Introvert as Scapegoat

I was dreading one thing about our time away.

The "get to know you" gathering.

You know the one...strangers put together for a specified number of days for similar purpose and now you have to open up and share with these people right off the bat.

Oh, I really hate it.

As a youth pastor, I would plan these inane kinds of activities all the time - "Icebreakers" they're called in the youth ministry manuals. 

In my world, they're called torture.

So, I waited until the last possible moment to speak (because well, I was really hoping that we'd run out of time). 

I was up. Eyes on me. Ugh.

So, I say my name and where I'm from. And then explain that this introvert, quite frankly, was really dreading this moment.

Introversion.

That's been my rationale all these years. My thinking behind my angst.

But something - nagging at the back of my mind - has made me question that logic. But I don't question for too long.

And then, during our time away, 
in the midst of strangers who heard some of my story, 
in the midst of really quiet mornings on a lake with hot tea, 
in the midst of reading books I didn't know were written, 
I think I have finally figured out that this introvert is also just plain scared.

I am scared to show me. 
To just be me.
I am scared that I could be found wanting.
That I might be rejected.
That I might disappoint.
That I might appear slow, silly, immature, odd.

And so, I've chalked it up to being an introvert. I say Meyers-Briggs has dictated my dread of "get to know you" talks. 

But it's not really true.

What's true is I am scared to be myself. 
What's true is I might still hate icebreakers but I can be me.
What's true is I can simultaneously be scared to be me but still be myself. 

So, I am gonna work on it...being me - all the time - unmasked and vulnerable...even when I am scared.

corn chips at the lunch table

Sitting at the lunch table, my 3-year put a Bugle chip on her pointer finger and said, "I have a puppet...a witch puppet."

I thought the first part of that statement was brilliant. creative. playful. 

The second part made me cringe. 

I squirmed internally trying to form adequate words to explain we do not play pretend with witches and then I heard my 4-year old speak up.

"Mordrid," he said.

Huh? What kind of name is that? 

"Mah-dwid," repeated the 3-year old as she waved her chippy witch in the air. 

Giggles ensued. And more energetic talking amongst the children concerning this Mordrid plot.

Get a grip! Decide what to say before this gets out of hand. 

And then in the frenzy of lunch-table talking, my 4-year old said, "Just say 'love' and Mordrid will be defeated."

Gut slam. 

That is stinkin' good! I mean, seriously. That could preach! Suddenly, I adored corn-chip witch puppets.  For that day, they paved the way to this...

Love is the answer. Love really does conquer all. Love really is the trump card. 

And somewhere. somehow. In that small moment, my preschooler got it....

Mordrid - 0      Love - 1

Love really does win. 

1 John 4:16

How's your joy?

That's what my husband asked me tonight...how's your joy?

He knows I struggle with that - finding joy. Keeping it around. Holding on to it. 

I am no stranger to fighting for joy. My muscles have been well-toned the last few years in the battle for even a scrap of it. But this friend of mine, joy, can be slippery and elusive.

So, after staring at him, mentally scurrying for an answer, here's what I said...

"Well, I don't know. 
I have joy more often. 
And I have it for longer these days. 
And when I lose it, I find it faster.
So that's something."

I wish I could have a different answer. One that erases any cloud of sadness, confusion, or dread. I don't. Maybe one day I will. Or maybe my answer will stay the same.

Regardless, this heart clings to the One who gives me hope that all joy will be fully restored one day.

today

sometimes i get really mad that life doles out unspeakable tragedy. here i am living life, slowly gaining footing in my own emotional mess and then the rug is pulled out by news i wasn't prepared to receive. sometimes it makes me want to hole up and shut out the world. it seems like that would hurt less. 


sometimes i can only try to sympathize and empathize for so long and the i have to STOP. because i feel suffocated under the weight of grief, sadness, confusion. 


and then i get angry because i can turn it off. walk away. try to forget. but those living the tragedy...well...they are there. stuck. continuing to dwell in grief. forced to face it second by miserable second. moment by wearying moment. their lives never the same - changed forever.


and i want to make it better. make it easier. make it right. i want to shield the hurting. cover them in comfort. hurt for them. instead of them. yet scared to feel the depth of grief myself.


sometimes things that happen don't. make. any. stinking. sense. 


and it makes me want to rage at the world. at the universe. at myself. at God. because i want something or someone to blame. i want a place to take my hurt - and their hurt - and make it heard. and healed. but without the torturous process of grief.


today, on the near-side of this grief, i am mad at nonsensical loss. i don't want to have to admit the reality of great pain. i would rather live in denial. avoid the reality. 


but i can't. 


because somewhere far south are greatly grieving friends who must face at every millisecond the truth of their personal devastation. and the very least i can do is not turn off my own hurt. the very least i can do is allow my pain for them to send me to the very heart of the God who grieves too. whose heart is good and trustworthy. 


and so i will. i will take my hurt, my pain and give it over. i will lean hard into another's sadness. and feel. really feel for them. refusing numb compassion. i will allow it to consume my thoughts for a while. to be the one prayer i pray through gritted teeth and clenched fists and an incessant shaking head. i will let my tears fall. even when i don't understand. especially because i don't understand.


i will let God be God. and be mad about it today. because the things He allows just sometimes seem wrong. and unfair. but i will praise Him for He is God. the only One fit for the job. my view from here is, well, short-sighted. limited. finite. human. small.


i will trust Him. and hurt for my friends. and for the world full of unspeakable hurt. i will keep my heart and my head in His possession. just as my life is. short or long as it might be. and i will be thankful that i can feel. even when it means i hurt.

poem birthed from experiences i might write about...sometime

exposed.
that's how i feel.
exposed.
naked while robed in regal black.

insufficient.
that's how i feel.
insufficient.
adorning doctor's robe not mine.

childish.

that's how i feel.

childish.

struggling from weight of Saul's armor.

glances. looks. 
stares that bore.
holes that feel so wide.


vulnerable.
that's how i feel.
vulnerable.
all confidence fading to doubt.

wanting.

that's how i feel.

wanting.

unsatisfied ego of men.

small.

that's how i feel.

small.

disapproving face of judgment.

glances. looks. 

stares that bore.

holes that feel so wide.

the gift of longevity

While driving out to a friend's house the other day, I passed a house that was in the process of being built early in our tenure here. In front of the house were several linear rows of pears trees. 

I remember those trees when they were planted. 

Saplings. Barely green in spring. 

And then they grew. and grew. 

And now are tall and sturdy, brilliant white blossoms shining in the early spring.

I have been here long enough to see trees mature.

And then, while still driving, I thought of my friend's daughter who will be graduating high school in June. 

I remember her as a preschooler with a scrunchy on the top of her head.

Who would barely speak. who would laugh as we sang "Inchworm"together.

And she has grown. and grown.

And now she is a lovely young woman embarking confidently into adulthood.

I have been here long enough to see her mature.

It's a gift.

In ministry nothing seems a guarantee. Your time in one place is more than likely short-lived.


I don't know current statistics, but the average stay for a pastor in one congregation is...well, not that many years.


There's a WHOLE lot I could say on this subject, but for now I find myself filled with gratitude for longevity...


being in one place for one long while. 


being gifted stability and steadiness. our congregation being gifted the same.


having the opportunity to put down roots that could actually take hold and strengthen.


I do not think length of time always correlates to effectiveness or influence, but in this world of perpetual shifts and ever-new methods, it seems refreshing to think some things (and people) can remain fixed.


Going on 14 years now...over a decade with one church family. Through ups and downs. Through winning and losing. Longevity. Endurance. Mutual commitment.


What a gift...and today I am filled with gratitude.

art

i have read a lot lately about making art. 


what she writes about it...art and it's creation.


what she pens in lyrics...art set to music.


what he challenged...art in poignant speech.


what this film conveys...art in moving pictures.


art has come in amish quilts and abstract paintings. in instrumental music and still photographs.


art happens in color and in black in white. in silence and amidst clamor.


art is found in opulence and in the oppressed. in rags and riches.


art knows no age. or race. or gender. no format. or limit. or box.


art is.


and i want to make art. need to make it. was made to make it.


everyday. 
with each inhale. 
and exhale. 
suffocating the fear so my soul can breathe instead.


art is. i am too. being. creating. and being created.