What Biceps Does to Worry Me

I know I shouldn’t worry, but it’s that danged thorn in my flesh. Don’t shoot Bible bullets at me-I realize I have a problem. I know the things to meditate on, I know what to confess.

I know, I know, I know.

Biceps decided to leave a somewhat safe 11 year-long career to pursue firefighting. Don’t get me wrong, there were the occasional lightening storms during outdoor festivals, whiteouts while driving across North Dakota, bloody knuckles from smashing his bass guitar against an amp and the most dreaded thing of all-scantily clad groupies.

But he chose to become a firefighter and I supported him wholeheartedly. I was ecstatic that we would be home more often, knowing that I could go to church on a more regular basis. That I could be present for birthdays, births and bar mitzvahs. That I didn’t have to be surrounded by stinky boys.

However, this is what I am getting used to now.

I now hear tales of structure fires, trailer fires, Hazmat situations, donkey kicking doors in, medical emergencies and the like. I want to be tough and pretend as if I would like to hear all about it.

But imagine your loved one fighting a chemical fire while being weighed down with 50 pounds of gear in 108 degree temperature. This is how Biceps makes me worry.

This is when I grab my aged Bible and look for 1 Peter 5:7, “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” I think this will be my mantra for the rest of my life…or at least for the rest of Bicep’s fire career.