Don't Worry

            As I worried my way through the morning, a sentence presented itself to me:  “Don’t worry; worship instead.” 

            Starting the thirty minute drive to the memory care facility where we moved Mom last week, I listened to my tried and true Steve Green worship CD.  “People need the Lord” seemed especially appropriate.  As my mind tried to drift off into its well-worn worry mode, I focused on the music.  Then it seemed appropriate to voice my worries to God and give them over to Him yet again.  Music and prayer, prayer and music got me to Oak Harbor.  That plus a wonderful concept learned at Saturday’s prayer workshop:  come to God in prayer with expectancy instead of expectations.

            As I parked the car and prepared to enter Home Place, I knew I could count on God loving me through this visit no matter how it went.  I asked for help and wisdom and, most of all, the ability to bring compassionate love to my mother.  The only pre-planned strategy I had was to greet her cheerfully.

            Yes, the pleading began quickly, and my heart ached for her.  Knowing that her repeated pleas make her more miserable and me more guilty, I tried being direct.

            “Mom, I would like our visit to be one we can both enjoy,” I said, and brought up my recent election to church office here at Whidbey Presbyterian.  I knew she would relate to that because she served in the United Methodist Church for many years in many capacities.  She brightened right up.

            “Yes, that’s just like me.  I rose up in the ranks of the Methodist church, too.”

            “This is not about rising in the ranks,” I thought to myself.  “It’s about loving God and receiving His blessing to love and serve Him in this part of the body of Christ.”  But now was not the time to debate our differing perspectives.

            Then it occurred to me that Mom would be happy to hear I am transcribing the letters her parents wrote to each other before they married in 1917.  So far I’ve done the first three months of 1915 (Grandma’s senior year at Oberlin College and Grandpa’s sophomore year at Wesleyan University).

            Mention of their letters inspired another five or ten minutes of happy reminiscing on her part.  I realized that I was really enjoying this conversation, too.

            And then, she got back to the foremost subject on her mind:  going home.  She said again (and again and again) that she was doing everything she can—eating more and exercising in her room--to prove she could come home.  She got teary-eyed again and my heart broke again.  It was time to wrap things up.

            Ever the hostess, she walked me to her door.  We hugged again, and I reassured her that I would be back soon. 

            As I stepped out into the unexpected sunshine of this February day, I knew for a fact that worship trounces worry every time.