I have a father.

There is something profound about that.

And really it should be spelled Father.

I’ve been anxious. Anxious about all sorts of things.

My anxiety is really a sort of fear.[1]

That’s where understanding I have a Father is so helpful. And understanding who my Father is…

When I’m anxious, when I fear, I am faithless. And Fatherless. A practical atheist.

I tell myself all sorts of lies: No one can rescue me. No one is looking out for me. I am alone, an orphan in a vast indifferent world.[2]

I often think and act as though I have no Father and I determine my own destiny. I act as though the buck stops with me—that if I don’t make it happen, then it won’t happen. I sometimes think and act like I’m my own little lord.

Sometimes my anxiety is atheistic. It takes no account of God. It takes no account of the fact that I have a good and able Father.

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