Heart Writing

There are days when the fear reaches out like a lion on the prowl.  It tries to swallow me up in one big bite.

Fear of what my friends think of my next biggest scheme.  Fear if anybody would come over if I invited them.  Fear that I am messing up my children up.  Fear that I am wasting my one life.

But fear is just the uncomfortable place between staying where you are and birthing a new thing.

It’s late one afternoon when I submit an application to be on Holley’s “Dream Team.”  I submit that application with a fleece-like prayer:  Lord, if you want me to pursue photography next year, to pursue one session a month, then let me be accepted.

I was afraid to be accepted.  I was afraid to stay unaccepted.  But I pressed submit and leaned in to stay near Him.  To see what holy wild he would call me to or ask me to stay within.

The email came on a Wednesday.  The quiet yes.  The beckoning to go.  To pursue.  To leave the place I am now and explore the new place.  To walk into the unknown with fear as my companion, but faith in Him as my guide.

I click the shutter and smile.  Apprehensive of what the next year holds, but too excited to stay in the same place.

There are days I just wish for quiet.

No whining.  No screaming.  No “Mama, mama! Hold me!” No noisemaker running constantly while the baby sleeps.  No breaking up fights.  No wrestling for the time and peace I need to make dinner or create an idea floating around my brain.

Quiet can be my idol.  My safe spot to run instead of the arms of the One who calms all storms (when needed) with just a word.

The silence is eerie when I do get that brief moment of quiet.  I find myself doing nothing that I had longed for and just wasting the quiet.  Wasting it on pointless endeavors.

The truth is, I really do thrive on chaos.  I thrive on painting tape and moving furniture and finding solutions to the loud realities of life.  God knows this.  It’s why he doesn’t give me quiet very often.

I grow when it’s loud.  When it’s not my preferred state of quiet.

There’s something of a tumbleweed in me.

This flitting from activity to activity.  Breathless.  A just completed pillow lies draped over my sewing machine.  Three dolls dismembered lay waiting to be finished next to a finished bald one.  A handmade tent lies like a defeated army beneath a desk waiting for the medics to come and put up poles.  Four finished quilt tops await backs while two completed quilt backs wonder when their tops will materialize.  A heap of wood wants to be a wall rack for art supplies.  A piece of painted molding is waiting for a working saw to become that cabinet door to keep the baby from breaking another bowl.

Sometimes I can call it Attention Deficit Disorder.  Sometimes its more of a Gradious Feeling that I can conquer the world.  Sometimes it’s just dreams materializing like the instructions for the ark; I, the vessel…or vassal perhaps, just waiting on the next step to be revealed.

But most of all it’s fear.  Fear of staying still.  Fear of being somewhere complete.  Fear of setting down roots and of being defined as you see fit.

We have this one quiet conversation over the dull roar of women chatting.  The two of us introverts sharing anxiety about the leadership position we’ve found ourselves in.  A table of about eight women under our care.  Our responsibility is to facilitate discussion among both introverts and extroverts alike.

It’s a wonder that we were put in these places.

“Sometimes I just think play dates are so exhausting. I get everyone dressed and myself ready.  We drive somewhere and the kids have a ball and nap well afterward.  So maybe it’s worth it.  But I’m just so drained.” She whispers to me.

I nod understanding.  “I feel the same way.  Most times I leave playdates fighting tears, wondering why I came at all.  I didn’t have a single meaningful conversation.”  I pause.  “It’s so hard because I think the other women feel like I’m stuck up or judgmental, but really I just don’t know how to enter into that social world. It scares me so much.”

“That’s exactly it!” She replies.  The meeting is being called to order so we find seats at our tables where we’ll lead at introverts in an extrovert valuing world.  There’s comfort knowing that both of us will be burnt out from this activity, this calling to lead, this wounding (real or perceived) from the relationships in our lives.

We who always try to sit at the fringe and wishing that we could relate easily are being stretched and grown in a position of leadership.  It’s uncomfortable.  It brings fear.

I smile encouraging at her before the meeting starts.  We’re going to grow during this season.  It’s going to be exhausting.

But He will walk with us.

(Just a reminder to myself mostly as I sit at a table again to lead women tomorrow morning. He will walk with me.)