Don’t Worry About What Others Think

Don’t Worry about What Others Think

We [run with endurance] by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith. Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne. Hebrews 12:2

I used to create mountains of stress for myself just by worrying about what others were thinking about me: my weight, my Kentucky accent, my feisty attitude, my child rearing, even my cooking. Actually, I was giving others far too much credit because they weren’t really thinking about me all that much. They had plenty of their own problems to ponder. But it took me a long while to realize that truth as I continued to put myself into even more stressful situations.

For instance, years ago we attended our first Memorial Day potluck at a Michigan Bible conference. Our little community was filled with good Dutch cooks, so instead of anticipating the great time we were going to have, I worried about what dish I would take. I pored over my cookbooks, discarding recipe after recipe. Finally, I settled on Hot Chicken Salad: chunks of white meat, onions, and celery baked in a cream sauce and topped with Italian bread crumbs and cheddar cheese. The morning of the event, I pulled the steaming casserole dish from the oven and showed it to my husband, Don.

“This is what we’re supplying,” I said. “Make sure you take a lot of it.”

Whenever the four of us attended potlucks, Don always escorted five-year-old Jay through the line, and I took four-year-old Holly. This time, I was distracted as friends commented on Holly’s cute hairstyle, and the two of us were separated from Don and Jay. Finally, as we approached my casserole, I saw one large scoop had been taken out—that would be Don’s—and one small scoop, undoubtedly Jay’s. My worst potluck nightmare was coming true: I was going to lug home an almost full dish. So, trying to disguise my embarrassment, I said to my little daughter, “This looks good, doesn’t it, Holly?”

She nodded, then chirped in her four-year-old voice, “Uh-huh. That’s ours, huh, Mama?”

The women nearby smiled. I was caught, a victim of my own self-imposed stress. —SANDRA

Lord, help me to fix my eyes on you and not on my notions of what others have achieved. Help me to remember that you died to give me not only future eternal life but present joy and strength.

Tell me to what you pay attention, and I will tell you who you are.

—JOSÉ ORTEGA Y GASSET (1883–1955), SPANISH PHILOSOPHER, WRITER, AND STATESMAN