I tend to be one of those people who don’t worry about much. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am very concientious and responsible. But I don’t WORRY. I don’t fret and stress, and I’m not afraid all the time. I figure we might as well LIVE until we die, otherwise we might as well be dead anyway. I do pray a lot, but then I tend to let God decide the outcome, and since I know He knows what He’s doing, I don’t have to try to “help” determine the outcome “my way.”
I don’t want to be stupid either. I make sure the stove is turned off when I’m done cooking, lock the doors before I go to bed, and drive as safely as I can. But when I garden, I tend to forget to pace myself. I just go full bore until I’m ready to drop. Lately when I go out to garden, I’ve begun taking water, a chair, my cell phone, and my keys. Besides a rather serious bout of heat stroke, I also got a scare from a vagrant one day, and I realized any one could go in to the house while I was out working in the garden and I would never know it until I was locked in there with them. So I try to take the proper precautions.
But you know, it’s a fine line between proper precautions and living in fear. Today was a good example. I took all the many things out with me that I could possibly need to stay safe and healthy while weeding my plumbagos. But then I had the problem of what to do with them. In typical impulsive fashion, I didn’t think it through. I just stuck the keys and cell phone in my shirt (you know, ladies, the ever present “purse” that resides there!). I gardened happily for quite a while, serene in the knowledge that I’d covered all the bases. Until I was nearing exhaustion and decided to finish up and go in.
That’s when I realized I didn’t have my keys anymore. At some point gravity had played it’s little prank, and they were gone! I am not known for staying calm in situations like that, but I did! I (calmly) walked around to all the places I’d been, looking (calmly) for the keys. I didn’t find the keys, but I did give some thought to the thick piles of weeds I’d clutched to my bosom and then thrown over the cow pasture fence. But I didn’t dwell on that thought. Finally I gave up and called my husband. About that time I suffered my ultimate humiliation as I realized I DID have pockets in these shorts after all! It was the OTHER shorts that didn’t have pockets.
My husband called my son, who was closer, and who I couldn’t call because I had never put his new number in my cell phone, and he came to rescue me. He not only let me back in my own house, but he even found the missing keys for me. Lying in plain site about 2 feet from where I was sitting in the shade in despair.
So what have I learned from this? That I’m a hopeless and impulsive clutz. But actually I already knew that, so what ELSE did I learn from this? On the one hand, being “safe” didn’t work out so well, as it so often does not. (How many people shoot a loved one thinking they are a burglar, or are suffocated in their own air bag, or die in a fire because there were bars on their windows?). On the other hand, I was rather glad I had my cell phone with me. And my water, for that matter. So I basically learned I was right all along (don’t you LOVE when that happens?); that I need to take precautions, but not worry too much. Be happy, pray, leave it in God’s hands, and LIVE until I die. At which time I have a sneaking suspicion that the angels will be laughing so hard from whatever ridiculous way I end up dying that they won’t even be able to greet me right away!