April 23, 2016
Over my desk hangs a beachy sign called Beach Rules. A
sucker for puns (they’re just too punny), I was practically forced to buy it a few vacations ago from the Kure Beach Pier gift shop (talk about Pier Pressure!). All the advice is good, but I have the biggest issue with making waves. While I get that it means to be bold and make a difference, it also resonates with me as a drama-creator.
Makin’ waves means disrupting the peace. And, as a staunch opposer of drama, making waves goes against my nature.
We'd made the BIG Decision to move. We'd shared the difficult news with our family. We'd even calmed our stressed out household, somewhat. But, there was more to come. Leaving a place we’ve lived for fifteen years, leaving parents, siblings, cousins, and friends, behind, leaving a church that’s been a home and a great place to work… I wasn’t just making waves, but tsunamis. At least, that’s how it felt. Telling the people I loved that I was leaving was frightening. A guilty, nervous rock wedged itself in my gut.
What do women do when they feel anxious?
They plan. I mapped out who I would tell and when - order is important. It shouldn’t be, but somehow it is. I started with my dad because I knew he’d make for good practice and he’d get it. Then, I systematically went through the people in my life.
A mysterious peace happened. Slow, but sure.
Each WAVE of telling-all smoothed out the rock wedged in my stomach. It softened and shrunk. The more I told people, the easier it got. Instead of feeling guilty and inconvenient to everyone, my heart swelled with their encouragement, love, and support. Still, I feel their prayers whisking around me like Tinker Bell showering me with fairy dust. They’ve all lifted me up.
"He caused the storm to be still, So that the waves of the sea were hushed."