While sitting in church yesterday, the pastor was reflecting on what “worrying” does for you. I had a total flashback to my Dad in my younger years. As an “elder” now, I can look back and understand things so much clearer now. Wouldn’t it be grand if we were born with that wisdom and had it as a young person?
My Dad was a worrier. When he “worried”, (and for him it was an active verb) we all worried. Now I can understand how a man born in 1911, growing up during the Depression, serving in WWII and Korea had things to worry about. Yet somehow we were always alright. He was an amazing human, a good provider, a devout Christian man who gave generously of himself and his resources. We did not live lavishly but as my Mother would say, “We never wanted for anything”.
When the pastor yesterday likened worrying to sitting in a rocking chair, it reminded me of those years gone by. You see, you can rock all day, but it doesn’t get you anywhere. Neither does worrying. As I age I realize just how much like my Dad I am. I realize that I too am a worrier.
When I got divorced, I worried that I would not make it on my own. I had never been allowed to be part of any decision making when it came to finances or the future of our family. Yet somehow, now that it’s been almost 17 years since he moved out – I’m doing just fine. I surprised myself, my sons and most likely most of my friends.
So that rocking chair? I’m going to use it to admire the blooming flowers in my front garden, watch my two rescue GSDs frolic and chase squirrels, and sip on something cool and refreshing. Worrying, it doesn’t get you anywhere.
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