According to the Encarta Dictionary installed in my Microsoft Word program, worry is defined in these ways: “1) to feel anxious about something unpleasant that may have happened or may happen, or make somebody do this, 2) to annoy somebody by making insistent demands or complaints, … 6) To touch, move, or interfere with something repeatedly.” I skipped 3-5 because they do not relate to my topic.

I have never been much of a worrier. I have always “rolled with the punches,” taken things with a “grain of salt,” and all those other ‘seize the day’ clichés. I read in my Bible a long time ago that God does not want us to worry – that worry is really a sin because it ultimately means that we do not rely on God to take care of us. When trouble would come up in my life, I was always able to “turn it over to God,” so to speak. That is, until that fateful day in August 2007 when I found out I was finally pregnant! James and I had wanted children for over 12 years and had been unable to have any of our own (a story for another time), until now. I had been “pregnant” twice before, with “false pregnancies” and after about a week my body would go back to normal – no pregnancy. So on that day in late August 2007, when the doctor told me I was pregnant, I kind of held my breath and said a little prayer of thanksgiving, followed by, “Lord, is this the real thing this time? Can I really be pregnant with a baby? Will I go full term? Will he/she be healthy?” and many other concerns that rolled through my mind in that instant. I couldn’t even allow myself to begin to get excited about the pregnancy until after we got past that first week…then the first month…then the first trimester. I worried constantly even though I was also praying constantly. My worry wasn’t really because I didn’t trust God to take care of me and the baby. My worry was about me doing something stupid and hurting one of us (another story for a later date).

My worry didn’t stop once he was born either. As I went into labor I worried about whether he was okay – was the umbilical cord out of the way, was he turned the right way, etc., even though I was having a C-section (I actually went into labor the day I was pre-scheduled for a C-section). Then I worried about the epidural, then the surgery itself, but then I heard the beautiful cries of a new born baby! The doctor held him up so I could see him over the sheet hanging in front of me and I got my first glimpse (literally) of my baby boy. No time to count toes or fingers or anything like that, before they whisked him off to get cleaned up. I had told James prior to the surgery that as soon as Wesley was born, I wanted him to be with Wesley at all times and leave me to the doctors’ care. So as I’m lying there, waiting for them to stitch me up, with tears of joy rolling into my ears, I allowed myself a break from worry. I could hear Wesley screaming so I knew his lungs were good; we had monitored his heart every week at the end of the pregnancy, so I knew his heart was strong. And I knew James was there with him. I relaxed…for a moment.

A couple of hours after recovery, they brought Wesley back to me. He was all clean and wrapped in a blanket with a little hat on to keep his head warm. Oh the blissful joy of a newborn! Then the nurse tells me that we are going to see if the baby will nurse. Okay! Time to worry again!

Wesley is now one year old and has been walking since he was 10 ½ months old. He’s into EVERYTHING! I am learning that “worry,” (applicable to all definitions) is a constant throughout my day. I am “anxious” about what might happen if he gets into that cabinet and pulls out that pot, and about him stepping over that toy and onto the next one causing him to trip and fall. I am worried by him sometimes when he wants to be held constantly throughout the day, or when he is fretful, or feels bad and I can’t do anything to make it better. I worry about whether I am a good mother because some days it seems that all I do is say “NO!” I get anxious because he is constantly “testing the waters” to see what he can get away with; touching things he knows he’s not suppose to touch, getting into cabinets and pulling out the bowls, pots, and pans, deliberately disobeying (and he does this even at a year old – I’m not exaggerating!) Then I worry that I am worrying him with all my worries!

Moms, don’t feel guilty about these worries. God made us this way, in a manner of speaking, because he gave us the “nurture” gene. We naturally want to hold and protect our children all the time. We hurt when they hurt, because we feel their pain. We are protective. The important thing to remember is that we are all GOD’S CHILDREN. As much as we love our children, God loves them even more and He will not let anything happen to them that is not in His glorious plan for their lives. They first belong to God, then to us. God has entrusted us with the daily care of our “babies” and we “worry” because we care. I’m told by my mom that even when your children are grown and moved away, you still worry about them. These worries do not mean we don’t trust God. I believe these worries are reminders to us to pray over our children for God to protect them when we can’t, and trust Him to do as we have asked. Remember John 16:23 and take it to heart as truth! Jesus tells us, “I tell you the truth, you will ask the Father directly, and He will grant your request because you use My name.” Then trust and believe that God WILL grant your request.

Moms, we can’t do it alone. God has entrusted us with these little angels, but He also wants us to trust him with our lives – even the little everyday nitpicky stuff that comes up – God is near to help. All we have to do is ask.