I met Ros when we visited Scotland two years ago. We have become friends, cheering each other on in our writing pursuits.
These words have particularly challenged me as I’ve thought about what my parameters are in discerning God’s will. Thank you again, Ros, for letting me pass your wisdom on. Here’s a bit of what’s ahead as you read Ros’ words –
“It took a devastating global disruption for me to realise the considerable energy I spent protecting and controlling my time.”
A year ago, when the UK was plunged into the first lockdown, once the disorientation had settled a little, I observed that my shoulders had metaphorically slumped; I’d relaxed.
In a conversation with a friend, trying to understand this, I realised that I was experiencing a significant sense of relief that I no longer had to guard my time. Nothing (in person) was being asked of me. I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t arrange meetings other than over zoom. There were evenings and evenings ahead of me without anything in them. I felt safe, protected, without having to assert any of this abstention myself.
It took a devastating global disruption for me to realise the considerable energy I spent protecting and controlling my time.
We all know there is wisdom in setting boundaries. It is wise not to over-commit, it is wise to think through priorities. But during this last year I’ve wondered what’s beneath it all –
Why have I formed these boundaries around me?
Is it out of hope?…..or is it out of fear?
And for me, I began to realise how much fear was driving my decision-making.
This links in with the post I wrote a few weeks back about the The Storms of Emotion. Over the years the waves that have overwhelmed me have been so uncomfortable that I’ve been eager to avoid them. I have lived in fear of being submerged, and have built strong boundaries to protect myself. If I am surrounded by concrete, it may be ugly to look at, but it certainly protects you from sea-spray.
It’s been surprising to me to see the dynamics of fear in this area. I hadn’t realised. But the Lord has used this unusually turbulent year to gently peel back another layer of the onion skin, and together we have looked at the exposed vulnerability, and the sincere but misguided attempts on my part to protect myself.
It seems that over the years, in response to a disparate and challenging range of roles and responsibilities, I have found myself saying ‘no’.
No, no, no. No. I’ve got enough on my plate. I’m not going to get involved with that person, for fear that they’ll want more of me than I can give. I’m not going to take initiative in that situation, there’s too much being demanded of me as it is.
I’ve had a defensive posture internally. Taut. I’ve not been free and generous with my time.
Without realising it, all these mental ‘No’s have acted as a tourniquet around my soul, restricting the flow of the Holy Spirit in me and through me.
And as with many things in this life, it’s not all bad. Some of these ‘No’s have been wise. Some of these ‘No’s have given space for my ‘Yes’s to flourish. These ‘No’s have worked, in saving me from living in perpetual near-drowning state.
But what is the alternative? A free-for-all? What do boundaries laid out in hope even look like?
Well, I don’t know.
And perhaps that’s part of the point. I don’t know; but I know the One who does.
During the early months of this year, I found myself mulling over various things different things Given all that’s going on for our family right now, how do I need to shape our lives so that we all have space to breathe? Great question you might think. Nothing wrong with that.
For a couple of months I asked that question in all sorts of different, thoughtfully-worded, guises. But underneath what I was really saying was I’m scared. I want to decide now some strategies to prevent us sinking in the future.
And time and time again, the only answer that came back was Jesus.
Jesus.
Yes, I know that. Jesus. But what about other things? How is it best for us to show hospitality without becoming burdened?
Jesus.
Jesus.
Look to me, dear Child. Let me help you remove the rubble of concrete that you’ve surrounded yourself with. Let’s tend to those parts that have been grazed. Would you allow me, dear Daughter, to encircle you with my arms? They are the only boundaries you need.
Would you settle yourself in my embrace and see how my arms flex with the topography of our journey? Somedays we will fly, other days we will hunker down.
Will you trust me with yourself? With your family?
from Squinting for Glitter, May 10, 2021, Ros Boydell’s private blog