Worrywart

I am a worrier.

What? You’re not shocked? You can tell this about me, just by reading my bloggy musings?

It’s true. I worry about everything. A few years ago when Brad came down with a bad respiratory flu, I was absolutely convinced he’d contracted SARS. Remember the SARS scare? It’s since been usurped by Bird Flu and H1N1, but at the time, SARS was a global health crisis in its own right.

So there was Brad, hacking and wheezing, feverish and sweaty. I crept into the bedroom around 2 a.m. (I was sleeping on the couch, of course; I certainly wasn’t going to die a slow, torturous SARS death) and whispered, “Honey? Honey…are you awake? I don’t want to freak you out or anything…but I thought I should mention…um, I think you might have SARS!!”

He actually laughed. At death’s door, surrounded by piles of used Kleenex, the humidifier humming from the nightstand, he laughed at me.

We still laugh about it to this day. Brad will occasionally remind me, “Yeah, remember the time I beat SARS?” We call him Immuno Man around here.

I worry about stupid, mundane things, too. Like packing for a trip. I lay awake, tossing and turning, sighing and harrumphing, running through list after list in my head, until Brad finally bursts out, “What is the matter with you?” When I confess that I’m stressed about preparing for the trip, he usually mumbles something like, “Don’t worry, honey, it’ll get all done,” before rolling over. And then I seethe for the rest of the night, thinking to myself, “Yeah, of course it’ll get all done…because I’m the one who will get it all done!!!”

Did I mention I’m prone to bitterness and martyrdom, too?

So it goes without saying that my worrywart nature is naturally drawn to Matthew 6:34:

“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

This passage was actually read at our wedding. I didn’t even believe in God back then, but yet I still could see the truth in these words. It’s just taken me another 15 years to begin to abide by them.

I am actually getting better. I find myself uttering the phrase, “It is what it is” now and again, especially at work. It’s not a cop-out; I’m not relinquishing responsibility, throwing up my hands and refusing to tackle a challenge. But I am realizing that some situations are indeed beyond my control. And saying, “It is what it is,” reminds me that I do not need to be in hyper-control mode all the time. I can let things be, without always micromanaging the outcome.

It all comes to trust – trust in God. I admit, it’s hard. It’s difficult to place my life, the lives of my children and husband, in God’s hands. So I’m starting small.

The suitcases will indeed get packed, the cooler filled, the Lovies and blankies remembered.

The annual report will indeed make it to the printer, even if it is a day or two behind schedule.

It will indeed all get done. Brad was right. I hate when that happens.