"If you pray, why worry? If you worry, why pray?" My friend Shelley
has a magnet with these questions on her refrigerator. She really
seems to live this philosophy. Shelley is not yet a mother.
Mothers have the corner on the worry market. One recent weekend drove
this point home to me. All three of my children had a nasty virus.
The baby, in particular, was especially sick. My husband, Mike, and I
left the pediatrician on Friday afternoon armed with plenty of
medicine, a machine for administering respiratory therapy,
instructions for twenty-four hour nursing care (to be given by us),
and the doctor's caution to go by ambulance to the hospital if
Patrick's condition worsened. My husband dropped us off at home and
left for the airport. He had a business trip.
The weekend assumed a rhythmic pattern of breathing treatments,
temperature taking, and medicine administration. I stayed awake all
night listening to the baby wheeze. His breathing was so labored that
it was easy to hear from my bed. When I couldn't hear him wheeze,
instead of assuming that he was better, I jumped up to be sure that
he was indeed breathing. Awake, alone, and feverish myself, I tried
to pray, but in all honesty, I prayed very little and worried much
more.
By Sunday, I was exhausted and losing sense of reality. It seemed
that we'd never all be better. My mom stopped by to pick up a load of
laundry and drop off dinner. She told me how much she worried when my
sister and I were sick. My father-in-law (who never gets sick) came
over to entertain the older boys. I had help but nobody took the
worry load off my shoulders. I decided to call my husband. After all,
these were his children and he should worry too. As I was looking for
the number the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi honey, how are you?"
"Oh, Mike I was just looking for your number in Greenville, I'm
having the worst..."
"Well you wouldn't have found me in Greenville. I'm in Raleigh."
"In Raleigh, why?"
"My flight this morning was diverted to Raleigh where we made an
emergency landing. An engine went out in the air...Hello, are you
there?"
"Yeah, I'm here. I guess I'm not having the worst day; you are. Are
you O.K.?"
"I'm fine. Just a little shaken. I'll call you later. Don't worry."
Right. Sure. Don't worry. I'm a mom. I worry about everything.
Especially airplanes. By this time, my worry gears were in overdrive.
I wasn't even considering prayer. I called my sister-in-law to tell
her about the plane and we decided it probably wouldn't make the news
and there was no sense in telling Mike's mom. She'd just worry. Moms
do that you know.
Mike came home the next day (he drove), the older boys were feeling
better, and Patrick was no worse. By the end of the week, Patrick was
fine and it appeared that we had all survived. I reflected on how
much energy I had spent "what-iffing." What if he needed to go to the
hospital in the middle of the night? What if he stopped breathing and
I didn't hear him? What if I were too sick to take care of them all?
What if the plane crashed? All that energy and nothing to show for
it.
Worry does nothing to bring us closer to God. Fear is the antithesis
of faith. The burdens in our life, the things that frighten us the
most, are opportunities to be faithful. I need to depend on God and
every once in awhile life throws something my way to bring me to my
knees. I doubt I'll ever live up to the message on the magnet. Very
few mothers do. But I'm sure going to try to pray more and worry a
whole lot less.
Foss is a freelance writer living in Springfield.
This article appeared in the March 23, 1995 issue of "The Arlington
Catholic Herald."
Courtesy of the "Arlington Catholic Herald" diocesan newspaper of the
Arlington (VA) diocese. For subscription information, call
1-800-377-0511 or write 200 North Glebe Road, Suite 607 Arlington, VA
22203.
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