This Labor Day, I pause to reflect for a few moments. And if I’m honest, I will confess that I struggle to maintain a balance between two extremes: working my heart to the bone to try please those I work for or with versus not really caring about work and wanting to somehow escape its responsibilities.

The first extreme springs from a fear that the work I’ve done and all the work I’ve yet to do will somehow never really be good enough. The second has roots in the over-exhaustion that comes when I find myself trying to recover from the backlash of the first.

And somehow, I have a feeling I’m not the only one out there who has found him/herself in this boat, caught in this cycle.

So my mind floats to those old, wise words telling me not to worry, not to fear. “Look at the birds and the flowers – they don’t worry and all is provided for them…” And yet, I see members of the natural world also doing their “work” and receiving the gifts provided for them, gathering and storing for the winter ahead. Noticing one of my bushy-tailed little neighbors yesterday inspired me to write this poem:

Instincts sharp

and shiny

eyes vigilant

enough to

steer clear

of my

careening tires–

even though

that mouthful

surely outweighs

your head.

Bounding gracefully

over blades,

launching expertly

onto bark…

I instinctively

want to

hear if

you fear

the knowns–

and unknowns–

of winter?

Then I ask myself – what’s the difference between worry and fear? And how are humans different than animals with our given ability to make choices — choices that include one to trust the Creator when fear or worry (or both) would threaten to drain the joy from work that we should be reaping along with a salary (as Solomon suggested in Ecclesiastes 3:12-13)?

My head tells me that the contented and peaceful trusting-middle is the place where I should dwell, and my heart cries with the need to comply. But every day, as I face the winter of the world, I, the human, must make a very real choice: to be a little bit more like the lily, the sparrow, the squirrel.