Monday, November 23, 2009
So, today I was having a little chat with God about it. In the shower. Which is where God and I have most of our chats. I finally cut to the chase and told God that I am sick of worrying. Sick of fretting about all of the what-ifs and why-me's. Sick of walking around like Charlie Brown, wondering if someone's gonna yank away my football right when I gear up to kick.
And you know what God was kind enough to point out? That worry is a choice, and I can opt out. "Be anxious about NOTHING," He says.
"How?" I say, thinking of swiney germs and my newborn. Thinking of plummeting investments. Thinking of health care legislation that makes my skin crawl.
"Here's how," He says. And then He gives me three ways to do so.
1. "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!" (Phil. 4:4) Okay, so I haven't been much into rejoicing these days. And I'm really not sure why because I have a LOT to rejoice over, starting with the aforementioned newborn.
2. "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." (Phil. 4:6) I also have to admit that while I've been working on my Ph.D. in Worry and Stress, I'm barely passing when it comes to asking God for help. And let's not even talk about the "with thanksgiving" part...
3. "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." (Phil 4:8) Yes, there are real concerns and devastation and frustration in the world. And it's not like we can go around oblivious to it all. But we can choose to balance our thoughts with all of the admirable and noble things out there, too. So, for every worry I ponder, I'm going to try to think of something grand and lovely, too.
Starting now. I'm off to enjoy a grand and lovely evening with Hunk.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Bug (bending over and looking at Munson's belly): Oh, look! A poop coming out!
Me: Oh, no, Buddy. That's not a poop. That's Munson's wee-wee.
Bug (sounding delighted): Oh! His ee-wee!
Me: Yes, Munson has a wee-wee because Munson is a boy.
Bug (condescending): No, Mommy, Munson is not a boy. He's a dog.Guess the birds-and-the-bees chat can wait for a few more years.