Tues, Jan. 27
... Come on, get happy
I had a moment of sheer and utter panic yesterday. A moment of, "How am I supposed to make it until the end of February?" followed closely by, "What the hell am I going to do once we hit the end of February?" That sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes you think that maybe you're just not ready for all of it after all. That, despite your best efforts, you're not as grown-up as you thought you were.
There was a moment. That paralyzing fear that made my breath catch and my heart stop for just a second. The question running through my mind, over and over and over. "What am I doing, thinking I can do this?" The next month is going to be the longest and the shortest month of the past year. Enough time to talk myself out of it or psych myself up for it.
I took the leaders' training for Gamma Girls the other day. It's a program geared towards junior high girls, and it uses a small group setting with older mentors to help deal with issues like media influences, choices, body issues, risk-taking, sex and dating, problem-solving, and things like that, all from a Christian perspective. Very good program. It's going to change a lot of girls' lives--both the girls and the leaders.
There were about 25 of us taking the training, ranging in age from early 20's to mid-60's, and as the weekend went on, we found ourselves agreeing and relating to more and more of the issues being presented. And I realized something. The outside may change, the issues may be different, and the way we deal with it may be more mature, but, especially as women, we're not that far removed from junior high after all. We still deal with the same issues.
I thought, wished, hoped I was past all this, but maybe you never get there.
One year ago today: "Where were the public washrooms in a Jewish city? Outside the city walls. Where was this guy? In the middle of the city. He was paralyzed. He couldn't get to the bathrooms, so you can imagine how he smelled. And you know how it says that it took four friends to carry him to Jesus? He was probably a pretty little guy. If he'd been paralyzed for so long, his limbs would have atrophied, and it wouldn't have taken more than two of them to carry him. They probably took turns, because the stench would have been enough to make them hurl. Walk a few blocks, then it's your turn to spew while your friends carry him a few blocks."
infinite || abyss
posted at 3:37 p.m.
