I lived in Scotland for several years while I growing
up. Every-other-summer we got to come
back to the States to visit family and friends.
The summer I was 12 we spent a lot of time with our cousins riding dirt
bikes. We rode on the dirt road between
my cousins’ home and my grandparent’s home; we rode along the wheat fields and
to go do chores; but our favorite place to ride was on my uncle’s dirt runway
because it was smooth and straight and we could pick up some speed.
Since I’m not really the adventurous type, I was usually
behind one of my cousins on their bike, but eventually they made me learn how
to drive. So, late in the summer, when
my brother left for a week to go to football camp, his dirt bike became mine
for the week.
One afternoon, as I was cruising down the runway, enjoying
the wind in my face, I suddenly realized that the runway was soon coming to an
end and I was going way too fast for the bumpy ruts I was headed for. Up until this time I hadn’t really gone super-fast
while driving so I hadn’t yet learned about the danger of trying to slow down
too fast.
So I fish-tailed. And
then I crashed. And the 1255cc dirt bike
landed on me, with the hot engine burning through the skin on the inside of my
right leg.
My cousin got me back home where my second-degree burns were
taken care of, but I remember I really wasn’t so concerned about my leg. What had me most worried was that my brother
was going to be mad because I crashed his brand new dirt bike.
That worry tortured me for several days. (This was way before cell phones and constant
communication, so my brother didn’t know about what happened until he got back
from his football camp.) I worried
because he had trusted me enough to let me use his dirt bike and I didn’t take
very good care of it and now it was scratched up. I worried because I didn’t like it when he
was mad at me.
Imagine my surprise the night my brother arrived home and
the first thing he did was come and make sure I was OK. He wasn’t too worried about his bike, but
he was concerned about me and my bandaged leg.
So, I had spent several days worrying about something that
never happened. What a waste of time.
How much time do you spend worrying about things that haven’t
happened yet? Do you worry that your son
will give up all the good things you’ve taught him? Do you worry that he might not marry the right
girl since he’s no longer associating with the Church? Do you worry that you’ll never have your
whole family together in the temple?
Sure ~ all these things might happen. But it’s also true that they might not. Worrying ahead of time just ensures you get
to worry either way.
What could you do with the time you currently spend worrying
about something that hasn’t happened yet?
I spend that time living my life and nurturing myself so I can better
show up as the kind of person I want to be, especially in my relationship with
my son.
