“I saw you had a social heart; it was the silent schoolroom – it was the tedium of your life – that made you mournful.”
That was how Mr. Rochester dug deep to see into the soul of Jane Eyre from the book of the same name.
Can you hear the sigh of Jane’s life as she’s looking out the window?
I remember feeling that way towards the end of my 20s when I felt that life had already passed me by….
What!? Life had already passed me by! How did that happen?
I was only 28, 29 years old and bored with life already and add in a mixture of depression, your mind plays some tricks on you.
Lord-willing, I had a lot more years to go yet.
It was the tedium of life. Clock-in, clock-out, do it again tomorrow. However, if you’ve gone thru enough years, you learn that life isn’t always rainbows and daisies, and it’s a good learning experience to not be where you thought you’d be.
So although I knew deep in my soul, just like Jane looking out the window, that what I really wanted was marriage with my Mr. Rochester, who ended up blind and maimed — sorry if I ruined the story, life is messy, you get the point — that I was supposed to be doing something in the mean time.
But I was telling myself that I needed to wait for marriage before I could do anything else like finish my degree and see what happens.
The truth, though?
I was just scared of failure period. When everything is centered on yourself and not serving people, failure is the worse thing possible.
I could stand still and remain looking out the window, woe is me, or I can do something else in the meantime, and fail, or do nothing at all and fail anyways, but maybe somebody needs to know that you failed along the way, too.
It always sounds daunting to start something and then what if it doesn’t work out, right?
Probably half the time it doesn’t to be honest, I know, not encouraging, but really, it’s freeing.
Let me assure you, nobody is going to beat down your down and tell you that you’re such a failure. And even if they do, they’re just words.
I could feel sorry for myself and do nothing, or I could get out there and do something that I found interesting and see what happens, fail over and over again, oh well, while still having that feeling of fear.
There are no promises that it won’t be hard and it might be the hardest thing you have to do.
But going through adversity is not a bad thing, it grows you and doing those hard things that sometimes you may be kicking and screaming on the inside to do.
Maybe you’re feeling stuck and hesitating to take that leap or are worried what people think or afraid you’ll fail or maybe afraid it’ll work out.
I love the phrase excuses are just excuses: I’m too old, too young, too poor, too rich, too immature, too mature, too Christian, not Christian enough, too short or too quiet or too blond, not blond enough and on and on and on. If there’s an excuse, it’s easy to find.
Fast forward 18 years, and I not only finished my degree in psychology with an emphasis in marriage and family (despite not being married), but got married just a few short months after graduating), had 2 of my 3 kids in my 40s when I planned to have them in my 30s, quit my job that I was at for 20 years to stay at home, I’m homeschooling 2 kids, which I never thought I would do that, and started a farm biz with my husband and we’re in our late 40s now.
And you know what, all of this serves someone in some way and it actually isn’t really glamorous and that’s okay.
Is it about the degree? No. It’s about doing something you’re called to do, degree or not.
I love cooking and learning how to make new dishes, loving on my hubby and children, trying to play piano for the first time when I can, taking care of cows, collecting eggs, caring for animals and so many other skills that I don’t need a degree to do.
“Responsible is taking the gift God gave you and actually doing something with it.” – J. Morrow
I know people need you to use your gifts. Don’t let age, fear or anything else hold you back if that’s what you’re supposed to do.
Where can you serve someone today with the gifts you have?
Warmly,
Tessa
