fear

Sinking In

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I am always reading self-improvement things.  Books, blogs, magazine articles, whatever.  Always seeking a magical answer.  The question isn’t really clear.  I cannot find a magical answer if I don’t know the magical question.

One concept I have often read about is breaking down the project into manageable tasks.  I am a very organized person.  I always think about projects and plan them in what I believe is the most sensible and efficient order.

Then, I begin said project.  I follow the plan.  The problem seems to be that I believe I can do more than I can do. I overextend myself.  I get halfway through and run out of time and/or energy.

I don’t know if I am just trying to do too much or if I am not planning a well as I think or what.  I just know I end up with a mess to clean up and a project not completed the way I imagined.  It is finally sinking in that I need to not only think of the project in steps, but I need to do the project in steps and stages.  Don’t try to change my entire world on Friday evening and Saturday afternoon.

The next chapter of this saga is about purpose.  I plan a project.  I think about the area I want to improve.  I set about the stages of the project.  I realize I am only trying to distract myself from something else.  I get bored because it is being done for the wrong reason.

If I have a project to complete, I don’t have to think about not achieving the real goals.  I can fool myself into thinking I am busy taking care of important issues.  But, only for a little while.

Suddenly, the curtain is drawn back and the truth comes out.  The great Oz is a fraud and a fake.  The truth is in the ruby slippers always with me.  Just get on with it.  The way is there.  Stop following someone else’s yellow brick road and get back to home base.  Get centered and grounded and back on the real track.

I have set myself a task and a deadline to meet it.  He is backing me 100%.  He is my partner in this life and my champion, too.  Together, we will get me where I need to be.  Following my own brick road.  Not the yellow one.

It is finally sinking in.  I must be true to myself.  I must follow my own path.  I must stop trying to take part in things I care nothing about.  Most of all, I must stop running away from my destiny.  The line in a movie that haunts me and my son:  find and fulfill your destiny.  Perhaps, it isn’t so hard to find after all.

Keep paying attention.  Keep listening to my instincts.  Keep battling the fear.  Keep pushing back the mindless distractions.  Keep pursuing life and destiny and love and truth.

 

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Flood

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He and I walked down to see the muddy water boiling through the gates from the lake into the flooding river bed.

This gushing torrent is pouring from the same serene lake whose lovely face I have shared previously.  She is overloaded with rain and bursting at the seams.  Not her normal self.

I know how she feels.  I have a torrent of thoughts flooding my mind.  I recently filled one of my paper journals and switched to a fresh one.  I keep hauling around the old one.  I have been back through it several times trying to figure out what I am afraid to discard or shelve.  Finally, yesterday, while again going over the pages, I realized the whispers of the bigger story I want to tell is started there.

I shared with my friend today my idea of what I want to tell.  She had asked me if I have taken classes or is my writing a gift.  I don’t know about it being a gift, but, no I haven’t taken writing classes.  I haven’t even read many books on the prescribed reading lists from high school or college.  I simply write.  I have written forever.  When the prescribed writing of school days ended, the pen of teenage passion waned, and my babies were big enough to play without constant surveillance, I began journaling.  From the first time I heard about the concept of blogging, I wanted to try it.

I always wanted to be like John Boy Walton and write stories.  I never felt I had a story to write.  I still don’t have a fiction story to write.  My cousin encourages me to write the book.  I want to tell my story.  Every woman’s story.  Wish me courage.  Wish me discipline.  Wish me strength.

I fear letting the story come forth, I will become like this raging river boiling from the depths of the lake.  Churning out of control and spilling forth over the banks meant to contain me.  The banks of calm rationality I try so hard to maintain.  But, dear reader, you know I despise fear.  Here is a fear I must overcome and free myself.  He will hold on to me when I start to go under.  He will not let me be pushed to the bottom of the churning turmoil of emotional energy.  He will lift me up to Him in his prayers and we will ride out another flood of life together.

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