On living boldly

I feel a bit disconnected from you....(all five of you)....my dear readers. And I feel a bit disconnected from myself. For the past 6 months I've been crazy with work. That, for a freelancer, is a very good thing. However, the downside is I haven't been able to come up for air. And haven't had time to even think....which is necessary for a writer. It's not just the time to sit down and WRITE, it's the time to THINK.... to mull things over, figure out what they mean, come to some kind of opinion or thought, and then form a cohesive sentence. I haven't had time to feed my creative soul, much less try to produce something of substance.

But now, after 6 months of frenzied work, there's a lull. This is both good and bad. I'm looking forward to the next week of organizing my office, working out, reading, writing, getting centered again. But if it lasts too long, I'll become a ball of anxiety, fearful that the work has dried up for good, which is a creative block in and of itself.

Even though I haven't had time to think -- life keeps throwing things at me. Lots there to mull over when I have the time. Like the fact that I went to a funeral yesterday for a baby girl who didn't live long enough to see the faces of her parents. And that during the funeral I was sitting next to my friend who's 7-month-old baby girl has had a precarious life so far, and at times we didn't think she would make it. I feel so priveledge to be friends with these mothers -- these women who are teaching me so much about life. This baby stuff....having children....losing children.....loving sick children.....and the pain of not being able to have children....leaves one raw and vulnerable and exposed. And the fact that these mothers are dealing with it gracefully and honestly and allowing those around them to be a part of it. This is the stuff of Christian community. I'm learning so much from them.

And it shows me how much I want to insulate myself from that pain. I'm afraid to have kids, to be honest. It's a risky enterprise. To allow myself to be open to that pain? I see others on the quest to parenthood try to insulate themselves from that risk as well. That's why there's genetic testing, and the quest to find the "perfect"' egg donor, and the quest for the "perfect" adopted child. I find myself going down that road as well. But then I realize that life is just plain risky if you actually live it. We can insulate ourselves from this pain. It's messy but in that mess is beauty and wisdom and growth. That's what I'm learning from my friends. And seeing them living in the midst of the pain and messiness makes me less afraid.

This summer David and I had the chance to host a couple of Russian orphans for a summer camp -- with the ultimate purpose of adopting. But I hesitated. Our lives weren't "perfect" enough. I felt too insecure about my work situation....and with David going back to school I wondered if we should, and then there was the issue of our small condo. And I worried about the expense of Russian adoption, and the diffuculties of adopting older kids. Basically, I was living out of fear instead of trust. And I'm regretting it.

So I waited about a week before emailing the summer hosting director. By then it was too late. The small window of opportunity had closed. I still think about those two little girls. I walk by the girl's clothing section at Target and imagine the clothes I would have bought for them. I rearrange the office furniture to figure out how we could have fit bunk beds in our small space -- it could have worked.

I want to live boldly. I don't want to live in fear and perfectionism.

I've done it before. I know I can do it. Like when I met my husband and married him 8 months later. And when I sponsored a refugee family without having any extra money. And when I flew to Kosovo, despite my fear of flying, to work in an orphange. I know I can do it and those are the times when I felt like I've been living life to the fullest. I think that's what God wants. And that's what I want....if I can just get over my fear and hesitation.