I’m doing a 31-day challenge that is set up to basically figure out whatever you need to figure out. For me, that’s figuring out what I’m going to do in this next phase of life (baby turns 17 this month, ohmygoodness). I have always had a hundred hobbies and never feel bored, but that pro means there’s a con of what-to-do now? Mostly, I just wonder what to do. And I fret.
I joined the 30-day challenge to see if I could figure myself out. It ends next week, and I’m not figured out (of course not). But! If I think about it, there are some great things going on that weren’t going on 31 days ago:
- I walk with Riv daily – even past houses and construction sites (bravegirl)
- I have “tea time” with our teen regularly – though it looks different than you’d guess “teatime” to look like – today, chatting over yogurt and nuts and apples and a free satsuma from the feed store
- I redesigned my websites so they match each other (that’s called “branding,” they say )
- I’m keeping up with my list of habits and daily tasks and to-dos on a fun app (Habitica).
These ‘dailies,’ or, daily tasks, include “write something,” “letter (like calligraphy) something,” “share something” or “photograph something.” Clearly, I don’t push myself. But, I’ve needed to be gentle with Lori.
Instead of meeting business goals and “crushing it,” and “making 2020 the Best Year Ever”, I realized I need to simply focus on my fretful mind. That’s kind of frustrating to me, because I’d much rather, you know, save the world or something, but I have come to the realization that I simply cannot if I don’t get this fretful mind from fretting. And so I repeat to myself, “God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” “Believe it,” I’ll whisper. I’m trying.
When I was writing more consistently, it wasn’t without distraction. Little things nipped at me sometimes, as little things do, halting my writing on occasion and making me edit too much once in a while. But I kept on. I wanted to write before I could read words or form letters. Seriously! I would watch my mother handwrite letters and I would scribble on a piece of paper next to her, wishing I could form letters, too. It’s one of my earliest memories, and a love that has been with me ever since. Our son recently said to me, “When I picture you, it is always with a piece of paper near you with handwriting on it.” Little things nipping at me could not stop me from writing. No way.
But little things can multiply, snowball, become bigger. A few years ago, the punch was too hard and I just stopped. It’s easier to be silent.
It is. It’s easier to be silent. It’s safer in the desert, where I can see what’s coming at me. I stayed there a long season. But in the desert, you miss the trees…the birds…their songs. The desert is no place for me.
So here I am: just a fretful girl who gets anxious easily but just as stubbornly never loses faith. Because of that faith, I’m showing up. I’m simply showing up, hoping the message will be clear to me in time.