Sometimes I find myself consumed with what-ifs. So consumed in fact, that my thoughts have no where to go but straight to panic mode. As I planned for a recent girls weekend, (one that my worry-logged nerves desperately needed) I asked Hubby to help me with getting a load of firewood. My gal pals and I were staying at a secluded cabin, complete with wood-burning fireplace, and the weatherforecast was calling for snow.

After some impressive chainsaw brandishing, Hubby and I had filled a tractor bucket full of logs. When I told my loving lumberjack that I would stack the logs on the flatbed to drive to the cabin, he told me not to worry. He would simply dump the wood right on the truck, and it would be ready to go. Immediately, my internal anxiety alarms started sounding in my head. He asked if I was okay with that plan. I told him all I could picture in my mind were the logs going “sploosh” as he put them on the truck or flying off as we drove down the highway. He firmly but lovingly put his hands on my shoulders and said, “It’s okay if things go ‘sploosh’ sometimes.”

With that statement my tears wanted to splash but, instead, I found a giggle for his use of “sploosh.”

I knew he was right and maybe, just maybe, if I could get over my fear of the potential “splooshes” in life, I could get past the nervousness that has been nagging at me so heavily lately.