Leap of Faith

So my boys are in school two days a week now, which gives me a little time to do things by myself.  It’s too easy for me to stay at home cleaning, blogging, reading, blogging, and cooking, and I’m really trying to take advantage of my alone time to venture out and about.  I’ve been at home for almost four years now, and that is a blessing for which I’m truly grateful, but I need the stimulation of adult interaction and conversation.  Since I’m not the “Ladies Who Lunch” type, I’ve gotten a little creative in my outings.

Like my recent crafting workshop at Anthropologie last week.  That was definitely out of my comfort zone, I got to make a cute craft that wasn’t a complete and total disaster, and I also networked and mentioned my blog a tiny bit.  I consider it good practice for the upcoming Alt Summit in January.

That was Thursday.

And last Tuesday, I spent the morning volunteering at a local charity, which was so humbling and so much fun that I’m planning to work there regularly, as much as I can.  Before I had children, I always volunteered in some capacity, and after Rhys was born, I became a volunteer moderator of an online site.  That is definitely rewarding in its own way, but I miss the face-to-face connections I experienced in past years.  I also felt the need to do something in my community, so I found a place that needed help, and offered a little of my time.  Nothing much, but it’s meaningful nonetheless.

I am not telling you this to get a pat on the back, and I wouldn’t normally talk about something so personal, but I think this story deserves to be told.  I solemnly swear that it is an honest account of the actual event and is not embellished in any way.  It also goes to show that I often find myself in the most bizarre situations without any idea how I got there.

Oh wait, I signed up for this one.

The charity opens its doors at 10 am, and the volunteer coordinator asked me to come at 9:30 for a short training.  I arrived a few minutes early, only to find a group of people seated around a table, with the man at the head talking extremely loudly at the entire room.  A friendly woman, whom I correctly assumed to be the coordinator (we had only been in touch via email), motioned me in and promptly seated me next to the yelling man.  As I sat down, quite embarrassed for interrupting what I thought was a board meeting, she leaned over and whispered, “I’m sorry!  I forgot to tell you we do Bible Study on Tuesday mornings!”

That guy next to me yelling at the top of his lungs was, in all actuality, preaching.  And speaking of lungs, he wore a tube through his nose that pumped oxygen from the small canister at his feet.  The one I tried not to knock over as I reached into my purse to silence my cell phone.  It took me a few minutes to calm down and relax, because this was not what I had anticipated at all.  Well, that and the fact that the man was screaming so loudly that my instinct was to cover my ears.  But I didn’t, don’t worry.

I listened to the sermon politely as more and more people trickled in, filling the room to capacity ahead of the 10 am opening.  At the end of the sermon, the man said a prayer and offered what was, essentially, an altar call.  He asked some of the volunteers to pray with the people who requested it by raising their hands, and I bowed my head, trying to disappear.

At that point, he looked directly at me and asked, “Can you help?”

It took me a second, but I said, “Sure,” jumped up and found a woman with her hand raised, her sleeping baby lying across her lap.  She didn’t speak English, and someone was translating loudly as the man prayed, so I just put my hand on her shoulder and listened along with her.  I was trembling, both from nerves and shock, and I’m pretty sure she felt it.  What had I just signed up for?  All I could think was that my home was less than a mile away, and here I was, in a room full of strangers on a random Tuesday morning, a million miles from home.

When the prayer was over, I gave her a hug, and she looked back at me bewildered.  I honestly don’t think she understood what was going on, and she was just trying to get help for her children and herself.  I just did what I could in that moment, and I was so scared and probably more bewildered than she was.

After that, I properly introduced myself to the coordinator, and she told me that, next time, I don’t have to come so early.  Unless I want to.

But here’s the thing: If I can sit in a room as a man screams at me (with good intentions, but really, really loudly), and jump when he says, “Help,” then I can do those little things that make me so nervous.  Like taking craft workshops, meeting new people, and talking about my blog with strangers.  I can say goodbye to my boys for a few days, take a plane to another state, and meet bloggers who are writing alongside me.

That forum I help moderate has a motto: Do It Scared.  And who cares if my hands shake a little?  I certainly don’t.

So I’ll go back again this week, maybe not at 9:30.  But I’ll go back.