NOVEMBER 19
We are, perhaps uniquely among the world’s creatures, the
worrying animal. We worry away our lives, fearing the fu-
ture, discontent with the present, unable to take in the idea
of dying, unable to sit still.
—LEWIS THOMASEasier said than done, to get rid of all that.
But we do recognize its wisdom—the futility of worrying,
the danger of being so agitated toward life that we can’t sa-
vor the wonders of the moment, can’t even sit still!
Fred Buechner has written about “the family worri-
er”—the one who takes on the worries about money and
health and schedules and the durability of the family car,
thereby freeing the others for more spontaneous and joyous
pursuits.
Perhaps, for a breather—anytime, but maybe particularly
when we feel burdened with heavy grief—we can make a
conscious decision to “give it over,” as the early believers
used to say—give to God (or the air, or some strong, stalwart
tree) the whole swirling current of our grief and our agoniz-
ing about the meaning of life and death, and just drink in
the moment!
Worry has been described as the ultimate self-indulgence. I don’t
need it!