Worry Looks Around... Faith Looks Up

You know what I’ve realized?

Worry is a full-time job with no pay, no benefits, and a boss who never stops emailing.

You wake up and there it is—hovering at the edge of your bed like an overzealous intern:

“Good morning! Have you catastrophized yet? Fantastic. Let’s overthink that conversation from last week, shall we?”

Worry doesn’t wait for coffee. It slides right into your thoughts and whispers, “Here’s everything that could go wrong and all the ways you’re not enough.” And off we go—scrolling, comparing, rehearsing imaginary disasters like it’s our side hustle.

Worry looks around. Faith looks up.

C.S. Lewis said, “Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.”

Translation: Faith is remembering that the sky still exists—even when you can’t see it through the storm.

Worry is loud and bossy.

Faith is quiet and patient.

Faith doesn’t shout—it waits for you to stop spinning long enough to hear, “Look up.”

And when you finally do—when you unclench your jaw and exhale all that noise—something shifts. Because worry keeps your eyes darting everywhere, scanning for danger. Faith steadies your gaze on something bigger.

C.S. Lewis called it “further up and further in.” Worry keeps you pacing the hallway. Faith dares you to walk through the door.

And I don’t know about you, but I’ve wasted enough time in that hallway—pacing, panicking, pretending.

So when worry starts shouting, I look up. When my plans collapse, I look up. When I forget how to trust, I look up.

Because I’ve never once found peace by staring harder at the problem. Worry looks around. Faith looks up.

And everything good starts there.

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

- 2 Corinthians 4:18

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