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Try did not work for me. Come April or May of last year, I was done with my "One Word" resolution of trying.
My familiar mantra of "but I tried so hard" failed me in the end, and instead of trying, instead of saying yes and just seeing what happens, I sat. I waited. I relied on others. And I said no. A lot. My year of "I'll try" turned into my year of "no, thanks." It was my year of slowness, my year of "not by might or power." This, of course, was exactly what I needed it to be.
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A few weeks ago I applied to be a contributor at an online magazine. It was kind of on a whim, and even though I didn't necessarily feel 100% suited to the intended subject matter, I went for it anyway. I was trying to try, as you know, and it seemed like it could be a possible avenue for growth, both in my writing and in my perspective.
As sometimes happens, I received that fated rejection letter today. In all honesty, I had forgotten about my application in the first place, and while I never like to get a rejection letter, I wasn't all the surprised.
I was, on the other hand, annoyed.
Read moreI laid in bed for an hour this afternoon. George Winston was on shuffle and in my mind, I alternated prayers with opening sentences. There are times when I can't decide between praying and writing, and it all comes out of my left-brained heart, anyway. And really, isn't it the same? Each one of our prayers are subconciously written, aren't they? Depending on who you are - or who you ask - only one person gets a chance to read them. But still, that's one reader.
This last week and a half has arguably been the single most humbling time of my life. When a dousing of cold water reminds you that you aren't really as in control of things as you thought - hoped, wished - you were.
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Photo by Becca Tapert on Unsplash
I haven't written all day, all week. And really, I don't actually want to do it now. I want to watch Sherlock instead. I want to curl up with some tea and good, long show. I want to sink in the bath, warmth spreading from my toes to my forehead. I want to lie in bed and listen for rain. I don't really want to write, but I figure that means the one thing I should be doing right now is writing.
Things are not bad here at all. It's a bit cold, which is nothing to complain about in itself, as it's still a good 30 degrees warmer than most of our friends and family have it back home. The air is damp and our back garden is a clouded swamp in want of sunshine. Our house backs up to the north so in these winter months the sun never rises on the little hydrangea, never peeks into the playbarn. And even though our days are quickly getting longer - eight whole hours now of daylight - dusk brings such a bristle of cold, so quickly, I find it hard to manage another five hours till bedtime.
And really, if it weren't for the dumb car not starting, things would be great. Near perfect.
But last night it doesn't start. On the coldest day, when we need groceries. We could get all mad and angsty about it if it weren't just so frustratingly silly. A car, only fixed - again - last week. And it won't start. And this time it's not my fault! So we do that thing that we must do when there is no family nearby. We reach out for help.
It's probably one of my least favourite things to do: asking for help, trading favours. I like to be independent and, if I were to be totally honest here, a bit lonely. I like to place myself just out of arm's reach of the person closest to me. I want to be able to duck out of a near-hug at any moment. I like the shadows, the fringes. To me, it's safe there, a place I can twirl for ages and if I fall, no one gets hurt.
But, you know, the kids gotta eat. And get to school. And as much as I like to consider myself alone-ish (truly, how can one be totally alone with four other people - AND A DOG - attached to them?), God has made it so clear that He has chosen for me to not be alone. At least not this time, in this season. Maybe it's a part of my one word last year, this making of home, inviting people in. Or maybe it's the build-up for my word this year, to try. To give it a go and see what happens.
Whatever it is, I'm overwhelmed and stunned. I'm grateful and bewildered. We've got a person, or two or three looking out for us. The same as before when I played Roundabout Russian Roulette. No fingers lost their tips this time, no need for panic. We know who to go to. How to ask. We can embrace it and glory in it, oh friend, will you help?
And they will. And I will. We will help each other, I think.
So today the car is still missing. In this damp January air, a year after coming back, a friend carts me and my crew around. The children make it to school on time and I start my day in her car with my coffee and a few good laughs. Matt and I walk the dog to collect the wee lad, share a bag of crisps and a Dr Pepper. It feels like celebration, like communion: Matt and I and Cocoa sharing these small gifts. Knowing we are looked after, we are loved, so happy to love in return.
You know I'll return this favour, anytime, I say to her as she drops off myself and the final two pieces of our family puzzle. She laughs at me and I forget what she said.
We will do this tomorrow. More friends to the rescue. I try to be annoyed at the circumstance, at the fuel pump that threw a wrench in my day. But I'm not. We are blessed with people.
People over things, community.
Something worthy of writing about.
Linking up with Heather of the EO and Just Write
