I was snoozing–in and out of consciousness–on the porch of the Sun River rental last week. A voice from the bike path below me jarred me awake. A man’s voice called out, “Honey, you are more than capable of riding this bike.”
There was a little voice too. It was full of tears and anguish…”That’s why I’m so sad, daddy. I can’t ride up the hills. They’re too hard. They’re just too hard.”
“Get on and I will push you up when you get tired. You’ll feel my hand on your back. I won’t let you fall,” the dad said.
This struck me pretty good..as in hammer to nail. I’ve been struggling to get going on my own figurative hill on this bike that seems to be sitting in the driveway of my own “stuckness” (kickstand and all) on some things.
I pray a lot. I really do.
I ask God where he wants me to go and where I should begin…please plant a person in my path, reveal it in a dream, whisper it through movie quotes and fortune cookies…anything but just stepping up with a bat in hand and giving a big ‘ole swing.
Even a “swing and a miss” would suffice at this point.
Why can beginning be so difficult?
The perfectionist stands on the corner of this right brain with what looks like some sort of ruler. Good grief, will she whack me with that thing at the first attempt?
Will she use it as she sidles up to what I consider finished work and literally measure a lack of progress?
I’m obviously worried about it enough to avoid beginning all together and then the Mr. Eeyore on the other brain corner shakes his head as if to remind me that this fear is just something I’ve inherited, been given, been held captive by…and frankly, “that’s just how it will always be.”
Of course, if given the chance I am quite capable of slapping both of these corner dwellers silly, but I can also find myself cocking my head to one side and just shrugging as to let them know that they might have a point.
at that moment,
sitting quietly on the deck something hit me..
..washed over me..
…began to creep from the bottom of my feet.
I decided to take the “dare to be amazing” route.
I choose to believe that with God’s help–big hands so lovingly placed on my back as a I bounce along up this hill with what seems like a grade of 15%, I can be that woman. She will reside in the scared, slightly dented heart and shine brighter than she ever could have walking the bike up the hill alone.
This I truly believe.