Tears filled my eyes as I flipped over a page on my desk calendar to reveal today’s date: September 13. The first anniversary of my husband John’s death. I missed him fiercely, and the calendar’s daily inspirational messages often lifted my spirits when I was feeling particularly upset. I checked the day’s message. The page read: “Death is a new adventure in existence. No need to dread it or ignore it. Because of Christ, you can face it.”
Just the sort of thing I needed to remember. Life without John was hard on me. I’m a born worrier—John called me his ‘little worry wonk.’ I stressed over everything—public speaking obligations, the deadlines I faced in my job as a journalist, the safety of my friends and family. “Relax,” John always said. “If something is out of your control, worrying just wastes your time. You’re letting negative thoughts overwhelm you.”
I knew he was right, and I’d calm down—until I found something new to fret about. After John passed away, the grief only compounded my stress. I missed his soothing words of wisdom.
I stared at the page of the calendar. What a coincidence that this message came today, of all days, I thought. I should save it.
I tore September 13 from the calendar and held the page in my hand. That’s when I noticed the date printed on the other side. April 19.
John’s birthday.
I turned the page over and read the message. “Destructive anxiety subtracts God from the future, faces uncertainties with no faith, tallies up the challenges of the day without entering God into the equation. Worry is the darkroom in where negatives become glossy prints.”
Exactly the words John would want his little worry wonk to hear.
