“Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, but only saps today of its strength.” ~ AJ Cronin
When I was pregnant with the twins I wished with all my heart that my tummy had a window on it.
A window with louvered blinds that I could open and shut whenever I wanted to check on the babies.
If only, I thought.
If only I could look and see what they were up to and see their tiny hands and watch their tiny feet kick…
…I wouldn’t worry.
But as much as I wished for it, bellies don’t really work like that.
So instead, I worried.
I worried when they were born and I worried when their ballerina toes danced across the top of the incubators in the NICU and I worried when they sent us home with two tiny babies and I worried when they didn’t walk until they were almost two.
One day I won’t worry any more, I told myself. One day they’ll be strong and healthy and laughing and I won’t have a care in the world. I’ll throw my head back and laugh in the wind.
But I was wrong.
The worry never really left. Instead, it just changed names and called itself something else.
I tried to show it to the door.
Truly, I did.
I’d look it straight in the eye and tell it to leave. Sternly, I’d scold it and put it in time out and try to count my blessings instead. But just when I thought worry had left the building…
…there were days when it would show up again ordering milkshakes and settling in for a worry marathon.
Commercial free. Without any breaks.
Yesterday was one of those days. The twins and I left the house while the roosters were still sleeping. We drove to the hospital and forty five minutes later I was standing in the pre-op room talking over procedures and plans and discussing acceptable food for a person without tonsils.
Our conversation was almost over when suddenly, the doctor stopped and smiled at my daughter tucked under the blankets on the hospital bed with monitors beeping above her head.
“What’s all that writing?” he asked, pointing to the pen scribbles covering the back of her hand.
She glanced down and giggled.
“Is it your boyfriend’s name?” he said, laughing.
She blushed a bright red and looked up at him with twinkling blue eyes. “Nope. Not even close,” she grinned as she held it up to him for closer inspection. “It’s a verse I wrote down. It’s to remind me not to worry.”
She’s righter than right.
She’s schooling me and she doesn’t even know it and I’m taking notes.
On my hand, of course. 🙂
PS I cannot even for one second or one minute even begin to express my gratitude for the love and prayers that surrounded us yesterday with all of your comments and e-mails and encouragement across the miles. Your hearts wrapped themselves around us and protected us and now we are safe and home and resting with milkshakes and Hallmark movies.
And we’re not inviting worry to pull up a chair and join in. 🙂