Willing to Be Willing

What does that mean?  Willingness?  What does it look like?

It feels like open hands. No clenching. Not grasping. Not chasing.

I want to pray for my heart to be open. For my soul to be surrendered. For my mind to be moldable.  For my house to be a haven.

I don’t want to live in control and fear and chaos of the unknown. That is what used to lead me right towards a bottle.  Now the feelings still come, but it leads me into different places.  I can seek solace in a meeting, or a burger or a writing time. I seek solace in other ways that help me to feel and not numb.

I pray for willingness to have courage.

To be a leader.

To be a trailblazer.

To ask for help.

To sit in my pain and feel it.

To not have the answer.

To wait for God to show me.

To not rush around fixing.

To hold a safe place.

To be uncomfortable and not jump out of my skin.

To be.

To breathe.

To repeat all of this hourly if I need to.

I tend to want to race and rush.  I have a need to tweak and meddle. I have a long legacy of fixing and forcing.

I can rally the troops….but I have to ask myself if I really want to rally them and if I do, can I serve them and not lose my soul along the way.

In the willingness I find my why.  I find my answers to questions that I didn’t know I had in me until the answer rises to the surface.

In my willingness I find me, the me without the glossy on top and the sprinkles to make me more enticing to you from the glass case.

I find my heart when I am willing to hear and seek and sit still long along to wait for her to not be afraid anymore.

I find me in the willing walls.  I find me.  I find me.  I find me…