Walk Humbly, Live Justly, Share Joy!

Today is my dad’s birthday. I celebrate his life, his providing for me when I was dependant, and the play-on-my-name question he used to tease me with as a youngster: “Sharon, will you share your joy?” I’m amazed at how this question has quietly shaped my life.

I try to walk humbly. Bumbly may be more accurate, as I lovingly but rather absent-mindedly and with much failure, find my way through life. I throw away the self-criticism stick whenever I find it in my hand; the act of finding it, learning from it and then releasing it keeps me humbly embracing both my gifts and my faults. It’s as hard to live justly with myself as it is live justly with others. I slip unconsciously into judgment or criticism, while being easily overwhelmed with injustice in the world, especially my abundance and others’ lack. Yet, in all this, my life invitation continues to be about sharing myself, my gifts, my joy.

As an introvert and a five on the enneagram, for those who care about such personality typing, I am compassionate, somewhat visionary, a keen observer with a need to withdraw and a tendency toward stinginess. As a middle child in a family of eleven boisterous, extroverted siblings, I struggled with my desperate need to withdraw and my equally desperate need to watch everyone having a good time. I seldom fully participated, partly from sheer fear of being overwhelmed, from incoordination and shyness, from a hint of stinginess or stubbornness, but mostly from a natural love of observation.

I'm not sure if Dad knew children live into their names, into the messages given them as they grow up. With so many child psychology books at my disposal, I knew a hint of this truth when naming my own children, understood more when I got my first cattle dog to herd the goats on our farm and was strongly advised not to name him “Killer” or “Speedy”, and am understanding more as I'm living deeper into the prophetic tone of Dad's pun with my name.

What a precious gift dad gave me in asking me this question, an unfolding gift needing half a lifetime to receive. As a pre-teen, I struggled with craving my dad’s attention while feeling awkward and shy, with wanting to be joyful and generous, but feeling pressured, stingy, like I hadn’t had enough joy and the world owed me.

I ’m glad I inherited my dad’s love of exotic flowers, orchids, amaryllis, roses (I dedicate the blooming Clivia on my windowsill to dad!) and I’m grateful for his challenge to me.    

 I laugh with my daughter, Kim, when we share the driving forces in our lives. Mine is to be in seclusion or live in a hermitage, and the other is to share everything, live intimately with others in an intentional community. She suggested I build a cabin attached to a commune! Ah, the challenge of when to withdraw and when to share.

I struggle with writing; I love it and I hold back. It comes naturally, but it's lonely. I’m afraid I’ll miss watching extroverts having good times if I withdraw and write. Perhaps, joy is right in the middle of this paradox of needing to hide and wanting to share. I receive joy when observing, when participating fully at times too, when giving to others, but there is equal joy in withdrawing to muse, dream, create, receive wisdom, and gather strength. Perhaps writing and reflecting, experiencing and observing, sharing deeply with others in honor of life, is my way of walking humbly, living justly, and sharing joy.

Thanks Dad, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Joyfully,
Sharon