I set out walking, to carry a needed message to my fellows in the village across the valley. I know that some miles hence I will need to cross the river, swollen with the spring rains.
With each step, I worry, and worry, and worry. How shall I cross? I must cross. What if I fail? What if my message is undelivered?
The path meets the river. A string of tall boulders juts from the water. Each an easy hop away from its neighbor, a simple continuation of this well-worn path. They were there all along. Why did I not trust that you had placed for me a means of crossing?
Lord, let me refuse tomorrow’s worry as I walk your road today.