The Art of Worry: A Mommy Chronicle
I worry about writing this post.
It is 3:24 am and I wide awake, heart pounding, throat tight, rear end in agony. Yes, I will clarify. The first two symptoms are because of worry, the last is the result of a nasty fall yesterday afternoon.
I was not built for falling.
In authentic Jami fashion, I decided to move my desk closer to the window, by myself. While pulling the enormous oak structure, I tripped, lost my balance and fell straight down onto a raised steel boxed electrical outlet. Come to think of it, that is why the desk goes there. Ah, yes, I get it, it is there so the desk can be centered in the room and I don’t have to run a cord to the wall.
Anyway, I am pretty badly injured. But we aren’t here to discuss that. The heart pounding, tight throat, head games, let’s talk about that.
Therefore, I worry about writing a post on worry. You see, I don’t ever want to make you think I am not telling the whole truth about Jesus. I believe Him.
Truly, I love Him, and I like Him. He is my friend, Savior, companion, my Adonai.
Still, I am fully human, and wholly Jami.
So, I am here to confess, yet again, I worry, and my butt is killing me.
It is no mystery, I haven’t seen our Marine-Baby in several months. He has been on a ship… in undisclosed locations. Nope, I do not watch the news. I always answer calls with NO CALLER ID. Daily, I surrender John-John into the hands of my Lord.
Jesus, my only hope of surviving deployment. However, it would be a flat out lie to tell you, I don’t worry.
Currently, I have two boys at sea. One is serving his country and the other is being served seven-course meals and on a luxury cruise. Luke, our third child in the line of the “Originals,” was invited to vacation in the Caribbean with the family of his good friend.
Prior to his departure, me and Jesus talked about all things there were to worry about this.
Me and Luke talked about manners, international and cruise dangers and precautions, which fork to use, and why you never wear anything shiny while snorkeling. You know, because of barracudas. I was feeling confident, worry-free.
We hugged in the driveway. My husband, Justin, loaded the last bag into Luke’s car. The talked briefly about the route to the airport. And then Luke said, “I love you guys, I will leave my keys on the hook in case you need my car while I am gone.
Instantly, I began to worry.
Justin said, “Son, you are taking your car to the airport.”
Luke laughed, shook his keys and flippantly said, “Oh, yeah!”
Y’all, tell me you are not a little worried about him too?
Maggie, our eldest original, texted 45 minutes later with desperate worry for her husband, who has the flu. I worried, he has a high fever and must miss work. Maggie, who has a compromised immune system from celiac disease, would be down for weeks should she get the flu. I am certain you understand why I worry about this.
Sophie, our teen got 4 more university mailings yesterday. The pile collecting on the bar is exponential. Some are from schools out of state, some are out of the country. “Jesus, why did we let her skip a grade, that means she will be 17 when she leaves for college? She is just a baby!”
Sam, our seven-year-old, the oldest of our two adopted sons, missed 5 out of 7 spelling words.
Charlie, the younger, who will be five this month, got another note home from school. He keeps saying “poop.”
I worry they won’t eat vegetables, they play too many video games, and I keep forgetting to brush their teeth.
Goodness, I worry about those little boys for all the reasons I worried when the originals were little, only now, I am old. I worry they will be the death of me. And if I die, Justin, who is even older than me, might not remember to put a snack in Sam’s backpack or go to that parent-teacher conference, again.
So, I woke in physical pain. Heart pounding, throat tight, rear end throbbing and I came into the living room to pray about all these things, all the worry.
I don’t have to worry, Jesus was already awake, waiting for me.
Here is where I come to rest from all the worry.
Sitting on an ice pack, I am sleepy, yet fully cognizant, this God is the help I require.
I cannot pretend that worry doesn’t chase me. This is the enemy’s most perfected craft. The soft underbelly he aims for, a mommy’s heart.
Yet as I sit here, which is seriously miserable, I am comforted by this God. He is the parent I need to parent them well. Alone in the quiet, I find a space where He alone can save.
I am in awe by His calm, worry-free parenting. He does not gasp and He is never shocked, frazzled, or mad. Perhaps someone will claim it is a faithless walk to worry. I claim they are not a mom. It is the knee jerk, rote reaction to every action of these beings who carry my heart around outside of my body.I am comforted by this God. He is the parent I need to parent them well. Alone in the quiet, I find a space where He alone can save.Click To Tweet
Still, He knows.
He knew I would be this way. And, He knows and loves me just the same.
Greater, He knew how they would be. And, He knows and loves them, even more than I.
So, I will not worry anymore about posting this. For I think it of great benefit to be in solidarity with every mom who might read this to know, we worry. We all do it and we aren’t in trouble or lacking in our belief. Instead, we are most welcome to this peaceable space, resting in the arms of this perfect Jesus.
A Man-God who died so that we might live, comforted in the company of a worry-free Father.
No worries mamma.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
P.S. My butt hurts.
Say to those with fearful hearts, “Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, He will come with vengeance; with divine retribution He will come to save you.” Isaiah 35:4
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