Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is life not more important than food and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life. -- Matthew 6:25-27
I come from a family of worriers.
My grandma was a worrier (always worrying about the health and safety of her children and grandchildren). My mother, to a lesser extent, worries. And so do I. But unfortunately, the "worry gene" has been passed along to Mr. B. He's a worrier and he's only 11.
I've shared this verse with my son many times hoping that I can convince him that worrying serves no purpose. In all actuality, it makes things worse. But he is my sensitive soul, and things that would not normally cause a second thought for some children, serve as persistent worries for my little man.
With the approaching school year, I find myself worrying about how his transition back into school will be (he has not expressed any concern yet, but I still worry). Will he be able to brush off the teasing that inevitably happens in middle school? Will he be able to stick up for himself and for what's right if challenged with peer pressure? And will I be able to handle his transition it tweenhood/puberty (without losing my mind)?
But, you see, there I go again. Worrying. I hate when I do that.