Against my nature

I’m OK with being an introvert.  I have an extroverted son who needs to be social to be happy.  That’s fine with me.  I have extroverted sisters who think I’m a little crazy/antisocial/cranky (like when I hate Christmas caroling).  I’m OK with that too, because those girls love me anyway.

I can see that the world needs both introverts and extroverts.  We need listeners and talkers.  We need people in the spotlight and people who are happy in the shadows.  We need leaders and followers.

Lately I’ve had a series of traumatizing events that have tried my little introverted soul.  They aren’t traumatizing as in burn-your-house-down but more like I-wonder-if-I’m-strong-enough-to-handle-it and I-would-love-nothing-more-than-to-escape.  When I feel like looking for the nearest exit, I sift through my options and I realize that I am strong enough for this.  I think my parents raised me that way because when I think of them, I realize giving up is not an option.  I also feel incredibly blessed by the iron-clad support system I have.  When the world is mean and disappointing and unfair, I know I have lots of people loving me.

That makes all the difference.

I still don’t really like it though.  I don’t like being in charge.  I don’t like confrontation.  I don’t like talking to strangers.  I don’t like going to meetings or even worse, leading meetings.  I mostly want to be left alone. Why do I have to stretch myself like this?  Isn’t it OK to just go on my merry introverted way?

The other day Mark and I pruned some of the shrubs in our front yard.  I remembered a story I heard by Hugh B. Brown.  He pruned a currant bush—quite dramatically.  He wrote:

You know, I thought I heard that currant bush talk. And I thought I heard it say this: “How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me, because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”

That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down, for caring enough about me to hurt me. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’

He went on to describe a time when he felt like he’d been cut down to size.  He remembered pruning his currant bush and he realized that God was the gardener and had a plan for him.

I’m an introvert and it’s OK to be an introvert.  But I also need to keep stretching and growing in the ways that are asked of me.  I know God knows this is against my nature, but He's asking me to do it anyway. 

Increasingly, I realize I’m not in charge.