Unexpected

I went to a workshop last week.  Excited to learn something new, nervous that I will not qualify, anticipating that I will be surrounded by women who by their collective knowledge will raise the bar.  I take a spot off to the far side where I think I will be least noticed.  As close to a fly on the wall as possible.  We are asked to put our name in large print on a paper and tape it somewhere in our workspace.  After the instructions I am intent on the task - head down - focused on my work.  Not my old self, one who loves to welcome and finds life looking into a new set of eyes.  At the beginning of the class I lose a vital tool for the task.  It falls to the floor and bounces away.  I cannot proceed without it and have to mention this unfortunate loss to the instructor... more attention than I am prepared for.  My table mates don't hesitate, down on their knees on my behalf scanning for the rogue bolt.  I find this exercise excruciating, someone taking time away from her project to help me, feels like an eternity without productivity.  It's a fruitless search and an ask goes out if someone has an extra for me to borrow.  "Yes"  from a woman clear across the room.  I am profuse with gratitude, glad for the freeing of the others to go back to their babies.  I could have found another way to work on mine but it would have meant that I would not have made sufficient progress to keep up (more unavoidable attention).  I am humbled.  I know this is a gracious place to be in the scheme of earth living.  But it is quite expensive and I have to open my emotional nest egg to be willing to purchase it 'as is'.  Getting back to my comfort zone I am conscious of the chatter, the humming of the machines, and the periodic outburst of laughter.  I don't immediately realise that this is why I have come.  Not that I anticipate a single friendship to form for I have driven out to another town for this class and will not bump into any of these women at the local bank or store.  Yes, I had been quite brilliant in this part of the plan - no strings attached.  Unbeknownst to me a prayer that I have prayed along with David from his memoirs, is getting attention of its own.  "God, make a fresh start in me, shape a Genesis week from the chaos of my life. Don't throw me out with the trash, or fail to breathe holiness in me. Bring me back from gray exile, put a fresh wind in my sails!"

Giacomo Ceruti: women working on pillow the sewing school

 

When loss is part of your reality, especially loss upon loss.  Causes?  The curse of the earth and results of the choices of men.  There is this propensity to feel you deserve nothing more.  The verdict of others is more final than you want to allow and the nagging feeling that you possibly have done the same, is the washer that holds this emotional bolt tight.  How do you recover from this?  For healing is what I am in need of to become a giving part of society again.  And trust is a treasure that I am not ready to extend - in others nor in myself.  "Constance, did you find your bolt?"  "I like the colours you have chosen."  "What did you bring for lunch?"  Speaking only when spoken to is a new angle for me.  It affords my emotional eyes time to look around the room.  To eavesdrop and take notes.  To wonder if I can see where these women are setting their bar.  I have not been able to pick mine up.  ... Listening I lean in...  hope.

 ^26-28Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good. Romans 8:26-28  The Message (MSG)