I Choose to be Carried

I used to worry, fester, fume and ruminate over every little thing. Just ask my mom, my husband, and my friends.

Then life happened, and it just kept happening. My parents and parents-in-law both divorced – one shortly after my marriage and the other as we were having our first child. My father died way too early after a difficult struggle with brain cancer. Other friends and family died, divorced, or lost children. My daughter was born with serious medical complications and ongoing disabilities.

When I was younger, I went up and down with life. Eventually (well, recently) I learned that life could have its ups and downs, but I didn’t have to go up and down with it.

I used to worry, ponder, contemplate, and come up with every awful possibility. The theory was that if I worried and planned, I could be prepared for anything that happened. But you know what? Most often, the final outcome wasn’t anything like what I’d imagined and planned. So I had to wing it anyway. I’d spend all that time worrying and planning for nothing. I always got through somehow despite the inaccurate and useless plan derived from my worry.

Eventually, I learned to relax and live with the faith that I would get to tomorrow somehow. The “somehow” was most often something I couldn’t have planned or made happen. It was something that came about when I relaxed, let things roll, and kept my mind open to the miracles around me.

Why borrow tomorrow's worries? I can’t predict the problems of tomorrow. Why worry as if I can? Instead, I let my body and mind relax in what I know today. And I do mean what I KNOW – not what I think might happen or might be. What I KNOW are only those things that are CERTAIN AT THE MOMENT.

Whatever the certainty is, worrying over it and pondering over it won't change it, won't make it easier, and won't make it go away. I can’t worry away illness. I can’t worry away a bad relationship. I can’t worry my way to success. So settling into the certainty of right now, letting it all be, and moving through it one day at a time seems to work best. I recognize what IS, acknowledge the certainty that I am exactly where I need to be, and accept that things are just as they need to be. I keep my spirits up knowing that I will get through one way or another – even if I can’t imagine or anticipate how that will happen.

Positive thinking and good spirits carry us through. Worried minds drag us down. Our goal is to get through our days, our situations, our lives. We will get through them one way or another. Tomorrow will come. Either our good spirits will carry us through or our worries will drag us through. Hmmm... do you want to be carried or dragged??

Walking Through the Fog

Imagine an early morning thick with fog. Walking into a dense forest, you can see only a few inches in front of you as you step cautiously forward. Will you trip over a log? Will you fall into a creek or pond? Is a grizzly bear waiting to attack? Is the path smooth and straight, or winding and bumpy with rocks and tree roots? Is there a path at all? Perhaps it ends at a sudden, steep, rocky cliff. Perhaps it leads into deep brush or a thicket full of thorns and thistles.

You want to turn back. But you must keep walking. Don’t look back. Don’t stop and pause. Keep walking. And take your precious child with you. Keep walking. Don’t worry about the perils ahead. Keep that child right by your side. Better yet, push the child out first. Let your child lead.

Uncomfortable? Frightening?

This is the nightmare that many parents live every day as they lead their children through a life with medical challenges and uncertainty. We never know what the next day will bring. Each doctor appointment is another step into the fog. Will this be a routine check-up? Or will there be a new challenge to face?

My daughter’s first years were spent driving over four hours round trip to the children’s hospital at least weekly. Each visit, each test, each procedure, each therapy appointment uncovered something new that needed attention. The long drive was always filled with dread. What horrible news might I learn today? Will we leave here with a sigh of relief or with a full agenda of further tests and surgeries?

When we thought we’d finally uncovered and resolved every medical issue, when we thought the fog had lifted, when we had packed our picnic basket for the flower-filled meadow we were certain lie just ahead, we learned that she would need two complicated surgeries in one year. Down came the fog again. This time, it hid a brick wall that we walked right into full force. Picnic basket crushed. Food splattered everywhere. Leave it behind and keep walking.

I tell my daughter that it is my job to worry. I can worry enough for the whole family so she should lay her burdens on me and then go out and play. But I know she is right there beside me on the foggy path. I cannot release her from the journey. All I can do is hope to stay one step ahead to guard her from the uncertainties and dangers. And try not to think about the day when she will have to walk alone.