Writing

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.)