The worry lines on our faces are spreading, deepening into our skin as if etched.

It seems that every time we try to relax the tension a bit, something wallops us again. Our muscles tighten as we learn of another alert, another case of anthrax, another possible attack looming.

We are growing weary from warnings, or we are simply tired from the lack of sleep those warnings cause. Either way, we’re troubled and anxious as daily news reports suggest that California bridges may be next or nuclear power plants; or that bioterrorism could take other forms.

We’re in uncharted waters, the commentators tell us, as they debate endlessly the pros and cons of alarming an already jittery public. A public in the midst of war, recession, and uncertainty over “what’s next?”

No matter where we live, these warnings are taking their toll on our psyches.

For instance, sales of firearms – not merely hunting rifles – in the Down East area are way up, according to reports. Neighbors boast they have stocked their larders full, as if preparing for a hurricane or winter snowstorm.

Even in our quiet, small town miles from urban areas, airports and “potential” terrorist targets, the threat has been made so real some folks have resorted to wearing gloves when opening their mail in their own homes.

This extreme measure may have been prompted by a notice sent last week to postal customers from Postmaster General John E. Potter “about safety and mail handling.”

It was just one more warning that infiltrated and undermined the security we previously felt in our homes, homes not in Paterson, N.J., or New York City or San Francisco or Vero Beach, Fla., but homes nestled in the woods along the coast of Maine.

The Postal Service told us which mail might be “suspect”: those having excessive postage, those from someone unfamiliar to us, those lopsided or lumpy in appearance, and those sealed with extra tape. In effect, the notice has ruined any Christmas surprise we were intended to receive – or send.

The postmaster general also instructed us to notify law enforcement authorities if we receive suspicious mail. He said: “Don’t handle a letter or package that you suspect is contaminated. Don’t shake it, bump it, or sniff it. Wash your hands thoroughly with soap and water.”

In our wildest imaginings, we never expected such warnings in our mailboxes along the rural carrier route where we mail balsam wreaths in exchange for southern pecans and swap reindeer moss for holly berries.

Some of us are weary, indeed, of warnings. And we took some comfort in a single line of prayer Sunday at church. It came right after the congregation stood to sing “O God, Our Help in Ages Past, Our Hope for Years to Come.”

And we prayed, “Protect us, God, from anxieties.”