This past week was full—4th of July gatherings, family time, laughter, and food. One moment that stuck with me happened during a little word game at our meal. Everyone was asked to say one word that described what summer meant to them.
“Fun.”
“Vacation.”
“Rest.”
Simple, sweet answers flowed from everyone… and then it was my turn. But nothing came. My mind went completely blank. I smiled, stayed quiet, and let the moment pass.
Later that evening, something similar happened again. Someone passed around a phone with a Google app that could recognize any tune you hummed. Everyone joined in—laughing, singing, testing the tech. Then the phone landed in my hands… and again—nothing. I couldn’t think of a single song.
p.s. And I’m a songwriter. A music major. A choir director!
It didn’t hit me then. But on the drive home, my thoughts spiraled:
Am I losing it? Is something wrong with me?
And just like that, worry settled in—uninvited, but familiar.
I’ve realized I have a long-standing relationship with worry. It goes way back.
I remembered a moment from 1981, walking down the aisle with my dad on my wedding day. He was talking the whole way—offering every bit of wisdom he could squeeze in before handing me off. Somewhere in that short walk, he said:
“Jenny, I’m so proud of you. You’re marrying a good man. He’s going to take good care of you. Now I don’t have to worry about you anymore.”
And what did I think?
“Wait—what? You should worry about me. You need to worry. Don’t you care?”
That moment came back to me with fresh clarity. The next morning, I sat in the stillness and asked God what I needed to learn from it. And then came the whisper:
Worry isn’t caring. Worry is fearing.
That hit deep.
I wanted my dad to be afraid for me—as if his worry proved his love. But love doesn’t look like fear. Love looks like trust. Love lets go.
My dad wasn’t detached. He was confident. He saw what I couldn’t see yet:
You’ve got everything you need, girl.
If you wrestle with worry, you’re not alone. But here’s the truth:
Worry doesn’t equal love.
Worry equals fear.
We worry because we’re afraid—of rejection, of failure, of loss, of not being enough. We think if we worry, we’re somehow more prepared… more in control. But really, worry just wears us out.
My dad knew something I’m still learning to practice:
Let go. Trust God. Release control.
That’s love. That’s courage. That’s peace.
So here’s your shot in the arm today:
When worry creeps in—pause, breathe, and let it go.
God’s got you.
And you’ve got everything you need to make it through anything.
Because you can.