Journal 2006

I confess I’m worried. About scholarships for our youngest daughter. About her school choices. About our savings account.

Worry is a wrinkled brow, a tightness in the neck, shoulders, and stomach. Worry keeps me focused on what is lacking instead of the potential. Worry keeps me bound. Worry is fear.

Worry is a frog on a lily pad floating downstream, hearing the roar of a waterfall ahead, and I’m helpless to stop, hop off the lily pad, or swim to the far shore against the current. What to do? It’s useless to fight. So, I relax, hang on, and get ready for the ride of my life. Over the waterfall, resurface, sputtering and gasping for air, lungs full of water. Feel like I’m dying. But I live to tell the tale. And I rest, recover, get up, and hop back onto my lily pad.

Face your worry. Imagine the end of the journey—survival or death. Either one, either way, there’s peace. So don’t worry!