Okay, I knew it... I knew it

I read this the other day: The tendency to worry about stuff could be a sign of a certain kind of intelligence, according to a paper in an upcoming edition of the journal Personality and Individual Differences.
A team led by Alexander Penney of Ontario’s Lakehead University gave 126 undergrads a litany of surveys and questionnaires designed to measure both their intelligence and how much they tended to stress about events in their lives. (For instance, they were asked how strongly they agreed with statements like, ‘I am always worried about something.’)
After analyzing the results, Penney and his team found a correlation between worrying and verbal intelligence.
So, all my worrying is simply a sign of my incredible verbal intelligence. Wow. I knew there had to be something I could get out of it.
Now, I’m asking that for the moment you forget I don’t know what verbal intelligence is and instead focus on the fact that I have it in spades because I’m what my mother used to call a “worry wart.”
Again, I’m asking for the moment that you ignore the fact I don’t know what that means, either.
Let’s, for the moment, concentrate on the fact that the study shows all my worrying is simply a sign of all my intelligence, verbal or, er, uh, some other kind. I’m, as my mother used to say, sharp as a tack (and that’s one I understand).
The problem is, all that worrying helps nothing, according to scripture, not the hippy dippy team led by Ontario’s Lakehead University (I’m not even going to mention the idea that Lakehead sounds funny). Nada. Nope. No way. (Just exerting some verbal intelligence there.)
Jesus said of worry, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are they not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?”
But, er, uh, what about my verbal intelligence Jesus?
Look, scripture is pretty clear about what we must not do (worry, worry, and er, worry). Nothing to be seen here, folks, just move along. Nothing to be gained. Nothing useful.
Philippians 4:6 tells us “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
1 Peter 5:7 tells us to cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”
Now, my verbal intelligence tells me that is hard to do, this casting all my anxiety on him, but the rest of me knows by experience that if I don’t, if we don’t, there is no peace that surpasses all understanding. Worry is to peace what mustard is to peanut butter, I’m afraid. Never the twain shall meet (and I don’t know what a twain is, but I’m worrying about it so it should come to me fairly quickly).
There are plenty of things swirling around (aren’t there always?) me, but here’s my understanding (verbal or otherwise). The opposite of worry is trust. The question comes down to can I trust, Him (and the comma is on purpose)? If I can, then I can give away my worry, like a worn out printer.
I no longer want, nor need it. It’s like a pillow that won’t fluff as you try to sleep. It’s an irritant to your eyes, a tickle to your noise. Or in some cases it is much, much more than that. People with anxiety attacks can tell you this much.
But this comes down to whom can I trust and how often?
Or perhaps … whom or what shall I fear? I am His. I can triumph over any worry. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, including win this battle with worry and woe.
And my verbal intelligence is just fine, anyway. It fits in nicely with the rest of me, for better or worse.