As I sit here staring at a blank page, mere weeks before the presidential election, I notice that I’m feeling very anxious, even fearful. “What if there’s violence?” “What if I lose friends because of who I vote for?” “What will the nation and world be like for my children and grandchildren?!” “What if I live to see real tyranny!?”

My train of thought is like a runaway train! Anxious thoughts and feelings barrel through my mind and body faster than I can manage, and I get completely “fused” or “tangled up” with them. The more I try to control them—to answer the “What ifs”—the faster and more out of control my thoughts become! It’s a recipe for disaster.

So, instead of trying to wrestle a runaway train, I’m deciding to simply step off the ride. I don’t have to try to be the conductor. I don’t have to be absorbed by my ruminations. I can step off the train and watch my thoughts and feelings zip down the track of my mind from a safe distance.

And what’s more, I can turn my attention to Jesus who (now that I take a moment to look around) I realize has been sitting to the side of the track, unfazed, all along. He’s not concerned. He’s not fearful. In fact, he’s calmly smiling and gesturing for me to sit down in the cool grass next to him.

I take a seat and softly says: “When you are afraid, trust in me. Trust in my word. What can mere mortals do to you?” (Psalm 56:3-4).

“Yes Lord, I know. I’m trying! I don’t know how to do that!”

Jesus smiles and asks, “Are these anxious thoughts useful right now, Brandon? Are they telling you the true story about reality? Is buying into that story giving you anything good?”

“No, Lord, they aren’t useful.” I sigh. “They are just rehashing the same old story that this world is out of control, that I’m not safe, and that I am alone and better figure out how to be ready for every catastrophic possibility.”

“Is that story true?” He asks. “What have I done? What have I promised?”

I can feel myself blushing a little bit. I know the answers to his questions, I just struggle to pay attention to the true story. “No, it’s not true.” I say. “You have already overcome this chaotic world and you have promised an eternal home with you for me, and my kids. You aren’t surprised by anything. It’s all part of your plan, part of your good will for us, the sheep of your pasture.” (John 16:33; John 14:1-4; Romans 8:28; Psalm 100).

Jesus puts his hand on my shoulder, smiles, and goes back to silently watching the runaway train of my thoughts barrel down the tracks of my mind. I can feel the warmth of his hand. It’s so big and firm, like it could hold an entire universe. I feel my shoulders relax, my stomach unclench. The train is still running, making an ungodly cacophony of clattering and screeching, but somehow I feel less compelled to do anything about it.

After a few minutes Jesus turns and looks at me again. “So, what do you want to do next?”

“What do you mean, Lord?”

“Well…” he says with a touch of excitement in his voice, “I’ve given you a heart for compassion, a love for truth, a passion for wisdom, and much more! What catches your fancy right now? What good, generous, and useful thing do you want to put your hand to right now?”

It’s funny, when Jesus says it, it doesn’t sound like a command, it’s more of an invitation. And he’s right! I do like all those things! I want to do them. “Well,” I think for a moment, “Writing a compassionate article that encourages people to dwell on the truth of your goodness would be kinda fun.”

Jesus gently squeezes my shoulder with his universe sized hand, “Sounds good, let’s do it. I’ll help!”

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