untitled (aka, ramblings)

 

 

I went home for the weekend, and it was a delight to absorb the sunshine and the wide open sky. I took Amy riding, threw a Jamberry party with Hannah, went to (most of) Amy’s tenth birthday party, helped Dad with the last heifer to calve, spent time with my horse, and looked in awe upon all the beautiful mountains that I don’t see often enough anymore.

Tonight, I went to home group and, very typically, sat in the corner without saying a thing while everyone else engaged in an interesting debate on the topic of prayer. I wanted so much to participate but found I didn’t have anything to say that had not already been said. I am not the kind of person who processes information verbally; I can’t speak up in a group unless I have carefully thought over what I’m going to say. So I am perpetually “the quiet one” and tend to be talked over, for the simple and understandable reason that no one expects me to speak in the first place.

I wanted so much to participate, but I find that regular conversations move too swiftly for my slow-churning mind. I am still deep in thought about the initial statement when everyone else has moved on into debate. My mind works quickly, filtering through the information and making relevant connections and throwing out what is worthless, but my tongue is unwilling; not until my brain reaches a place of rest and satisfaction with its conclusion is my mouth ready to share it. And by then the moment of relevancy has passed by.

I don’t really know why I’m writing all this, except that this is how I process things—in writing. If only our two hours on Monday nights had a pause button so that I could write an essay on our topic of discussion in time to share my actual thoughts... If only there would be some occasion in my life when I felt like I “fit in” with a group instead of always meandering in the outskirts, mulling things over behind the scenes of those with quicker minds and tongues. Honestly there are times when I’m sure I must seem like a brain-dead mute.

I told my sister the other day that sometimes, I feel like I have no place in the world. That I feel lost and wandering, ever searching for the actual, non-cheesy, non-Sunday school answer reason that I exist. Her reply, at least, made me smile: “Hey, you know, that’s the first attribute of a superhero.”

I guess that’s one way of looking at it. ;)