No Worries, Man!
Have you ever noticed that even when men say they’re worried, they don’t sound worried? They make such statements as “I believe we have reason for concern that the recession will deepen in the next business quarter.” Doesn’t that just shoot you full of adrenaline?
Now, compare this with what a woman might say: “Why can’t you remember to lock the back door at night? Don’t be surprised if you wake up one morning and find that your family has had their throats cut by drug-crazed Nazi terrorists. Not to mention that anyone can walk in and swipe my spoon collection!”
Women can bring an electrifying sense of national crisis to almost anything:
Wife: “Oh, no! We don’t have a hostess gift for the Johnson’s dinner party. Do we want them to think we’re uncivilised savages? We might as well show up wearing animal skins.”
Husband: “What’s a hostess gift?”
Another example is women’s concern over keeping their legs smooth and tan. This seems like excessive worrying to men, who will swagger around in shorts even when their legs make them look like Koko the gorilla.
Now, there may be some among you who disagree with the idea that women are more enthusiastic worriers than men. I may get a letter that says, “You have never seen my husband in the final minute of a tied football game. Often I have to calm him by rocking him in my arms and softly singing Doris Day songs.” OK, I see your point.
But here is something you will definitely agree with: Whether you’re a man or a woman, your worries will shrink to the size of that suspicious mole on your shoulder when compared to your worries after you become a parent.
Suddenly you begin to think of ways—many of which defy the rules of physics—that a toddler could get his or her hand in the garbage disposal. You realise that almost everything in your house except the mattress is a choking hazard. And you hadn’t noticed it before, but the neighbour’s dog does look like a savage hunting animal.
Also, the great controversy between good and evil begins to focus more and more on germs. The other night at a restaurant, the father of an eight-month-old turned to his wife and asked, “Did you remember to Windex wipe the table?” If you bring a child with the sniffles to some churches or other public gathering, they’ll mark off a metre perimeter around the kid with bio-hazard tape.
In our own home we’re a little worried about the future of our two-year old son, because he refuses to obey authority figures. I’ve started a savings account in case the day comes when I need to come up with bail money.
I know God made a point of telling us not to worry about what we’re going to wear (women) and what we’re going to eat (men). But He doesn’t come right out and say, “Don’t worry so much about your kids.” One reason may be that He sympathises with the worries of parents.
Not that He shares the same panicky, semi-irrational fears that fill our heads, but He sympathises in the sense that He is doing whatever He can to ensure the health, safety and salvation of His family.
There are parts of the Old Testament in which you can see Him standing on the front porch yelling at the children of Israel, “Get back in the yard! If I told you once, I’ve told you a million times—don’t play in the street.
“And Zedekiah, quit running with that sharp stick. You’re going to poke someone’s eye out! (Sigh.) You kids are going to be the death of Me yet.”
Adapted, with permission, from Women of Spirit
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