My dining room table is covered with half-read newspapers, books, unopened mail, notes and that Sunday School project prototype I'm gluing. There's a stack of cookbooks on the floor and a pile of unshelved CD's in the corner. The desk is scattered with receipts needing to be organized. Littering the floor are enough cat and dog toys to make someone think a toddler lives here.
The state of my dining room is a mirror to my mind, to my soul. For me, trouble in mind equals dirty dishes in the sink and stacks of paper on the table. I can't decide where to put things, what to keep and what to discard, what I'll never use again and what will be essential to me later. What if, what if, what if...
I have to write a blog post. I
have to be at work in ten minutes. I have to clean up. It's driving me crazy. Someone's coming over later. I could cram it all in the closet. The closet is full. Why do I hang on to some of this stuff? Ack, I should be on an episode of "Hoarders."
It's all a
little overwhelming at the moment. I'm a little overwhelmed at the moment!
I sit on the couch and stare into the dining room, my mind as cluttered as the table.
I am scared. I am procrastinating. I feel that familiar paralysis begin to set in. First the body and then the mind. This is territory I know all too well. The surface might look solid, but there is water flowing underneath making the soil of my life loose its friction. I tell my inner hiker to stay on the path for there is quicksand all around.
Is this a good title? Where should that paragraph go? Am I on the right track? Is this where the Holy Spirit is leading? Should I be looking for a "real" job?
Too late, I stepped into it. My husband always hikes with a stick, but I don't know where mine is today. The sand covers my ankles and gently pulls me in. It might not be too deep. If I retrace my steps, I could back out of this now.
Should I spend more time with mom and sister? Can I pay these bills this week with what's left in the bank account? Can I afford health insurance? What if I get sick?
In a flash, I'm up to my knees and sinking fast, but if I just try to push on I'll be okay. Solid ground is just up ahead.
Will I ever finish that scarf and beading project idea I started? Can I ever retire? The bathroom needs painting. I never should have torn out the kitchen floor without a plan to replace it. I never get anything done. I never finish anything.
Cue the Ennio Morricone Spaghetti Western soundtrack as I'm sucked down to waist level. Flailing around with my arms I forget everything I've ever learned about quicksand. My inner hiker is in panic mode only now.
My business venture failed. Should I delete this sentence? Will anyone read it? Does it matter? Why did I commit to doing this? It's too hard. Will I ever write anything again?
As I sink up to my armpits, I feel that choking anxiety in my throat as the quicksand of self-doubt presses around me. Desperately I thrash about for something, ANYTHING, to hang onto. What will I do? How will I survive?
GRACE. Those moments of GRACE that save me.
Unbidden in conversation my friend John says, "Your writing is a wise testimony for others. Don't worry about it. Just let it FLOW from the Spirit through you." And he prays for me right then and right there where we are standing.
It dawns on me. I remember that I am denser than water, denser than quicksand. What I learned comes flooding back. I CAN FLOAT, spread myself across the muck and FLOAT. I'm not out of this yet, but I'm not sinking.
Having Saturday morning breakfast with Bob, I tell him I am trying to follow my heart. "You seem calmer, happier somehow," he shares. I worry aloud that I won't ever be able to put fingers to keyboard again and have it make sense. Smiling, he quips, "So does Salman Rushdie!"
GRACE. Looking up I see a low hanging branch. Was it always there? I paddle slowly, but steadily, toward it.
My sister, who has a gift for making beautiful handmade cards, gives me a card of encouragement about manifesting dreams and not letting age, resources or timing limit one's vision. On the back she printed a Bible verse from Habakkuk, "Write the vision, make it plain on tablets..." She checks in on me to see how I am doing with my "Vision Board."
GRACE. AGAIN GRACE. I can see what looks like solid ground.
I read these words, "...without knowing it I can let myself become overwhelmed...I have believed the lie...I have given up fighting...I have felt sorry for myself," written by my younger and wiser friend Aletheia over at [according to aletheia].
MORE GRACE. I reach the branch, climb out of the pit and onto the path again, astonished that I did not realize that sometimes I can CHOOSE to NOT be overwhelmed. Like Aletheia, this is, now, one more thing I DO know.
Special thanks to Doug Gelbert, author of my favorite Doggin America and Bark in the Park series of books, from whom I learned SOME of what I know about quicksand. If you like hiking with your dog visit Doug's website
http://www.hikewithyourdog.com/
