Why Worry?

'So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today's trouble is enough for today. – Matt. 6:34

 

There are times when I do the daily reading where I try as hard as I can to make whatever I have read relevant to whatever is going on in my life. I may read something about leprosy in the reading, but I cannot make leprosy fit into my thinking. Granted, I can come up with half a dozen things, but leprosy? Not really.

I do not remember Jesus talking about contamination running across the lawn and into the street for a month or so, but he did talk about people not following God's law, which was to love God and one's neighbor. I thought of that, but since the other four trailers on my side of the street contributed abundantly to my problem, it was not easy to love them, at least then.

Life lately has been a bit like the joke about what the beaver once said. "It's just one dam thing after another." I have heard that one at least a hundred times over the last fifty years, and it still makes me giggle. It is still as true for me as it was the first time someone brought it into conversation. It seems as if problems have come along in an almost predictable procession, usually involving something not working, being turned off sporadically (like water), financial issues, and similar difficulties. Things are all right now, but I tend to have my fingers crossed or raise a few prayers for a break in the almost steady flow of problems.

I had to smile when I ran across this part of the reading for today, "Do not worry…." I must have read that bit of scripture a hundred or more times over the course of my life, but this time it is as if I was being told not to worry about what is next; it will come in due time. It is true that today's problems are enough without borrowing trouble from tomorrow, next week, or even next year.

Jesus was undoubtedly familiar with worried people. The Samaritan woman at the well was probably as concerned as she could be that Jesus would reject her because of her ethnicity, her irregular marital status, and the fact that she was a single woman out without a male escort. She had plenty to worry about. Her neighbors probably reminded her of her almost outcast status daily, and a Jewish man was at the well closest to her home. Jesus surprised her. He spoke of her life and lifestyle without condemnation. He told her not to worry and gave her a message for her neighbors. He set her up as his first evangelist, giving her a message of hope for herself and others with worries, anxieties, and concerns.

I often pray the Serenity Prayer in troublesome times: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Over the years that I have been repeating that prayer, it has helped me not to worry nearly as much as I used to, and I certainly do not deliberately worry about what might happen somewhere or when. Life has been much more tranquil since I have made that prayer like a mantra, but now and again, life throws me a curve ball to remind me that life is not all beer and Skittles or that it is even a series of metaphors to be tossed around.

So, I thank God today for the reminder that worry is useless because it does not change anything. What will happen will happen, whether or not I fret about it. I should remember the part from Psalm 55, "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee" (v. 22a). Whether I place it in a more modern version of English or the King James Version, I learned as a child, it is a reminder to let God take care of it. I do not know if Bobby McFerrin had God in mind, but he seemed to be channeling a message from God when he wrote the song that made him famous, "Don't worry, be happy." 

Sounds like good advice to me. There. I feel better already. 

The Power of Memories

 

Grief and memory go together. After someone dies, that's what you're left with. And the memories are so slippery yet so rich. – Mike Mills, American musician

Yesterday I had to write a letter. I used to write lots of them back in the days before computers, text messaging, and the like. Some of my notes could fit on a postcard’s back, but most were two or more pages. I remember writing one letter that was sixteen pages, written on notebook paper, both sides. I do not remember what I said, but I am sure I wrote so much for a reason. It was probably just drivel, unimportant and trivial things I had done, heard, thought, or learned, but that stuff was important to me then. The lady I wrote to was a good friend and never complained. She also never failed to respond. That is one memory that I cherish.

I wrote the letter yesterday to another friend, older than me, who has known me all my life. We have shared many years and memories, but now I live three-quarters of the way across this country from her. Sure, I could telephone, but this time I had to write, or rather type, an actual letter. I was sending her a prayer shawl in the mail, and I wanted to explain the purpose of it, what the colors meant to me, the different stitches I had put into it, and mention that many prayers had gone into it. It was meant to be something soft, light, and comforting, like a gentle hug from far away. While writing, though, it brought back memories of things like her wedding, her family treating me like one of them, and her introducing me to Chinese food in my teens. There were days at the beach, shopping trips, lunch at various places around town, and afternoons spent organizing her jewelry box. It was all fun.

I think the letter was more than a page and a half, but I could have written a volume. I have many memories of her mother, in a way, taking the place of mine, who died when I was fourteen. Her mother helped me sew clothes for college, tried to teach me to cook some of my favorite dishes, and generally listened to my babble as I sat at her kitchen table, drinking iced tea and feeling like I was at home.

I wanted to remind my friend of all those memories, including the times I have tried to make her mother’s spoon bread but never could get it past the “If it looks like hog swill, you’ve got it right” stage. It was a dish she made often, frequently to be taken to a family in grief over the loss of a loved one. She reminded me that the spoon bread, full of butter, would slide down a throat clogged with tears when nothing else would. I mentioned the spoon bread in the letter since, if I lived closer and could get the dish to turn out like her mother’s, I would have taken it to my friend’s house. It would have been understood and welcomed since my friend was indeed in a state of grief. The shawl would have to replace the spoon bread, but hopefully would last much longer and demonstrate the sympathy and love that went into both.

I thought about my friend a great deal yesterday, running through memories like a child running through a meadow full of dandelions, buttercups, and daisies. Then I had what was indeed an insight: my friend and her family had demonstrated what God’s love was like -- accepting, protecting, sharing, feeding, listening, and a hundred other things. They were not church-goers, but they still illustrated what Jesus tried to teach about loving one’s neighbor. They were not rich, but they always had an extra potato to put in the pot so I could have dinner with them. They gave me good advice and taught me things I needed to know outside of school books. They shared their time with me. If those things were not examples of what Jesus taught, I would have missed the point of that lesson altogether. 

Rosa Parks once said, “Memories of our lives, of our works and our deeds will continue in others.” That quote sums up God’s will and is a guideline to recognize God’s work in others who give without thinking or stinting. I am sure I won’t forget this insight quickly because it has lodged in my heart when I think of my neighbors who were more than neighbors. They were teachers of an exceptional kind, the kind Jesus would have approved. They put words into action without quoting.  

Look around you. Who teaches love and kindness to neighbors without saying a word about it? Have you done that in your own life and ministry? Have you investigated memories to see where you might find a lesson or insight?  I did, and I am glad. I would have missed a great life lesson.