The phone rang late one night, and my sister delivered the dreaded news: “I have COVID.”
She lives in Wichita, and when I visited her in August, we played Scrabble, visited her daughters and went to the zoo. In the evenings, we sat outside, poured glasses of wine, and talked and laughed.
I’m concerned about her illness, but promised myself that instead of worrying, I would pray. In my imagination, I picture myself putting my box of worries into God’s loving hands.
Worrying means dwelling on the “what ifs” and letting our imaginations sink into darkness. Worrying is useless, because it assumes we’re in control.
There’s a beautiful prayer I often repeat: “Jesus, I surrender myself to you. Take care of everything!” This prayer helps dissolve the negative habit of worrying, which is a spiritual dead-end.
Siblings are precious, because they share our earliest memories of childhood. My sister remembers Saturday mornings, when our parents slept in, and we let our turtles frolic freely in our bed.
She recalls when our father took us to White Castle to eat amazingly tiny hamburgers. And the summer trips from New York to Miami, when she drew an imaginary line down our shared motel bed with the warning: “Stay on your side!”
Whenever I start fretting over a future situation, I remind myself this moment is all I possess. The future is entirely out of my hands, so rather than wasting time worrying, I turn to prayer and Scripture.
“Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?” Jesus asked. And Saint Paul underscores this: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, and thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
My sister took a traditional path in life, marrying early and having three children, while I headed off to college and became a rebel. Still, I loved being the aunt who knocked on the door and heard joyous cries, as the children thundered to open it: “It’s Auntie Raine!”
At times laundry was piled on the couch, waiting to be folded, the dog was demolishing a prized shoe, the hamster was loose, and the baby was teething and crying bloody murder. Times when I thought I’d go mad in all the bedlam of everyday family life. But in the midst of the chaos, my sister stood in the kitchen, calmly preparing sandwiches for lunch.
She’s been part of my life since the moment my mom leaned down to show her the new baby — and my sister nipped my finger. She had two years as an only child with my parents, but I never knew life without a sister.
It’s frightening to imagine such a life now. We’ve endured the deaths of our parents in our 30s, the loss of her husband, then mine, and then the death of her grandson. When I need help with a recipe for manicotti, I call her. When a special flower blooms in her yard, she calls me. We both know the sound of a sister’s voice can work wonders.
Now it’s a waiting game, hoping my sister is getting better and praying for her. And whenever a worry creeps into my heart, I sweep it away by saying, “Jesus, I surrender myself to you! Take care of everything!”
Lorraine’s email address is lorrainevmurray@yahoo.com
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