but not my hand or arm,
for most days I don't touch them,
most days I don't see them,
and if you asked me what they were
I couldn't tell.
My most beloved possession is worry.
It is an empty pit I keep digging
and nothing can fill its cavernous descent.
Yet, I can put down the shovel
and do different work,
a work of consciousness.
Otherwise that pit of worry is merely a grave
and I'll die without it as it is,
so why bother with a pit I can't fill on my own?
(Wisdom 18:6-9, Psalm 33, Hebrews 12:1-2, 8-19, Luke 12:32-48)
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