Since this blog is about what I’m learning lately, here’s the latest truth I’ve realized: Worry is like Swiper the Fox. You know you’ve been a parent too long when your epiphanies involve cartoon characters. And if you’re not a parent, I’m sorry. I can’t predict whether you’ll relate to this post AT ALL.

What Swiper the Fox Taught Me about Worry:

My sister Suzy is a classic worrier. Me, I’m more of a ditz. In other words, when faced with the same scary new situation, Suzy’s more likely to be anxious or fearful. I don’t even recognize it as dangerous or scary till after the fact. (“Wow, we really built this treehouse HIGH off the ground…”)

Because I’m not the typical worry-wart, I’ve never been able to fully understand those who are. As an adult I even concluded that I must have “grown past” that issue. (Self-aware, I am not.) But lately I’ve realized that we just worry in different ways. That’s where Swiper comes in. Now prepare yourself: This is deep.

For the uninitiated, Swiper is on Dora the Explorer, and as you might imagine, he swipes stuff. I propose that Worry steals our joy in the same way that Swiper swipes stuff from Dora.

Just like Dora, we’re all strolling through life, with our monkey friend and our map and backpack. Then Swiper arrives. On most episodes, he suddenly jumps out from behind something like a bush. Then he just stands there while Dora points him out to us, tells us what he wants to steal, asks for our help, and slowly recites, “Swiper, no swiping. Swiper, no swiping. Swiper, NO SWIPING!”

At this point, Swiper finally wakes up, snaps his fingers, says, “Awwwwww, Maaaaaaaaan!” and slinks away. (This makes perfect sense to kids, while I find myself wondering why Swiper doesn’t use Dora’s long speech to sneak in and just SWIPE IT ALREADY!)

Ahem. …Anyway. Suzy’s worry? It jumps out at her like Swiper. She has time to really see it, and she can tell pretty quickly what it’s trying to steal. And with practice, she’s learned to just tell it to stop. In Christianese, this is called, “taking every thought captive,” and Suzy has gotten really good at it.

Now my worries are like Swiper in about one Dora episode out of five. In those shows, Dora and her entourage can only get out maybe one “Swiper, no swi–” before he grabs the ball/boot/puppy toy and exclaims, “You’re tOOoooOO LATE! You’ll never find it now!!!” And flings it off over the horizon. That’s me. By the time I notice worry trying to get to me, the good stuff I need for today’s “episode” is far away. I’m stuck like Dora, surrounded by boot-wearing monkeys and gates that only speak Spanish (“Aaaaaaaah-bray?”).

For me, worry pries the joy and peace out of my hands before I even notice it. Then I flail around to try to figure out what just happened. And since I couldn’t possibly be struggling with worry, I often try to change my mood with some fun activity. Or sometimes I’ll fixate on some less important and completely unrelated thing to worry about. My mood and behavior could gradually erode over a period of days, and I still might not figure it out.

Over this weekend, my worry was Abby. Her tantrums on her first day of school last Thursday really rattled me. By Friday afternoon, I’d started doubting my parenting and was predicting a future of juvenile delinquency for her. Then by Saturday I became convinced that the teacher didn’t like Abby – or me.

Here’s the good news: Once I realized where my thoughts had traveled (48 hours later!!), I was able to do something about it. Like Dora the Explorer’s, my episodes of worry can end well. I’m sure it’s not appropriate to draw a parallel between the Map and the Holy Spirit … but I have had that song (“…I’m the MAP!”) in my head a lot today. Is that sacrilege?

Side note: Abby IS showing a little improvement in school. On her second day, she made it thru the whole morning without incident. Today was even better: the teacher gave me a “thumbs up” in the car rider line and said she’d had a “great day.”

And for the record: all the time I’d spent worrying about it can take NO credit for that outcome.

I realize that you might not think my exercise in cartoon exegesis is the most spiritual way to refocus on God and his power and reclaim the joy and peace that he offers, but it worked for me.

And I got to use the word “exegesis” in my blog. That makes me more godly, right?