About Me

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I write, mostly to keep my head from exploding. It threatens to do that a lot. My blog is the pixelated version of all the voices in my head. I tend to dive into what connects me to God, my community, my family and my doubt. I do a lot of searching, not as much finding. I’m good with that. I have learned, finally, to live comfortably in the gray. In the meantime, I wrestle with God, and my doubt and my joy.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

#BlogElul 22 - Dare

Go ahead - I dare ya! 

I dare me. 


I do dare almost as well as I do change, and I don't actually do change. Change happens; I don't do it. Change is a twister from Kansas, dropping on me like, well - like a houseful of bricks. All that's left sometimes are my shins (battered and bruised) and my stockinged-feet. Dorothy has already taken off with my shoes.

There are days I'd have to climb a ladder up from dare to get to the ease and grace with which I do change.

I have lived a life mostly ruled by fear. Fear of failing. Fear of succeeding. Fear of fitting in - or not. Fear of appearing weaker than, less than, vulnerable. Fear of being found out, not measuring up. Being alone, having friends. I have learned to live with my odd inconsistencies and juxtapositions. It's hard to dare, with all that fear going on.

As a result, I live a very little life, skating along the edges and staring wistfully, resignedly - fearfully - at the center.

It's lonely out here.

I used to think it was safer, being this far away. I used to think I would never get hurt by living small and undaring. I used to think that I could drink myself courageous. I used to think no one would - could - ever love me, but that if I could make you need me, that would be good enough. I used to think a lot of things. Most every one of them was wrong.

I spent a lifetime of "Don't you dare!" 

And then you get sober. And then you get married. And then you have a baby. And you buy a house and you keep not drinking and and you get divorced and you still keep not drinking and you watch over this child who continues to teach you how to love and you start breathing again, almost for the first time in your whole life and you don't drink and you make breakfast and you clean up puke and you pay the bills and you stumble around and get lost and feel broken but you do it all anyway and you get this gift, this amazing, miraculous gift of love - pure and unconditional and filled with trust and grace, and shitty stuff happens to you and astoundingly breathtaking things happen and you're still freaking terrified but you put one foot in front of the other every day and you get out of bed you love - God! you love that boy every day, even on the days when there is just not enough duct tape in all the world to contain him.

And you realize, without ever noticing it, that you have lived a bold and daring life. Even through the fear, you have learned to dare. 

(c) Stacey Zisook Robinson

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