The image of Alfred E. Newman is probably not familiar to most of my readers. I am a relic, after all. This was common in the middle of the 19th century somewhere. I should be at a point in life, where adolescence is no longer at issue, but the memory of it lingers on. Looking back on those days brings back thoughts of acne, low self-image, growing in all directions, wondering what I was good at and things that were never under my control. Here I am, seventy years later and I still worry. Not about acne, but definitely about my body breaking down and returning to the dust from which it came.

Truthfully, I don’t worry about death. That’s a given, which I’m really looking forward to. It’s more about life and my ability to cope with it. I am a widow. I have a wonderful family who loves me. I thank God that I am still living in my own home. I have tons of things that have blessed my years, but there is still that nagging thing called worry. I worry if I will have enough money to make it through another month. I fret over getting things done that I can’t do anymore. I stress out over the state of the world. I get really crazy over politics. Enough so, that I rarely watch the news. I look out my window and often see work that has to be done, rather than taking time to enjoy the view. I try to keep as active as possible, but my aging bones tell me it’s hopeless.

All of these things are impossible for me to handle, much less control. I think about my husband’s words in the last few years of his life. He would point his finger to heaven and say, “He’s got this!” What a great way to look at life. To be totally honest, there were days when he worried too.

I don’t worry about having a zit on the end of my nose these days. My weight isn’t really an issue as it was when I was fourteen. My opinions are best stated in the written word, rather than getting them tangled up in my mouth. I still set goals for myself. I continue to drive but am probably the old lady on the road that everyone complains about. I drive the speed limit, which really ticks people off. I continue to work in my garden – with much less zeal. I’m learning to enjoy the view rather than looking for the weeds.

God gives each of us an allotted time on earth. He has a plan for every second. He alone is in control. Even though this body is in the slow process of decline, my mind is giving me the opportunity to share the love of God with those who take time to read my blog. I will continue to have good days and days that drive me up a wall, but that’s life, isn’t it? As long as I remember what’s important.

GOD HAS THIS!