God Envy

I have God envy.

No I’m not envious of God though the whole omnipotent omnipresent thing does have its appeal, especially during football season.  Red Raider and Cowboy fans would be happy happy. 

I am envious of how some people are able to live and accept the trials and tribulations of life by their faith in God.

I have good friends, friends who I admire, friends who I respect, friends who have gone through stuff, who have had trials and tests in their lives and I envy how they can grab hold of their faith, turn to their God and lay their burdens at God’s feet.  

I sit in a combination of admiration and envy of those fellow travelers, fellow Christians, who can really “give it to God and let go” and they are able to really let go.  I don’t know how to do that, maybe my faith, my understanding is too weak, maybe I’m too much of a narcissist to think its okay for me to let go of my obsession.

I don’t know if my friends really do let go and then blithely walk away unburdened and unstressed but the simple act of letting go for God seems to help them through their own tribulations.  I envy that; I can’t find a way to let God have my burdens, I can’t turn over my angst and anxiety to God.

I try but I can’t turn off my head, I can’t stop the adrenaline.   

Marty gets sick, Marty seems tired, Marty coughs, Marty says “oh”, my ears perk up like a dogs and my adrenal glands sputter and cough and kick into gear and the juices flow and anxiety awakens and I can’t turn it off.  

I look at my wife, I look at where we have been and what we have been through and then I find myself looking at the road ahead and my nerves start to rattle and hum.  I feel it, I feel it all over, and to quote the Troggs “I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my bones.”

My anxiety about Marty’s condition(s) is without a doubt my steepest climb to normalcy and the ever elusive contentment.  It makes it hard to focus on anything, it makes it hard to live a fulfilled life, it makes it hard to be nice.  It is a complete pain in the ass.

I’ve tried, I’ve tried to say, “Okay, I’ve done everything I need and can do, it’s now up to …..Whatever.”  I take a deep breath and walk away and try and make a conscious decision to turn my worry meter off, I then turn around and walk right back into Marty’s room where I start going over her medicine, checking her machines, checking everything to make sure we are not causing a problem.  

I am going to cure her, I know I am. 

I know I am not going to cure her, I also know I am not going to shed my role as an anxiety ridden, worrying, hovering caregiver.

It’s clear to me, I know I don’t have the faith of some of my friends, I’ve been aware of that most of my life.  It’s a hard thing to admit, it’s a hard thing for me to understand.  At times I’m afraid of my doubts and I think that if I admit those doubts then the scary God some want us to worship will rain hell on my head.  At times I think that my doubt is why I can’t “give it to God”.

I want to give this worry, this constant sense of dread to God, hell, I want to give it to anyone, it makes me tired, it makes me grumpy, it makes me less than what I want to be.  

I guess it also defines me as human, as a concerned caregiver who loves his wife and who wants to believe in something greater.  It makes me a man who has a very tenuous hold on his faith, but ultimately believes God wants us to fully live and that part of fully living and loving is, we worry, part of how we keep faith with each other is that we feel pain, hurt and anxiety when another of us is broken.

I admire the ability to set things aside  I can’t get there now, I can’t get over the fact that I feel responsible, that I feel the need to control, that by paying hyper attention we will get through the next day.  I think that’s what God really wants from me today.  

I wish it were different.