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To worry or not to worry "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?" my minister asks. I sit and ponder these words from the Bible as he admonishes us not to worry, to put our faith in God. I agree completely, but five seconds later my mind strays from the sermon as I start worrying about why I worry so much. I have been worrying for so long that I can't quit cold turkey. Worrying has become second nature. Quite young when I started worrying, I've been practicing for many, many years now, and if practice truly makes perfect, then I'm getting pretty close. Sometimes I awake at three in the morning and wonder if I've adequately planned for class the next day. Logically, I know I have. The plans are right there on my desk where I left them. The test is made out and 24 copies wait for 24 students. Every class has been carefully planned and prepared for, so why am I worrying? What else can I do at 3 a.m.? I do keep a book beside my bed for such times, and occasionally I get up and work on the computer. Mostly though, I just lie there trying not to worry until I fall asleep again-if I'm lucky enough to fall asleep again. Trying not to worry is like trying not to breathe. Did I inherit the worrying gene? Probably. My mother was a master worrier, and my father became one too in his later years. I hope I don't become more adept at it. I am past the stage where I have teenagers on the roads. If any stage of life will drive people to worry, having teenagers will. I remember sitting at home reading (or trying to) and waiting for the boys to come home. As the clock's hands neared curfew, my anxiety rose and continued to rise steadily until I heard the vehicle in the driveway. They'd come in surprised to find me still awake and ask, "Mom, what are you doing still up? Do you know what time it is?" They didn't understand why I couldn't go to bed until they were home safe. Only then could I relax and go to sleep. They won't understand until they wait for their own teens to come home some day. Last year Josh, who's no longer a teenager, got a little taste of his own medicine. I went to a meeting and forgot to tell him I'd be late. When I got home at 9 that night, he was waiting for me on the porch. "All right, young lady, you explain where you've been, and your story had better be a good one too," he said. As one of the world's greatest
worriers, I've worried about a range of things. On nights before
school days, I worry about a cat under my car's hood when I crank
it for school the next morning. (It happened twenty years ago;
tomorrow might be the day for a replay.) What if the alarm doesn't
go off? What if I oversleep and don't show up for class? What
if I forgot to mail the light bill and the power's off when I
get home? (So what if it never happened before? I'm aging rapidly.)
Like millions of other people, I used to worry that I'd left the iron on. As soon as I got half way to town, the doubts would come. I'd see that iron on the ironing board switched to the linen position and a dog intent on knocking it over moving toward the ironing board's unsteady legs. Soon the house would burst into flames in my mind. Invariably I'd have to turn around and go back to unplug the iron and put it away. The solution to that problem was easy. I quit ironing. Now I wonder if I turned the stove off. I may have to quit cooking too. |
