One of my greatest strengths is my introversion. It makes me a good listener. It makes me a great observer. Because I watch and listen carefully I tend to pick up on things more quickly, which is helpful in the social situations that don't come easily to me. I prefer the company of music and books and crafts rather than large parties, which means I tend to live a quiet life. And I'm okay with that.
At the same time, my introversion is one of my greatest weaknesses. I get tapped out of energy quickly when I am around a lot of people. And there is practically nothing more uncomfortable for me than a room full of people I don't know well. I imagine at least one circle of hell to be one in which introverts are forced to small talk at a party for all eternity.
So you can imagine my state when I showed up to my first Christmas party with the Life Recovery Group at my church at the time. I had been coming to the Women's Life Recovery Group for about a month. Despite having been to sessions for several weeks at this point, I was still painfully shy to the point of being mildly scared of the other women in the group. They all knew each other and knew each other's stories. They had traversed this mess we call life together for an extended period of time, and I felt like an outsider.
Each week, ever so slowly, I had begun warming up to the women in the group. I smiled at their jokes and nodded along when others spoke. I think I may have been able to count on one hand the amount of words I had uttered in that first month, though. I certainly hadn't shared my opinions or my story. All the same, I was starting to settle into this group as being a part of my weekly routine.
The group sessions were starting to feel a bit more comfortable because I was figuring out what the social protocol was, but this Christmas party wasn't going to be like the group sessions. It was going to be small talk and "visiting" with one another while enjoying Christmas candies and other treats.
In an attempt to push myself, I showed up to the party. I was scared, to say the least. I showed up with a platter full of Kroger peanut brittle and a shaky smile. I sat down at the table at my usual spot on the corner. (I like corner spots best because you can observe best from that angle, in my opinion.) Other women started filtering in and the small talk began.
At this point I should tell you that one of my superpowers is invisibility. Seriously! When I don't want to be in the middle of something, I fade into the background of a social situation and observe extremely quietly until people forget I'm there. People pay attention to what is making the most noise. If you tread quietly and don't make a sound, then you'll likely get looked over. I call this a superpower because being in the middle of a social situation is horrid for me. Being invisible is much more preferable until I get my feet under me in a group.
As the party got underway, I was well on my way to making myself invisible in my corner spot. I had my little red Christmas plate with a few snacks on it, and I was watching and listening to the conversations taking place on either side of me. The chairs next to me eventually were vacated as the conversations started moving further and further away from me. My invisibility was complete. Or so I thought.
The next thing I knew, a beautifully elegant woman sat down gracefully into the chair on my right. She turned her dazzling smile on me.
"Hey there!"
Her voice was as warm as her eyes, which were crinkled slightly at the edges with her smile. I smiled a tentative smile back at her. I was so conflicted. On the one hand, I was terrified. I work hard to fade into the background when I'm uncomfortable, and I thought I had succeeded in doing that. Now this woman had burst through my shield of invisibility and I felt vulnerable. I knew I'd have to talk to her, and I felt like I was looking at her like a deer in headlights. On the other hand, I was touched. Someone had noticed me.
Sometimes a moment is all it takes to change the course of your life. For a moment, things shift. Things are altered and never quite go back to the way they were before. That moment with that marvelous woman was the moment that changed things for me. With a shaky voice and wide, fear-filled eyes, I engaged in my first chat with someone from the Women's Life Recovery Group.
As it turns out, the warm-hearted woman who broke through my invisibility was named Donna. A few weeks after the party, I shared my story with Donna. We met together in the upstairs parlor after group was over and she held my hands while I sobbed my way through my past. Those same beautifully warm eyes that had been turned on me at the Christmas party were fixed on me in the parlor. That same encouraging voice wrapped me up in comfort.
With Donna's encouragement, I ever so slowly opened up to her and the other women in the group. The ladies in the Women's Life Recovery Group have since become dear to me, and Donna has become my best friend. Eventually, I told them my story. I shared my opinions on theology and Scripture, and somehow I began to make the realization that my voice was valued.
That moment with Donna at the Christmas party didn't change everything. I still experience highs and lows and I still (mostly) hate big social gatherings. But, for a moment, sitting and chatting with Donna that first time, I was filled with hope. Hope that I mattered to someone. Hope that I was loved.
For a moment, I could see a love behind Donna's eyes that night at the Christmas party that transcended who I was and where I came from and what had happened to me. It had everything to do with Jesus, and who Jesus was to her and to me. In our shared sisterhood through Christ, I could tell that she loved me. For a moment, that's all that mattered.
On my good days, I remember that moment. I remember that love will transcend and accomplish so much more than I can ever dream. I remember the hope that Donna stirred in my soul. These days, I pray that I become for others what Donna has been for me. Because it only takes a moment.
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