A second look at worries on the road

Last week, I wrote about worrying -- and why it's not only needless but also shows a lack of faith. I also offered you a challenge to begin keeping a list of things you're grateful for. Little did I know that I would need the message I had shared with you last week to be firmly in my mind and heart by the end of the week.

Someone very dear to me took an ambulance ride to the hospital on Friday morning, not for health problems that had plagued her much of the summer, but for something new, something scarier, something life-threatening. But she was in good hands, in God's hands. And she got to the hospital in time.

As I walked to and from her room each day, the blur of activity in the hallways dizzied me. But the experience filled me with items for my gratitude list. I hope you don't mind me sharing some of them with you.

These last few days, I have found myself grateful for ...

Worries on the road less traveled

Do you worry a lot? I do. I know, I know -- God tells us over and over again in the Bible not to worry, but I think I was born worried, so worried, in fact, that I came out six weeks early to fit in more worrying.

This past weekend, I had a lot of worries to face on what should have been a blissful outing. My husband, dog and I went for a hike to measure a trail for my husband's web site. My husband has a passion for running and numbers and helping others and sharing his story of faith, and he has combined all of that into a great site with maps and accurate wheel measurements of runnable trails in the northwestern North Carolina mountains.

I've taken wheel in hand to measure a couple of trails for him. And I've accompanied him on other trails as he did the measuring. Until this weekend, the trails were easy ones. Wide, well-maintained, steep at times, but still easy to walk.

This weekend's trail was different, and I knew enough to ask before I agreed to accompany him whether there would be stream crossings. You see, I really don't love stream crossings. I never have. I'm not coordinated, and something about stepping across slippery, wet rocks works on my overactive imagination in the worst kind of way.

My husband told me there would be one creek to cross but assured me it would be an easy crossing. Turns out, I didn't need to worry about that crossing. He was right. There were several stones sitting sturdily up out of the water for me to step across.

What I neglected to ask about, though, was another worry I face on hikes: crossing over downed trees. Somewhere, some wise or possibly mean person filled my little-girl head with fears about snakes and spiders waiting on the other side of downed trees to bite me.