In my growing up years, whenever I would obsess over some tiny matter, my mom would always say to me, “Don’t sweat the small stuff. If you have to worry about something, make sure it’s big, like the end of the world.”
Way back in 1994, doomsday prognosticator Harold Camping said the “End of Days” would be upon us on Sept. 6 of that year. When I heard this, I remember telling my mom, “Well, the end is here, and I’m really worried.”
She just smiled, nodded her head, and said “I’ll see you on Sept. 7.”
Being the worrywart that I was, I was convinced that Camping might be right, I wanted my husband to stay home from work. After all, if the end was coming, I wanted all of us to be together — there was no way I was going into the great beyond alone.
But on Sept. 6, 1994, my husband refused to stay home. He did, however, promise that if he went first, he’d find a way to come home and get me. He also suggested that I spend the day with my friend Donna and her two kids.
In the days before the coming “End of Days,” I fretted, prayed and made whatever peace I had to make with whomever I had to make it. I called old friends, made sure all the bills were paid, and that everything was in order. (Looking back, this seems a bit senseless. If, in fact, it was the “End of Days,” did it really matter if the bills were paid and the bathroom was clean? Who would be around to care?).
Anyway, Donna and her two children, Janine and Adam, stayed with me and Bri the whole day. We went for a walk, we chatted, the kids watched TV, my husband called and checked in throughout the day, and I paced back and forth nervously awaiting for midnight to pass.
Of course, my husband made it home safely, Donna kept me company and Sept. 7 arrived bright and beautifully. The “End of Days” was nowhere in sight.
I awoke that morning feeling downright foolish, and vowed that I wouldn’t worry about the end ever again.
Harold Camping has predicted that the “End of Days” is coming again at exactly 6 pm on May 21. He now admits that his calculations were off in 1994. But this time he’s sure, really, really sure.
Giant earthquakes will hit all the big cities, the righteous will be assumed into heaven and the rest of the non-believers will be left to endure the hell on earth until the final big bang that’s expected to arrive in October.
Not for Nuthin™, but I’m not worried at all. This Saturday, we will all be home together, I’ll keep in touch with Donna, my bills will be paid and my bathroom is clean.
End of Days?
Bring it on.