Thoughts on an Early Morning that Smells Really Good. Must of Rained Last Night.

I am re-reading all my books on monasteries and monks lately. I went through this phase in college where I was really into them. I'd read all their gut-wrenching, soul searching things they'd say and do and think, "Oh, that is so nice." And then I would carry on with my stress free, kid free, mortgage free, newly married life.
Now I read it and what they say hits me in the gut like a boxer's glove, sending me backward, writhing in pain. They strip everything down, take everything away, except for the vulnerable, weak little Soul and God, and you can't help but ask, OK, now what?
And the thought of nothing but my pitiful little soul and God is so disconcerting to sit in, to just let them be together, no distractions, no lists of a hundred things to do, no urgent needs to be met, no amazing clothes and jewelry to be worn, no hair to do---that I usually can't. I have to be sucking on coffee, writing, reading, mind mucking--anything to keep me from the stillness of reality.
El problemo is when I don't do this, don't quiet my anxious self enough to remember who I am and who God is, things come up. I take that back. Even when I have some moments of peace or stillness, I still make dumb choices, Joey and I still fight, things don't go right. But at least I have the sense to go back to the stillness, and remember. Or is that grace?
It's progress.
There's this sentence that I like that Henri Nouwen writes in The Genesee Diary that speaks to me concerning going back to that place where it's just God and me alone: "that 'other side', the quiet, rhythmic, solid side of life, the deep solid stream moving underneath the restless waves of my sea."
Shit I need that. My "restless waves" are more like "tidal waves."
Along these same lines, I am turning a new leaf in my life.
Leading worship for me before was ninety-nine percent torture and one percent joy in the past.
I have taken almost a year off, completely forgotten how to play the guitar and sing without making my voice crack, and this Sunday, or maybe the next, I am going to sing a song I wrote at my new church.
There are things I know I must keep telling myself, in place of the overall feeling of dread that so easily makes it's home in my chest:
It's you and God, baby. I was told once, as advice for helping me calm my nerves, that I was singing for the people. You know, for their benefit, their blessing. And I get that and it helps on some level. However, it also turns every Sunday morning into a show, which as the people pleaser I am only makes things worse. I tell myself, You are singing for your father who loves you.
Another thing I have to tell myself is I am good enough to do it. I am not Rhiana or Leona Lewis but I can sing, sort of.
There is something healing in sharing what is going on in your soul. And this song is just that, it is what God is doing in me lately. Sharing it with others is a blessing for me.
Someone once asked me why I can sing my heart out in front of people, but can't talk. That's another reason why I am doing this in song form. I want to share what God is doing in me, but the man was right; I almost ALWAYS cry when I talk in front of a group.
Wow, I just realized I have some serious problems.
Anyway, I cry less when I sing.
So, back to those good things I am going to be telling myself....
It's fifty percent show (preparing, using the 'ole noggin and common sense) and a hundred percent heart. I don't care if I mess up if I sing with a hundred percent heart it's gonna be alright...because He already loves it.