We've all done it. We total all the things we have to accomplish and subtract them from the time available to do them--and come up with a negative balance. I know full well I'm not supposed to worry. The birds and the lilies of the field aren't worrying, are they? "Let not your heart be troubled," my Bible whispers. But often, it seems, no matter how hard I try, inner peace ducks its head, shivers, and hides when confronted with mounting bills, looming deadlines and runny noses.
This is when I ought to run to my Heavenly Father, crawl into His lap, and bury my head in His shoulder. Most of the time, though, I'm too busy worrying to remember. Fortunately, He never forgets me. He seems to continually come up with creative ways to soothe my heart and point me back to Himself.
Take last week, for instance. We were driving to school with my son Dusty behind the wheel. This particular morning, for some reason, Dusty can't seem to stop straddling the white line. I'm trying to come up with a way to tell him to please stop trying to run me into the rock wall beside the road without sounding like Momzilla. I finally settle on a French accent, and start crooning in my best Pepe Le Peu voice, "Oh, white line, you are zo beautiful to me! I muzt have you under my tirez. My darling white line, come to me!"
Dusty straightens the wheel. Jesse,in the back seat, says,"Mom, that was incredibly disturbing. Please don't ever do that again."
I act innocent. "Hey, don't blame me. It was your brother's inner monologue."
"My inner monologue is French?" Dusty asks.
"Well, duh!" Jesse says. "Everyone's inner monologue is French."
"Well, what about French people?" You can tell Dusty is pretty sure he's got Jesse pinned.
Jesse doesn't miss a beat. "No, their inner monologue is German," he replies with a perfectly straight face.
"Then what about the Germans?" Dusty puzzles.
Jesse nods sagely. "Their inner monologue is Portuguese. For some reason, though, the Portuguese don't seem to have an inner monologue. They're really a very dry and boring people."
By this time my laughter is starting to interfere with my breathing. Its probably a good thing I'm not driving. And I have to admit, God may not have blessed me with the gift of sleep, but He's overflowed my cup with laughter and joy. Who else gets to carpool with Abbot and Costello? Maybe I'll survive after all.
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