufficient energy, but who grow feverish, and who are thus impeded in their progress.

A great many failures in life must be charged to worrying. When a man worries he is impeded in several ways. For one thing, he loses his head. He cannot think clearly. His brain is feverish and will not act at its best. His mind becomes confused, and his decisions are not to be depended upon. The result is, that a worried man never does his work as well as he should do it, or as he could do it if he were free from worry. He is apt to make mistakes.

Worry exhausts vitality. True, all good in life costs. Virtue goes out of us in everything we do that is worth doing.

But for normal, healthy action nature provides. There is recuperative energy enough to supply the waste. The fountain is filled as fast as it is worn away. Worry, however, is abnormal and unhealthy. It exhausts vitality more rapidly than nature can reinforce it. It is like friction in machinery, and grinds away the very fibre of life. Worry, therefore, both impeded progress and makes work unduly costly and exhausting. One neither accomplishes so much, nor does it so well while the outlay of vitality is greater.

The ideal theory of life is, therefore, work without worry. At least, this certainly ought to be the ideal for a Christian. We have an express command not to be anxious about anything. Our whole duty is to do the will of God and leave in his hands the outworking of circumstances, the shaping and overhauling of all the complicated network of influences, so as to bring about the right results.

The working plan for a Christian life is clearly laid down in our Lord's words: "Seek first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you." "Don't worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today's trouble is enough for today." This ideal leaves no place whatever for worry.

It requires single-hearted devotion to the interests of Christ's kingdom, the elimination of self and self-seeking, uncompromising loyalty to the principles of righteousness, and the faithful and energetic doing of duty all duty, without regard to pleasure or cost.

This is all the human part. Then God will look after the outcome; will take care of us and of the results of our acts. It is the function of faith, when we have done what we can, to put all into the divine hands, giving ourselves no anxiety, while we go forward in peace and confidence to the next duty that awaits.

It is said of a Christian man, who has risen from a humble station to great national prominence, that his motto has always been: "Do the very best you can, and leave the rest to Providence." This is nothing more or less than the putting into plain, crisp Saxon, our Lord's counsel already quoted. If we would all get this bit of practical heavenly wisdom out of our New Testament and into our daily life, it would not only greatly increase our working capacity, and consequently make us more successful, but it would also largely enhance our happiness.

We must notice, however, that this is not a labor-saving ideal for life. It is not a theory for an indolent man. It implies the putting of all life's skill and energy into every piece of work we perform; we are to do always the very best we can. We should train ourselves to bring all our wisdom and all our power even to the smallest tasks. We should learn to decide promptly, and always according to the best light we can get at the moment from all our experience and all our knowledge of the subject, and then to act swiftly, energetically, and with all the skill we can command.

When we have so acted, the matter is out of our hands, and should be left to the divine out-working, without a misgiving or an anxious thought. We have done our best in the circumstances, and we know that is all we are ever required to do.

But may we not sometimes decide unwisely? Even with our best and ripest wisdom, may we not make mistakes of judgment? Certainly we may. But even when it appears afterward that our decision was not the wisest that might have been made, we should still refuse to worry over it. We did the best we knew, and that is as far as our responsibility goes. We could have done no better in the circumstances, with our light. We have a right to believe that he who orders all events, will use even our mistake, overruling it in some way for good, if we but leave it in his hands.

Then why should be worry about that which we cannot change, since it has passed beyond our control? We ought to regret our sins and the mistakes which come from our own follies, though even in such cases we should not waste time in tears which ought to be given to amendment. But when we have done our best, with prayer and holy purpose, we have no right to fret and vex ourselves. Perhaps what seems to us to have been unwise was, after all, God's truer wisdom setting ours aside.

So there is really no place in a true, earnest, Christian life for worry. Do your very best in the circumstances, and leave the rest with God. We should aim only to be faithful in duty, and then be at peace, whatever may come. We should work without worrying.

But this is one of those great life lessons which must be learned. It never comes naturally. The capacity for learning it, and the needful help is given, but we must learn the lesson ourselves, just as we learn other lessons. The process must always be slow; no one can in a single day learn to live and work without worry. Usually is requires years. Yet much can be accomplished by everyone who is willing to endure the necessary discipline. We must first accept the truths of the gospel on which the lesson rests, and must believe them that duty alone is ours, and that results and out-workings are God's. Then we must begin firmly and heroically to practice the lesson, to live by it, to train ourselves to confident, peaceful living.

The lesson is well worth learning, at whatever cost. To live nobly, energetically, up to one's best, and yet without worry, is one of the highest attainments possible. It is the ideal life. It is the life whose vision of beauty is pictured for us in the peace which our Lord promises his people, the peace that passes all understanding that keeps the heart and mind in Christ Jesus the perfect peace that comes to him whose mind is stayed on God.

Starting Right

"The beginning is half of the whole," says an old proverb. A good start is a move in the direction of success. No time need then be wasted in revising plans, in correcting mistakes, or in changing one's course. No steps need then be retraced. There are no wrong teachings to unlearn; no false systems to abandon. One's whole energy can be given to the carrying out of one's chosen purpose.

On the other hand, many a career of brilliant possibilities is marred by a wrong beginning. There are mistakes of early days which men never get over. The latter half of many a life is spent in undoing, or vainly trying to undo, the acts of its former half. A bad foundation has caused the wreck of many a noble building. Inadequate preparation for a business or a calling, leads to impaired success at the best, and most frequently it results in utter failure.

The same principles apply in Christian life. It is of the utmost importance that we start well. Many Christian walk in doubt and shadow all their days, never entering into joy and peace, because at the beginning they fail to understand the fullness of the blessedness into which, as children of God, they come when they receive Christ. Many others never attain anything noble and beautiful in Christian life and character, because they do not, at the beginning, wholly disentangle themselves from their old life, and make a full dedication of themselves to Christ. A good beginning, therefore, involves two things: first, clearness and definiteness of aim, with intelligent views of what it is to be a Christian; second, completeness of consecration.

Many men fail in life—because they have no settled purpose, no well-defined plan. They have no goal set before them which they strive to reach. There is no ideal in their mind toward which they mean to struggle. They merely drift on the current, and are borne by it wherever it flows. They are not masters in life, but poor slaves. They conquer nothing, but are the mere passive creatures of circumstances. Such a life is unworthy of an intelligent being with immortal powers; nor does it ever reach any high degree of nobleness or success. No sculptor ever touches the marble until he has in his mind a definite conception of his work as it will be when finished. He sees a vision before him, of a very lovely form—and then sets to work to fashion the vision in stone. No builder begins to erect a house until a complete plan, embracing every detail, has been adopted and prepared. He knows precisely what the finished structure will be before he strikes a stroke. No one would cut into a web of rich and costly cloth—until he had before him the pattern of the garment he would like to make. In all work on material things, men have definite aims, and they know precisely what they intend to produce before they begin their work. But in life itself and living—all do not exercise such wisdom. Many never give a thought to such questions as these: "What is the purpose of my life? What ought I to do with it? What should be the great aim of my existence? What should I strive to be, and to do?"

Multitudes live aimlessly, having no thought of the responsibility of living, and never forming any earnest, resolute purpose to rise to any noble height, or to achieve any worthy or beautiful thing. But a true life should always have its aim. To grow up as a plant—without thinking—is well enough for a plant; but men with immortal souls and measureless possibilities should have a purpose, and should seek to attain it. No one begins well or worthily in life—who has not settled in his own mind what he will strive to do with his life.

In entering upon a Christian life, there should always be a clear aim. We should know definitely what it is to be a Christian. With only vague ideas of the meaning of a Christian life, its aim, its requirements, its privileges, its duties—no one can begin well. We need to understand the new relations into which we come as children of God, so that we may realize the full blessedness of our position in Christ. We need to have a clear conception of the final aim of all Christian attainment, so that we may strive toward it. We need to know what is required of a Christian, toward his God and toward his fellow-men, that we may faithfully and intelligently take up every duty. We need to know the conditions of Christian life, in order that we may avail ourselves of the necessary helps provided for us. Thus a clear and intelligent aim, is essential in starting right as a Christian.

Another essential element—is the devotion and consecration of ourselves to the life we have chosen. A good aim is not enough. One may aim an arrow with perfect accuracy, but the bow must also be drawn and the cord let fly—if the arrow is to reach the mark. A vision in the brain is not enough for the sculptor; he must hew the vision into form in the marble. The architect's plan is only a picture, and there must be toil and cost—until the building stands complete in its noble beauty. A good aim is not all of a Christian life. It is nothing more than an empty dream—unless it is wrought out in the life. When Raphael was asked how he painted his marvelous pictures, he replied, "I dream dreams and I see visions—and then I paint my dreams and my visions." Every earnest Christian who looks much at Christ, dreams dreams and sees visions—dreams and visions of wondrous beauty, glimpses of the loveliness of Christ; and, like the artist, he should seek with patient, yet intense purpose—to reproduce the loveliness in his own soul. Many people have sublimest aspirations and intentions—who never take a step toward the realization of them. Mere knowing what it is to be a Christian, makes no one a Christian; many perish with the glorious ideal shining fully and clear before their eyes. Mere seeing the beauty of Christ as it is held before us for our copying—will never fashion us into that beauty. Our knowledge must be wrought into life. We must carve out in our life—the beauty we see.

We all need to start anew very often. The best purposes need frequent reforming. The intensest energy needs often rekindling. What better new beginning can there be than a fresh look at a life's true aim, and a fresh consecration to the working out of that aim?

Thinking and Turning

It was one of the old Psalm writers who said, "I thought on my ways." It is not likely that he found it a very easy thing to do. It is usually very much harder to think on our own ways—than on other people. Most of us do quite enough of the latter. We keep a magnifying glass to inspect our neighbor's life, a high-power microscope to hunt for specks in his character; but too often we forget to use our glasses on ourselves, or, if we do, we reverse them, and thus minimize our every spot and imperfection. The Pharisee in the temple confessed a great many sins, but they were his neighbor's sins and the publican's sins; he made no confession at all for himself. Most of us are in the same danger. We like to think of our ways when they are good—it flatters our vanity to be able to approve and commend ourselves; but when our conduct has not been particularly satisfactory, we like to turn our backs upon it, and solace ourselves by thinking on our neighbor's naughty ways. And here, strange to say, it seems to please many of us best—to find things we cannot approve or commend in others.

It is a brave thing for a man to say, "I will think upon my own ways," and says it when he knows his ways have not been good and right, but wrong. It is an excellent thing for us to turn our lenses in upon our own hearts, in order to see if our own ways are right. There is only one person in all the world for whose ways any of us are really responsible, for whose life any of us must give account—and that is one's self. Other people's wrong ways may pain us and offend ours sense of right; and it is our duty to do all we can, in the spirit of Christ, to lead our neighbors into better ways. But, after all, when we stand before God's judgment-seat, the only one person in the whole world for which any one of us will have to give account—will be one's self. Certainly it is most important, then, that we give earnest heed to ourselves, and our own ways.

A review of one's life, has a strange power. As we look back upon our ways, they do not appear to us as they did when we were passing through them. Things which seemed hard and painful at the time, now, as we look back upon them, appear lovely and radiant. There are experiences in most lives, which seemed to be calamities at the time—but in the end prove rich blessings. Then there is another class—things which appear attractive and enjoyable at the time, which afterward look repulsive and abhorrent. This is true of all wrong actions, all deeds wrought under the influence of wrong passion. At the time they give a thrill of pleasure; but when the emotions had passed, and the wrong-doer turns and looks back at what he has done—it seems horrible in his eyes. The retrospect fills him with disgust and loathing.

To look at one's ways when they have been wrong, is not by any means a pleasant thing to do. Such looks, if honest, will produce deep sorrow. It is well that it should be so—that regret should grow into sore pain, until it has burned into our hearts the lessons which we ought to learn from our follies and sins. But pain and regret should not be all. The Scriptures speak of the sorrow of the world—which works death. This is a sorrow which passes away like the morning cloud or the early dew, leaving no impression, or the sorrow which ends only in despair. Godly sorrow is the pain for sins which leads to repentance.

The prodigal in the far-off land thought on his ways, and, in his shame, hid his face in his hands, and wept bitter tears over the ruin he had made of his life. But he did more than weep; he rose, and went straight home to his father. No matter how badly one has failed, the noblest thing to do is, not to sit down and waste other years in grieving over the lost years. Weeping in the darkness of despair, amends nothing. The only truly wise thing is to rise, and save what remains. Because ten hours out of the twelve allotted are lost, shall we sit down and waste the other two in unavailing grief over the ten? Had we not better to use the two which are left, in doing what we can to retrieve the consequences of our past folly?

"We have lost the battle," said Napoleon, "but," drawing his watch from his pocket, "it is only two o'clock, and we have time to fight and win another"; and the sun went down on a victorious army. No young person, especially, should ever yield to despair; for in youth there is yet too wide a margin to blot with the confession of defeat and failure. Even old age, with a whole lifetime behind it wasted, is not hopeless in a world on which Christ's cross stood. A few moments are enough in which to creep to Christ's feet and find pardon. Life does not end at the grave. Its path sweeps on into the eternal years, and there will be time enough then to retrieve all the wasted past. Someone speaks of heaven, as the place where God makes over souls. Even lives only wasted and marred on earth, turning to Christ in the late evening-time of life, may find mercy, and in heaven's long blessed day be made over into grace and beauty.

But nothing comes of thinking on our ways—if we do not turn from whatever we find to be wrong. Godly sorrow works repentance. A few tears amount to nothing, if one goes on tomorrow in the same old paths. Someone says: "The true science of blundering consists in never making the same mistake twice." This rule applies to sins as well as to mistakes. The true science of living, is never to commit the same sin a second time. But even this falls short. We are not saved by negatives. We can never go to heaven by merely turning from wrong ways. True repentance leads to Christ, and into his ways. It is the man who forsakes his wicked ways and wicked thoughts, and returns to the Lord—who is abundantly pardoned. It does not matter how black the sins are—when there is this kind of repentance. Even Christ does not undo the wrong past, and make that which has been done—as though it never had been done. But grace may so make over a marred life, that, where the blemish was—some special beauty may appear. "The oyster mends its shell with a pearl." Where the ugly wound was—there comes, with the healing, not a scar—but a pearl.

The same is true in human souls, when divine grace heals the wounds of sin. Sins that we truly repent of, become pearls in the character. It is the experience of all whose lives grow into Christ-like nobleness, that many of the golden lines of their later lives have been wrought out by their regrets and their repenting of wrongdoings. Even our mistakes and sins, if we leaven them and find our way to Christ, will be transmuted into growth and up building of character. "We can so deal with the past—that we can make it give up to us virtue and wisdom." "We can make wrong—the seed of right and righteousness; we can transmute error into wisdom; we can make sorrow bloom into a thousand forms, like fragrant flowers." That is, if we truly repent of our sins, where they grew with their thorns and poison seeds, there will be in our lives—trees and plants of beauty with sweet flowers and rich fruits.

Sins of Omission

There are sins of not doing. We are not accustomed to look at our sins of omission as we do at our sins of commission. We call it a sin when one does another an injury—but we are not so likely to call it a sin when one fails to show another, when in suffering or in need, a kindness which it was in his power to render. Yet, in God's sight, it is a grievous sin to withhold the good which it is in our power to do.

This is taught in a most striking way by our Lord in his representation of the last judgment. To those on his left hand the King will say, "Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me." Matthew 25:41-43. There are no sins of commission charged against these condemned people. It is not said that they were liars, or dishonest; that they were unjust, cruel, or inhuman; that they oppressed the poor, crushed the weak, defrauded the orphan and the widow. All that is said of them is that they did not feed the hungry, did not give drink to the thirsty, did not provide hospitable shelter to the stranger, did not clothe the naked, and did not visit the sick or the prisoner. They were condemned for not doing the things of love, that awaited for them day by day. Terrible is the arraignment, too, and terrible the judgment: "Depart from me, you cursed ones, into the eternal fire which is prepared for the devil and his angels," —because you have not done the things of love that made their appeal to you.

We are slow to accept this teaching. At the close of a day we examine ourselves, and review the day's record, to find wherein we have done wrong. We remember the hasty word we spoke, which gave pain to a tender heart, and confess it. We recall with penitence our self-indulgence, our lapses from truth, honesty, or integrity, even our breaches of courtesy. But, in counting up the sins of the day, do we think with regret or pain of the things we did not do? Are we penitent for our sins of omission? We have "passed by on the other side" of many a human need and hunger. Do we confess these sins at the ending of the day?