[This should probably be three or four separate posts. But it's one continuous train of thought; conversation; and it's a long one, where the cars are in no particular order. Better grab a snack.]
Weekends are bad times for me, because my family is home, together. Not just 'off of work' or 'no school'; I really mean they're home. We don't see each other, at all, until the weekends.
So when the phone rings, or the Facebook messenger dings (which annoyed me to no end, and has been permanently deleted), or text messages flood in, I cringe.
I'm not a super social person to begin with. I can hang out with anyone, so long as I'm mentally prepared to do so. "Dropping in" because you're in the neighborhood, or have a few minutes to kill, or "swinging by" because you see my car in the driveway, well, it just doesn't work for me. At all.
As an introvert, as a writer, as a student, my time is one of my crucial commodities. I'm an incessant list-maker, I'm a planner. I schedule out my days with the multitasking prowess of a professional. I could very easily let my schedule rule my life, if I was to let it.
I currently don't work outside the home. But that doesn't make me available at all hours of the day and night. That doesn't mean that I'm home, sitting on the couch, eating a pounder bag of Cheetos, waiting for any- and everyone to come yank me out of my miserable solitude.
What really happens behind the front door I keep shut, behind the blinds I keep closed, behind the walls I erect by not answering every technological intrusion is a lot of wrestling.
As a thinker, as a solitary processor kind of person, my time alone is crucial. It's when I decompress, it's when I vent, when I assess, it's when I pray, it's when I am revitalized. I write about what I'm thinking, what I'm struggling with; pen and paper are the vehicle through which I process it all.
When I'm writing, my thoughts, my words, and God's clarity come together in a breathtaking symphony. Interruptions are like a needle scratching all the way across that record, completely derailing me.
Shocked at the unrequested intrusion, and stunned by the silence afterwards; I'm usually quite pissed.
I process the community God's drawn me to, I process what it could look like. I pray to see possibilities for it, and I pray for strengthening relationships within it. I study it. I dream about it. I ponder my part in it.
I question everything I do in it; am I enabling or equipping, am I contributing anything worthwhile, am I jumping the gun. These aren't questions that can be easily answered; there's usually something I have to learn first, in order to get to the answer.
The timing of all this isn't for me to decide, either.
During the week, during the time that's been afforded to me to be alone, in order to make the best use of the silence, I'll write. When no words come, I spend time in the lives of the people I'm in community with.
We're learning each other, we're sharing stories, sharing hurts and fears, sharing hope. We're seeing Christ in each other, celebrating the minuscule movements and the unplanned adversities that bind us closer together, and closer to Christ. We draw strength from one another, and we begin to see roles develop in a bigger picture we can't quite grasp yet.
These gatherings- whether planned or unplanned, meals, or classes, or baptisms, or work in the physical community- become the fodder for my writing inspirations.
I come home, I think. I pray. I think some more. I wait. I think even more. I'll write.
If I don't get this time alone to process everything through the filter I've been given, it all becomes a jumbled, seemingly silent mess. Then the effort that's been poured into it feels worthless. Which drives me NUTS.
One of my big bouts lately has been the (perceived) dichotomy of my life right now.
I have my weekends with my family, then we all part ways again which leaves me time for writing and community. Because I spend more time by myself and with the community, it's easy for me to feel like that dynamic should continue into the weekend as well. And anyone who knows my family knows that's not gonna happen. Who knows, maybe my retreat into silent solitude on Mondays is my gut reaction to the lack of quiet time over the weekends... (Great. More to ponder.) For months, I've been fighting the busy-ness and noise of the weekends, longing for the quiet again. In the meantime, I've been missing my family. I have no problem pouring into the inner workings of everyone else's lives, but my own has become a nuisance? That's some bullsh*t right there.
Just as I've had to work through that, I also have to work through how 'who I am in Christ' fits into 'community'.
Book after book today tells the church what she needs to do to get back to her roots; different methods and procedures laid out in the hopes of steering this giant ship in the direction that God's moving in. In the circles I run with, the principle of 'dying to self' is the crux of our faith. It's catching on across Christendom, too. At first it delights me, but as I delve deeper and deeper into the outer edges of the mainstream churches claiming this in their pastors' best-selling books, I find the basis misses the point, still fundamentally following a "striving towards" mentality.
I digress.
By focusing on my personality type, or my desires to seclude myself, if I allow the seclusion to take hold, I begin the fight of "either/or".
I'm an "all in" person. I'm of the mindset that if you're going to do something, you give it all you've got. So, the either/or for me has been, I'm either all in with community, or I'm all in with what I see as my calling.
Community doesn't come easy for me, (or anyone else for that matter,) nor is it something that happens overnight. It is a slow, beautiful process for someone like me, who captures these moments in written snapshots.
But, because it is slow, I have a tendency, in my "all-in" mindset (which very quickly escalates to an "all-me" mindset) to try to make things happen where God isn't moving yet, or in places He hasn't revealed the puzzle pieces yet. Sure, it keeps me busy, but it also drains me, further fueling my propensity to retreat altogether.
I'm beginning to understand the delicate balance of each of our roles in community. That community is not, and cannot, be developed or discovered by only a few people, it takes all. Gifts and strengths are dispersed throughout, so that the whole fully expresses Christ.
So by me jumping "all in" (which is my natural inclination); when I'm not the one who should be jumping into each and every situation; I'm stepping into someone else's role. As a result, I'm tired and frustrated, and I've taken away the opportunity for someone else to rise to the occasion, to possibly understand who they are, in community.
I thought I had to get on my cross to participate in community. I had equated "participating in community" with helping those in the community who need help; whether it's transportation, or medical care, or food, etc. A rescuer, in essence.
I've come to realize that I have to get on my cross in order to let Christ do the rescuing, and not me.
By trying to constantly fill the "rescuer" role, (which isn't my role, my job, or my calling) all that did was frustrate me to no end. The frustration came from no matter what my efforts were, however minute or grand, the only places I saw God moving were the places I didn't have my hands in the pot. I was, and still am, overjoyed to see this, but there was still that little inkling in the back of my mind, "why am I not seeing results here??" Silently, my humility was starting to crack.
I focused on my efforts, completely missing the new and deepening friendships that I was part of, and the moments of discipleship happening along the way. I completely missed how God was showing me my part; all of which happened so effortlessly.
At the same time, I was ridden with guilt by any time I did spend alone, which made me question everything I was doing. I began to swirl. I felt like I was stuck in the pages of the book of Ecclesiastes, and I couldn't get out. I could see the big picture, but had no idea where I fit into it, like there had to be a concrete answer to "my calling or (my mistaken idea of) community".
I'm learning that the details trip me up. I constantly ask "why", of people around me, and of God. But when I start asking for the "how", I end up in places I shouldn't be, where nothing makes any sense to me at all.
Me trying to figure out "how" my calling fit into community seriously screwed me up. Life became a series of questions, that which each new question, more and more doubt crept in.
Finally, when my head was about to explode, Christ reminded me that when I'm on the cross, He'll take care of the "how".
Oh, the humanity...
