I got an email today about worrying. It was how we never stop worrying about our kids--from the time they're small, through teen years, adulthood. Always. The only time we stop is when we die.
The comic strip "Pickles" has been about worrying the past few days. If you've never read this strip, it's about an old couple. They're so funny and as I age, I can totally relate to them. One day she lost her glasses and found them on top of her head and buried in her hair. I do that all the time since I had cataract surgery. I go around feeling the top of my head to be sure they aren't there (or are) before I make a general run through the house to find one of the four pair of Walgreen's cheaters I own.
About the worrying. It's so easy for someone to tell you to not worry, but when someone you love is in trouble, it hangs heavy on your heart. That's what's happening more often than worrying. I know I can't change anything in anyone else's life. I can hardly handle my own. But the heaviness of their pain--well, how do you get rid of that? The only thing I know to do it is to take it to God over and over again. I leave it with him and find it's sprung back into my heart like a rubber paddle ball. Still, somewhere deep inside I know everything will be all right in the end--whatever that end is and whenever it comes. And that's not because of me but because of who He is. He said He'd never leave us or forsake us, and I'm holding on to that promise!