Vaporized
“There's just a little bit of magic in the country...” That was part of a line from Pickin' Up the Pieces by Poco. It's a line that has stuck with me since 1968. This morning, I experienced it. Again.
I worry 'way too much. If there's nothing to worry about, I'll simply pull in information until I find something that really worries the crap out of me, or I'll sort through past events and worries to find some negative event that might happen again, so I can worry about that. But today I did have a worry, and didn't have to look for anything else. All I could think about was, “What in the hell am I gonna do about this??” There isn't any need to describe it. It was a big deal, and I knew it could affect me in fundamental ways that were all negative. Worse, there didn't appear to be any way around it.
So while I did my usual morning tasks, I worried until it gave me a headache. I took four ibuprofen on an empty stomach, and continued.
Finally it was time to leave the house, so I grabbed my lunch and stepped outside. The reason I bought this place suddenly surrounded me, flooding my senses. Mowed lawn rolled away in all directions. A big woodpecker was drumming away, a hollow staccato in the woods on the hillside. The morning sun was shining from just above the ridge, the warm rays tearing into the mist that was still curling down through the trees from the top of my hillside. A song sparrow was trilling in the big white pine next to the driveway, and the triple-toned horn of a freight train echoed softly from clear across the valley. A toad hopped across the driveway with tomcat George following, interested in its motion.
I felt the tension that had been weighing on my neck and chest, begin to dissipate. I opened the car door and put my lunch inside, then closed the door again and leaned against the car. Gradually as I breathed in the fragrant June air, I felt all of the worry vaporize right out of me. Despite what was wrong, it would be alright. I stood there for several minutes, hating the thought of getting into the car and driving away. But I did it, because I had to.
On the way up the road, I recalled these words, and even where I first heard them: “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you...” It was part of a scripture reading by a young girl in a Sunday school class, many years ago. I actually remember the class, but I had to look it up to see that it came from Matthew 7:7. Of course, I don't know how it came to me. I know every kind of person will eventually read this, so I won't say what I know is true.
I know I’m not supposed to talk on the phone while driving, but I now had an idea. Get more information. I made a phone call, and the problem I had been so worried about, suddenly had a real solution. Then I thought of an additional something that I could do about it, a bit further up the road.
I thought, all of those years I hated Sunday school and had to go anyway. Now I know how it helped. It's more than a bit of retained wisdom, it's a means of communication. Almost nobody makes their kids go there anymore. What will they do when they face a problem like the one I did?
I know for a fact you don't have to be in the country to find solutions. But if you need one, do ask. If you're listening, you'll hear it.
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One of the draws of your writing is how obviously factually inspired it is. Even your fiction has elements clearly drawn from experience, and that lends a concreteness that can't be faked.