Anxiety hangs in the air like an ethereal cloud. You might not have a clue why it's there. It just seems like you are required to worry about something or everything or nothing at all. I even hate assigning a word to that cloud, because it's not describable and doesn't like being put into a category. As I have, ahem, matured, I have learned to stop myself in my tracks and ask, "What is going on here? Is there a reason I'm afraid or sad or worried? What is the truth about my situation?" The truth will set you free. The devil loves to get us up and running from something that has no basis in reality. People have jumped off bridges, fleeing the pain of what was fiction. The Emperor walked down the street naked, because he was told something that was not accurate. He saw the mirror and the suit his Mama gave him, but he listened to the charlatans around him and became convinced of a lie. We get tangled up in our emotions, circumstances, the spectre of the unknown, until the cloud becomes heavy and dark and closes in, causing hope and the idea of tomorrow to seem unobtainable.
I have two neighbors with metastasized cancer, one across the street and one behind me. To the side of us is my neighbor who recently lost her husband. Death comes to us all, we don't know how or when. There was a time that I believed I would never die. A pastor held me as a baby and told my Mama that he believed Jesus would come in my lifetime. And He will, but maybe not in a disappearing-rapture-type of event. I'm most probably going to die like everyone else, but He'll come to get my soul when the old ticker gives out. Death is swallowed up in victory. I can hear my MawMaw singing, drawing out that last phrase in "I Will Sing the Wondrous Story" -- about being gathered by the crystal sea (she pronounced it more like "crishtial"). Any time I have sung this as an adult, I have to sing it like that, just so she can laugh at me from up there. That's also what Ken's Grandmama Norton called his cousin. Her name was Kristie but she called her Chrishtial. I don't understand. Maybe it's an old country girl thing, because they were both Grandmas of that persuasion.
Sitting in church tonight, with hymns being sung heartily all around me, I sat instead of standing, just like a real Grandma with my tortured ankle. I brought my sewing kit to fix my 7-year-old granddaughter's toy while I sang and listened to the sermon. She also brought her stuffed Unicorn for me to work on. I assumed it was another little toy, but when we went out to get it, it was the 6-foot-version that I bought her for a past birthday. Needless to say, we didn't bring it into church. I have become the Mender of these things, a rite of passage that I accept with humility and gratefulness. I have arrived.
The cloud that had hovered earlier was gone. The chilly night air, the warm church, prayers lifted, heart-encouraging sermon, grandchildren all around with energy and ideas, husband with his giant hand wrapped around mine, young people listening intently, old people quiet and serene... it seemed timeless. All at once in my mind, there were differing scenes -- the old Baptist Church I grew up in; Grandmas singing with quavery voices; my parents and siblings all in a row; a choir harmonizing in unity; my husband next to me; my children as little people, all shined up and hopeful; grandchildren nesting near -- thoughts of generations and truths that have stood the test of time, blessings of blood and brothers and bond.
Why do we worry, why do we fret, why do we make so much of the things that do not matter? There is peace in my world tonight.
Love this!!!
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