I was honest with someone tonight.  Not like the “no, that’s a really cute top” kind of honest, but the “this is me” kind of honest.  It was weird.

I talk a lot, so people tend to think I’m an open book.  I talk while I think, and I like to think (and talk).

I think about why people do the things they do, why I feel the way I feel about things, what I can do to solve a problem, factors at play in a given situation.  It’s analysis, really: looking for root cause is like solving a three-dimensional puzzle.

So, because I talk a lot, people tend to assume it’s all about me.  And sometimes it is. I guess maybe I am open.

But not about my insecurities. 

I don’t share those with many people. They make me uncomfortable and I don’t like talking about them.

You know what else is weird?  The more I think about stuff (which we’ve already established I do a lot) the more I see contradiction in almost everything.  Including me. But that’s probably a conversation for another time.

So, back to my unplanned honesty. 

My girls are in a tumble class. It’s one hour a week, and I go sit in a room with a handful of other moms while we wait for our kids to wear themselves out. 

Being the ambivert that I am (it’s a real thing – look it up), by the time I get there I really just don’t want to talk to anyone. Ever. But alas, that is not my lot in life, and that’s one of the things I’m trying to change in me.

So tonight, Amy (who I’m pretty sure I’ve only spoken to twice before) asks a couple of the questions I’ve previously mentioned that are defining this particular phase of my life.

1.  Are you counting down the days? (meaning the days until I’m no longer employed)
2. What are you going to do? (That question will not go away.  Ever.)

For some reason, something overtook me.  I looked her right in the face and decided I was actually going to answer those questions, fully, honestly, sincerely.  No pretending. I’m tired of that. So, I said…

1. Yes, but with very mixed emotions.
2. I have no idea. (Sound familiar?)

And then I just kept talking. 

I looked her in the eye and said, “To be really honest with you, this has been one of the biggest spiritual struggles of my life.  It’s all about submission and control, and those are just hard. Really hard.”

And I kept talking. Sometimes – well a lot of times – I catch myself in the middle of talking and wish I had shut up a long time ago. 

Yeah. Too late.

Then Amy shared a struggle she was facing.  She and her husband have found the perfect home to put down roots in a new town, and it’s just not happening.  They’ve prayed, they’ve looked at lots of houses, but this one just doesn’t seem to be in the cards at the moment.

So, we connected over the struggles we are both facing to balance control and submission, actively working and patiently waiting.  We didn’t really reach any grand conclusions, but it was nice to share it with someone.

And then I heard it.  I felt it. “Ask her to pray.” Sigh.  Sometimes I feel like such a weirdo.

If other people hear the “still small voice,” if they feel the prompting of the Spirit, why don’t they talk about it?  It would make me feel way less odd to hear other people say, “Yeah, that happened to me on Tuesday!”

I know that’s not a pretty or holy thing to say, but it’s how I feel.  So, at first I ignored it. Maybe it’s just in my head. Maybe it will go away. Maybe the moment will pass.

And it did.  She started talking about something else I can’t remember, maybe what the girls were doing in class.  And then she stopped talking. And I heard it again.

“ASK HER IF YOU CAN PRAY WITH HER.”

I get so tired of being the weird one.

So I did.  I waited just a bit longer, then I turned to her and said, “Can I pray with you about your house?”  She was visibly surprised. Definitely not offended or anything, but surprised.

She said yes, so I moved my chair closer to hers, placed my left hand on her arm as her younger daughter sat in her lap, and petitioned the Father to intervene for her.  It wasn’t an exceptionally pretty prayer or anything, but I don’t think He cares.

There’s music blaring from the fitness class going on. (Uptown Funk? I Love Rock and Roll? I can’t remember. I was distracted.) The girls are flipping and tumbling while the Coach shouts encouragement and instruction. 

And we’re sitting in two folding chairs in the middle of it all, heads bowed and eyes closed. Praying. Because He said to and He wouldn’t leave me alone.

When it was over we both just turned and faced the front.  Silent in the midst of all the racket. She wiped tears from her eyes. 

I didn’t, but that’s only because the flatness I’ve adopted in times of intense emotion has served to help me control the flow of tears.

Neither of us spoke.  I’m not sure either of us knew what to say. I have no idea what was going through her head and heart. Mine was a bit more of “I get so tired of being the weird one.”

Class went on, and we visited more about a lot of things.  Family, church, work, values, our kids. She had promised her youngest they could go to the playroom, so she apologized for stepping away, expressed that she was enjoying the conversation, and readied their paraphanalia to move into the next room. 

Before standing, she looked at me with honesty and sincerity all over her face. She said, “Thank you for praying with me. I think people don’t do that enough. It’s uncomfortable for some people. I really appreciate it though.”

Well, apparently tonight is the night of a thousand truths.  I replied, “Well, it made me uncomfortable to ask, too. Not the praying, that part I’m fine with.  But even those of us who are willing to do it are often uncomfortable asking.” She closed the conversation with, “Well, I’m glad you did.”

It’s kind of amazing how a prayer together can make two people who don’t know each other feel so close.  I don’t even know her last name. I had to ask her to remind me what her first name was before we prayed.

I believe God will answer our prayer about Amy’s house in a miraculous way, and I really hope I get to hear about it.  I don’t think my prayer was anything special or any necessary part of it, but I did ask God to use the situation to build a story of faith and testimony that Amy and her husband could use to bring glory to Him. 

And I believe he will.

Maybe being really honest about who I am and where I’m at is the part of connecting to others that I’ve been missing. 

One other thing I said to Amy tonight?

“Life’s too short to pretend.”