Worry, Worry, Worry

It's true. I'm a born worrier. Someone once said that I worry over every little thing and that if I didn't worry, I'd worry why I didn't worry. I thrive on worry. I can't understand how some of my friends can sail through life with a smile on their lips. They must be made of steel.

I worry when the phone rings late at night. Is it a bearer of good or bad news? Should I pick it up or leave it alone?

I worry when we go away on holiday and leave the house empty. If I could, I'd pack it in my suitcase and take it with me.

I worry when I hear that a friend is sick and has been hospitalised.

I worry when I read about H1N1, murders, robberies, recession, inflation.

I worry when I don't hear the birds in the trees. Where have they gone?

I worry about my family all the time!

My list of worries could go on forever.

There is a little story which tells of God giving a child two boxes - one black and one gold. She was told to put all her joys in the gold and her sorrows and worries in the black. She did as she was told and found that the gold box became heavier each day while the black box was as light as before. One day, out of curiosity, she opened the black box and found that there was a hole at the bottom. When she asked God where all her sorrows and worries had gone, God replied that they were all with him. The gold box was for her to count all her blessings while the black was for her to let go.

Maybe it's high time I ask God for a black box?