{Who Am I? I Am . . . }

I spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about whether or not I am using my time wisely. Am I doing the things I am "supposed" to be doing? Am I making good use of time? Will others be judgmental of how I choose to use my time? Am I lazy? UnChristian? Selfish?

See how it spirals out of control?

Lately I've been trying to look at my time and life. I've been making choices and working hard to quiet those critics in my head. "We are human beings, not human doings." That's the refrain that keeps sounding in my thoughts when I can slow them down enough to listen.

I was raised in a works oriented religious tradition. The more you do, the better a Christian you are, and the more secure was your salvation. So it wasn't Christ and grace which saved me, but rather my acceptance of Him AND how hard I worked to prove that I was saved.

Add childhood sexual abuse to that mix and you have a potent cocktail for constant self-doubt and panic. How can I trust myself under those circumstances?

So who am I, really? 

:: I am kind

:: I am compassionate

:: I am intelligent

:: I am introverted

:: I am meditative

:: I am creative

These are not the kinds of attributes that American culture values much these days. I am surrounded by people who seem to find their value in how busy they are. How much they have to get done. How pressed they are for time. 

I live with an extrovert who thrives on activity and interaction with people. How we wound up together only God knows. Our children are grown (one out of the nest, and the other well on his way out). I'm looking forward to a quiet, slower pace. My husband is worried about what we'll do. 

I don't feel any need to fill my days with activity. I find myself contemplating what life on the plains looked like for women. Yes, their work was much more intensive than mine, but it also seems people were more accepting of sitting and thinking. Of reading and listening. Of chatting with friends and family, not to save the world, but to enjoy being in one another's presence. 

And that is who I am. I move at a slower pace because I enjoy it. I savor instead of rushing, because I'd rather remember the details than have a plethora of moments that I can't recall.


linking up with Tuesday at Ten

Prepare

I prepare for a long weekend getaway. I prepare by making plans, packing my clothes and toiletries. I pack a couple of books and my computer. I take my crocheting, because I take it everywhere.

I prepare for spending a whole weekend with my husband. He is a good man, but sometimes we struggle. I remind myself that my value is not dependent on his perceptions, anymore than his is dependent on mine.

We listen to Christmas music in the car as we drive. He is recuperating from a respiratory infection. I remind myself that his silence is not an indictment of me or anything I've done or not done. He his sick. I like quiet, too, when I am sick.

No one prepared me for the lasting effects of childhood sexual abuse. No one explained that it would sneak up on me in the most delicate of ways. How it would invade even my most precious relationships.

So now I prepare in a different way. I prepare as best as I can for the unexpected. I prepare based on the assumption that there may be difficulties ahead, but those difficulties don't have to stop me from being my authentic self, and from living a life that prepares me for my eternal home.


linking up with Five Minute Friday