Going to Pieces? You’re Not Alone

(Acts 16:25-34)

In the weeks that follow writing about Paul and Silas jailed in Philippi, I try to move on. (click here to catch up).

But another character in their story keeps calling me back.

The jailer was threatened with death if they escaped . . .

(Acts 16:23 TLB)

Which, I suspect, causes the jailer some extreme anxiety.

That night he’s awakened by a dungeon-door-opening-chain-loosing earthquake.

Assuming Paul and Silas have escaped, his anxiety spirals.

So he draws his sword to kill himself.

In the end, he doesn’t.

Instead, he becomes one of Philippi’s first believers.

But I’m not there yet.

I’m stuck back in the middle of the story.

On the earthquake.

And the jailer’s anxiety.

Because I can relate.

Not to physical earthquakes, but to personal earthquakes.

When personal worlds are shaken.

And anxious thoughts rush in.

My personal earthquake begins with a call.

“Your mom is in the ER.”

Four days later she is discharged from the ICU with contradictory diagnoses and conflicting care plans.

Which spirals my anxiety.

I consider Jesus’ words to his dear friend.

“Martha, Martha, you are anxious about many things.”   

(Luke 10:41)

I substitute my name.

Cindy, Cindy . . .

Not helpful.

Shutting down anxious thoughts is like playing Whack-a-Mole.

Whack one.

Another pops up.

I circle back to the jailer.

And his anxiety.

The earthquake at the jail marks the beginning of the church in Philippi.

Years later Paul writes to that church.

Perhaps, as he pens his letter, he pictures his old friend the jailer.

And smiles fondly. 

Have no anxiety about anything, 

but in everything 

by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving 

let your requests be made known to God. 

(Philippians 4:6)

Have no anxiety . . .

Anxiety, merimnaó, is the same word found in Jesus’ Martha-Martha discourse.

Merimnaó is a verb.

Meaning to go to pieces.

Which sounds about right.

Because one big anxiety is often the sum of the pieces of smaller anxieties.

But in everything, Paul continues.

Everything here, pas, means to view the whole in terms of the individual pieces.

This feels like a lot of emphasis on pieces of a whole . . .

Urging me to examine my feelings.

Identify individual anxieties making up the whole.

And list them.

I’ve barely laid my pencil down when the cartoon bulb above my head lights up.

My single-column list should actually be a two-columned list.

A short inventory on one side: Things I Can Control.

A lengthy one on the other: Things I Can’t.

The jailer’s physical earthquake leads him to God.

Personal earthquakes are meant to do the same.

I finish the verse.

Feeling Paul’s passionate encouragement.

To talk with God about each piece of what’s caused us to go to pieces, tell Him what we need, and thank Him for every revelation of Himself in His answers.

A week after my personal earthquake, Mom is home and life has settled down.

On the way over, I pop into the grocery store.

Where the clerk taps me on the shoulder.

“Would you like to have these?”

She hands me a bouquet.

Which feels like a kiss from heaven.

A reminder that God loves me . . . and you . . . even if when we’ve gone to pieces.

I’m already picturing the flowers in a vase.

On Mom’s table.

See you in a couple weeks.

Love,