I am dense.

I am dense.  Really, I am.

 

My husband likes to joke that public school kids have more common sense than private school graduates (that’s up for debate, by the way), but I truly am dense.

 

Sad to say, but no amount of great college prepatory education could make me any more aware, any more knowledgeable about Jesus and His plan for my life.  I love learning.  I love being informed.  And yet, there is one area of my life—my walk with God—where I am truly dense.

 

I try my hardest to “undense” myself.

 

I pray every day to hear from God.

 

“God!  Show me what you want me to do!!!  What is Your will?!?!”

 

Crickets.  Silence.

 

Or so I think.

 

Could it really be that God is truly speaking to me, but I just don’t hear (or am unwilling) to hear Him?

 

Many times, it takes a big whack on the head or some kind of major upset for me to then realize “OOOHHHHH, that was God all along.”

 

For example, my broken left wrist.  Way back when Misha was a little toddler, still running around with chubby little legs and drooling over mashed peas, I decided to enter the Honolulu Triathlon.  What propelled me to do it?  Well, Kyle was going to do the race and my competitive spirit was lit.  I hadn’t rode a bike in well over a few years, I rarely swam, and was much more invested in my work as a yoga instructor and personal trainer.

 

And yet, I wanted to enter.

 

Sadly, the biggest (and only) reason I decided to pay the $100-something dollars and dust off my black biking tights was to prove to my husband (and myself) that I “still had it”, whatever that “it” really was.  I was trying to force my identity from one steeped in God’s presence to one wrapped up in medals and athletic accolades.

 

I had completed a few sprint and Olympic distance tris in years past, but after burning myself out on the sport, God showed me that that type of endurance activity was NOT what He wanted for my life.  At the time, I was too obsessed over running a certain amount of miles, getting in a swim xxxx amount of times a week, and practicing my biking technique since I was still very new to the art of balancing on two wheels.  Instead, He wanted me to find my self-worth in Him and not my split-times or age group distinctions.  So I gave up the sport and felt pretty at ease with it.  Until the Honolulu Triathlon reared its’ ugly head, and with it, my competitive and self-absorbed ego.  I felt God urging me not to do it.  For what?  Why?

 

But I ignored His voice, and I did it.  I dusted off the old Huffy (I didn’t even have a road bike—my husband was using the only one available), ran a few laps around the neighborhood before the race, schlepped myself to the pool a few times, and deemed myself ready.  Obviously, God was speaking to me.  Loud.  And.  Clear.  It was a small voice at first, that voice that seems like one’s conscience saying, “Uh, maybe you shouldn’t do this race.  What for?!  Do you really need to?”  As the date of the event came closer, that voice got louder and with it, this uncomfortable, unsettling pit of fear grew in my stomach.

 

“It’s just pre-race jitters.”

 

But then the day of, I knew, I felt it in my core, that I should just hang up my shoes, not jump in the ocean, and sit out.  God was speaking to me, and my hands were literally shaking because I knew the right decision to make—not do the race—but was too scared to back out.

 

What would people say if I didn’t compete?  What would my husband say?  I would be a failure.  A.  Failure.

 

And so to make an already long story short, I jumped into the freezing cold ocean water, swam my 800 meters, hopped onto the Huffy, and started down the street for the next few miles.  It was during the bike portion, however, when I made a sudden turn because SURPRISE!!! I was going the wrong way on the course, that I fell off my bike, breaking my wrist in two areas.

 

God spoke to me that day not to do the race.  He spoke to me the days before when I looked at my bike and thought, “Darn, hope I don’t fall off during the race.”  He spoke to me weeks before that when I’d stare at the rubber wheels and ruminate over how I am very inept at riding.  He spoke to me when I signed the waiver to register for the race, my eyes glazing over the fine print that “one could get seriously injured from the event.”  But I didn’t listen, and so God had to majorly intervene and do SOMETHING to grab my attention.

 

Back then, I was dense.  It usually took a big sign to make me realize what I was doing and what God wanted me to do were not always in agreement.  But slowly, surely, with each passing day that I’m journaling and meditating on His word, I am becoming more sensitive to His spirit.  I have been praying for revelation, for His will to be made manifest in my life, and you know what?  He hasn’t let me down yet.  What is His speaking to me like?  It’s a nudge.  A feeling of peace.  The calmness that invades my spirit.  I’m learning more and more to trust Him, which is challenging because like I mentioned in other posts, I am a creature of habit and control.  But I’m tired of being dense, and I’m tired of breaking bones.  It’s turning my “I AM dense” to an “I WAS dense.”  I love that I can hear the soft nudge of His voice, recognize it as His, and follow through.

 

It’s liberating.

 

It’s freeing.

 

It’s living a life of faith.

 

Freeing faith.

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Author: laurentakao

Blessed wife and mother. Bookworm and English teacher. Lover of life and follower of Jesus. Continually striving to faithfully walk on the path He has paved before me and always seeking to share the joyful freedom He has bestowed upon me with others.

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