For the second year in a row Carol is giving up worrying for Lent.
I think it’d be easier to give up chocolate. Last year when she said she was doing it, one of our friends exclaimed, “Carol, giving up worrying? That would be like Fred Astaire giving up his tap shoes.”
She’s good at worrying. In fact, in the division of labor that couples often naturally take up, I assign all the worrying to her. It takes a load off me. Worried about catching a plane? Worried about a snow storm mucking up the roads? Worried about where the kids are? I let her do it.
Now that she’s not worrying, I wonder if I’m supposed to do more of it. Pick up the slack. Or maybe I should give up worrying too. Some people claim that worrying is a sin. I’m not so sure about that.
Worrying that cripples you so that you don’t even want to leave the house—that’s bad, of course. But those everyday worries, like how will Tim do on his history paper and will William be safe on his vacation to Guatemala…those are the kind of worries that lend themselves to prayer.
Now when I look across the table at dinner to Carol and check the worry shadow between her brows and see if there’s a new mark of calm, I throw in a few comments at grace, “God, keep us all safe and under your care.” I guess that’s what you do when you give up worrying for Lent. You put everything in God’s care.
