Introvert Musings

It began with a comment  about how the tortilla chips were gluten free, and ended by talking chemo, hair and ports. A pretty typical trip to the grocery store, right?

 A couple of weeks ago, I was out running errands and stopped into Central Market for a few groceries. After loading up my cart with bulk spices, vegetables and tortilla chips, I randomly chose a line. Soon I listened in on a gregarious cashier interacting with what I could only assume was a dear friend of hers.

Yet, when she switched to me and scanned my tortilla chips, she began telling me how she was now off gluten and on the lookout for more gluten free products.  Then she casually mentioned being on chemo two years ago and gaining so much weight, and having stomach problems and trying to stay off gluten, all while expertly scanning and bagging my groceries. I jumped in and asked her what kind of cancer she had. It was breast cancer.

We chatted about hair loss and how it returned differently from our original hair. She asked me if I had problem with my port site, and I told her it was still tender even after four years. She mentioned how she has had a few scares, minor things that made her worry. I encouraged her that as time passes for me, my level of panic decreases whenever I feel a new ache. I try to remember to notice it briefly, but not dwell on it unless it hangs around.  The farther I am away from my diagnosis, I told her, the less I think about cancer coming back. You'll get there, I encouraged.

She smiled and thanked me. I told her that her hair was beautiful and congratulations for the two years she is past cancer. She wished me a good day and hoped to see me again.

I did stop in the store this week and saw her in action again, same smile, same sweet spirit. I chose a different line this time, mostly because it was shorter, but it might have been that I wanted to be anonymous that day. Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever wanted to get in and out and not interact with anyone? If you said no, then you definitely are not an introvert.

Some days my introvert tendency comes on strong. Last week I was home several days in a row, no appointments, no errands to run, just me and my keyboard and books. (And the million other household duties that I try to put off until I get some writing in.)  I got it into my mind that I would pack up my computer and hang out in the library or a coffee shop. I exchanged my usual yoga pants with some actual street clothes. After the kids left and I finished my bible study, I packed up. I borrowed Ben's laptop, since it's smaller, remembered my thumbdrive and notes, pens and highlighters. Since I had a few books at the library on the hold shelf, I thought I'd start my day out there.

For a weekday morning, I was surprised the library was so crowded. Of course, this is one of my frequent stops, but I usually don't look for a table to occupy. None of the tables were empty. I found one table with only one other person, but that day I wasn't in the mood to share.  I decided to check out the nearby Starbucks.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed so many cars. Driving around to the front of the shop, I peeked into the windows and saw an uninterrupted row of heads. That probably meant the only available place would be at the large table in the middle, and, well, you know how I felt about sharing space that day.

I considered driving to another place, but the idea of the quiet of my house, a desk to myself, my own coffee with organic milk I can create into a sort of latte (not as good as a coffee shop, but good enough for me) kept me driving. I pulled into my garage, unloaded my bookbag and unpacked it in my living room.  This is where I found my sweet spot.

Somedays I wish I were more like my extrovert friends. They have the ability to find people and hear their stories and be able to encourage them. A friend of a friend, a man battling stage 4 colon cancer, often shares on Facebook about his interactions with people in the waiting room or the treatment chair next to him. He is not afraid to ask people if he can pray for them, right then and there, either. How encouraging would that be? Most of the conversations I've had while receiving treatment have been because someone else initiated them. 

I do have my moments. When I know I need to be outgoing, I can turn it on. This Friday I am going to a business dinner with Walt,  and I'll put on a nice dress and fill my mind with ideas for conversation starters. Am I the only one who needs to prepare this way? I've learned that a few open ended questions is all it takes to open up a conversation. Then I'll listen, and I'll probably find someone I was glad to have met. 

I often wonder if I did this more often, would I have more opportunities to encourage others? It's possible, but I also know that it's not my normal bent. Too much time around people usually doesn't instill in me a desire to encourage anyone. It's probably the opposite, as my kids can attest. It's taken years, but I'm okay to follow the way God has created me and not try to compare my weaknesses with others' strengths.  

My conversation at the grocery store was not my typical experience. I'm glad I had the chance to encourage the cashier, but usually my grocery stop consists of smiling, asking how they were doing, and running my card through the machine. When God opens the door, as He did when I asked the question about her cancer, I've experienced wonderful connections with amazing people. I think that's the key with me. If God leads, I need to walk through the open door. Otherwise, it's okay for me to find solace in the quiet.

Expectations

Mom (expecting my youngest sister), my brother, sisters and I (on the pony)

I remember one Christmas many years ago. I was maybe a young teen at the time. We had opened presents, always a huge event with five kids, and I spotted an extra sweatshirt in my brother's pile. I'm not sure how I knew it was extra, but my mom was very careful about making sure we all had the same number of gifts. A twinge of jealousy marred my happiness of a moment ago. I expected everyone to have the same amount of items, so why does my brother have an extra one, I wondered silently.

I found out later that my sister, taking the amount we were given to buy small gifts for our siblings, found an extraordinary deal on the sweatshirt and bought it for my brother instead of the small toy or candy that we usually got for each other. This impacted me so much that even though the details of the rest of the day are blurred, I remember the extra shirt as if it were yesterday. I also cringe at my reaction, the shallowness that I sometimes still struggle with.

How often do our expectations, and often misunderstandings, mess up what could have been a fabulous day?

Unexpected snow when I don't have to be anywhere is my favorite

I wrote earlier about how excited I was about spending the early morning of Black Friday with my daughter, perhaps our last time since it looks likely that she will go out of state to college next year.

While I did spend a few hours with her, it wasn't anything like I expected or hoped for. She asked if it was okay for her to go earlier with a few of her friends who were trying to capture the last of the Thanksgiving Day sales. I refuse to shop on Thanksgiving Day, but Becca thought it would be fun to go with her friends, especially since we were only watching a movie. We would meet up whatever time I decided to go. She asked if it was okay.

I looked at my 18 year old daughter, wanting to appease me but eager to hang out in the middle of the night in a mall with her friends. It would be her last chance to spend Black Friday with these friends, too. As a mom, I know how important family is, but as a teen, she is all about her friends. I get this. I was like that, too.

I told her to go. Make good decisions, be safe, have fun.

That morning, about 3, I made the cold, dark drive by myself, still thankful for the lack of traffic. I parked in the first row near the main entrance. We connected. She was exhausted. Her friend who happens to be a boy hung out with us, too.

It wasn't what I expected, but I knew I had a choice. I would make the most of this moment, this time, and throw away any expectations from past years.

We shopped. I bought them a Cinnabon, I had Starbucks. We usually had Starbucks together. It was different this year because she already had a mocha before I came.

Instead of wandering the mall, we went to specific shops and left after only a couple of hours. I had energy to drive to Old Navy, but Becca was fading fast. They stayed in the car while I ran in to find a sweatshirt for Ben.

We drove home while it was still dark with very little traffic. No extra stops at Fred Meyer. No chasing down a sale at as many stores as possible.

We still made a memory.

Living in the moment means letting go of expectations, what should have been, what I wished was. God has thrown curveballs into my life, like with the sudden breast cancer diagnosis. If I held onto my expectations of what I hoped life was, what I wished I hadn't needed to think about, what I never wanted to endure, I would have missed out on the blessings of the moment, of seeing God in the small things.

Living life in the present is like that.

I think of Mary, just a teenager, engaged to a special man. Her life mapped out.

Then suddenly an angel appears. Your plans will be changed abruptly. You will give birth to a son who will be called Jesus who will become your Savior.

Mary answers, "I am the Lord's servant. May your word to me be fulfilled." (Luke 1:38).

If Mary kept hold of her expectations, she would have missed out on this blessing. Was it not a blessing laced with tremendous difficulties? Yes, we can only imagine all the hardships she faced.

Yet her letting go of expectations, living in the moment, being willing to do as God asked her, opened up the means for Jesus to come to earth, offering Himself as our greatest blessing.

In our days, it's easy to chase after things that don't matter. We have our expectations of what is fair or important.

But what if the interruption, how we react to a change of plans, how we let God lead, is the most important thing for us to see?

Because the Jews were looking for their expected messiah, and they missed the Bethlehem morning, the infant wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger. They missed Jesus.

This Christmas, don't let expectations get in the way of Jesus. Be open to living now, eyes wide open, looking for what God has in store.