Daughters of Promise November/December 2014 | Page 49

featured blog post

ON IDENTITY AND MEETING
JESUS OUTSIDE MY BURROW HOLE
used to think that my personality would
somehow magically change when I got married,
that I would have a new air of confidence, that
I’d be that cool newlywed at whom all the young
teenage girls stared googly-eyed (like I used to do),
that I’d be that hostess who’d give those guests hugs and
I’d know how to tell them with perfect graciousness to
fill the water glasses or fluff up the salad, and then we’d
all laugh merrily and they’d stay till all the taper-candles
smoked and dripped their last wax-tears somewhere
down close to the tablecloth, and they’d leave and
wouldn’t even feel like they had to offer to wash all those
pretty dishes. I used to think that maybe, just maybe,
I would slowly find myself recharged, not drained, by
being with people.
Instead, I fairy-taled my way into my new world, and
after all the confetti had floated away, I discovered there
were no magic buttons to push after all, and I was still
that person. That person who confuses you because
you don’t know if I’m snobby or just shy. That person
who you think you should take out for coffee but you
invite somebody else too, because you think it’ll be
awkward with just you and me. I’m that boring person
who wants to go to bed early, and you’ll roll your eyes
because you don’t understand that I used up all my
energy sharing food and a movie with you and laughing
at the appropriate places in your constant bantering
with the other outgoing people (I did try to insert my
little comments here and there), and I’m sorry, but now
I require a little alone-time. I’m that person who loves
having a baby to jiggle on her hips because when we’re
talking and we run out of things to say, having something
to coo at and play with is a mighty fine solution. (Okay,
and I do SO love babies too.)
I used to pray that God would make me more outgoing.
I used to pray all the wrong things, and then I got tired
fretting over my personality, and I stopped.
I started praying that Jesus would make me more like
Himself.
In the past few months, I’ve known change and
weakness and inadequacy like I’ve never known them
before. A new role, a new home, a new city, a new State,
and a new church. Sydney’s narrow roads are enough
to frighten anyone, and I suddenly had to brave them.
New friends meant raw encounters with their pasts and

deep hurts, and I could only murmur Oh Jesus. Other
friends pumped us full of cheer after a weary week, and
other friends rang our doorbell or phone every other
night and we learned to giggle and say Come For Dinner
instead of grumbling about the fact that nobody should
do that to newlyweds. Living with my closest friend
day-in and day-out means making my heart vulnerable,
and I thank God it’s a safe place for me to learn that
art. Still other friends misunderstood and sent ugly texts
and suddenly I was an adult and had to fix it by myself
instead of running away, and other friends called for
advice on homeschooling or baby C’s gluten-intolerance
and spilled family issues that were just TMI and I was
wiping my forehead, alternately whispering “Me?” and
“What Would Mama Do?” A new church brought a whole
meaning to prayer and lots of it, and I found my walls
crumbling in the constant whisperings to Father.
“She has changed like crazy!” someone whispered to my
sister the other day. She, in turn, whispered it to me,
and I sorta stared into the distance, acting like I knew
just what she was talking about, but really I was shocked
and just utterly grateful in realising that Jesus’ work had
crept up on me, and suddenly, here I am, and I’m still
that same person but yet I’m not anymore.
I’m still an introvert. But I think I laugh a little easier
these days and know a bit more how to pass on grace by
making your favourite hot tea and talking about what
delights you. At a friend’s wedding recently, I was still
overwhelmed by the feeling of people at my elbow no
matter where I turned, and the dancing, the loud music,
and the people shouting to be heard over it. (I might
have asked my husband to hold my hand and keep me
with him all evening.) But, I also smiled incredulously
to myself the other evening when we were discussing
date-night options and I asked if we could go somewhere
where there were lots of people, because I wanted to feel
alive. That’s a first.
I suppose I’ll always need my times of hibernation, but
I’m slowly learning to get my focus off of that and on
to Jesus. He’s made me awkwardly uncomfortable and
grated me down to the core until sometimes there is
no Me and only Him, and only then can I see His allsufficiency and know where I am truly defined.
I’m still an introvert, but I’m being hurled head-first into
the grace of Jesus, and that, I suppose, is all that really
matters. |

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