I have a “just say no” instinct.
An invitation extended–just say “no.”
A door opened–just say “no.”
No is easier. Less effort. Less risky.
Saying “no” feels like a default position.
Thank goodness I’m not stuck with the default position. Thank goodness for those moments of insight when I realize that it may be easier to say “no,” but it’s not better.
Yesterday afternoon when I took Brady out for a potty break, our friend Scott was in the parking lot with his dog, Samson.
We talked for a bit, and then he asked, “Do you want to take the dogs for a walk down to the school?”
“Just say no,” said the voice in my head.
But then I remembered what I’d written about earlier in the day. All that get-off-the-couch, seize-the-day stuff. How could I say no?
And how could I say no to a walk for Brady with his friend Samson?
So I said yes. We walked down toward the school, took the muddy new road through the woods, tried one path, then chose another to take us back to the school’s ballfield.
Brady and Samson loved it. They chased each other at high speeds, racing through mud puddles, sending the water splattering. They were still zooming when we got to the ballfield, running in circles so fast that they almost wiped out.
Scott and I loved it, too. Two atypical clergy-folk, talking about serendipity as one of the underlying patterns of chaos, walking in the woods in a glacier-rimmed valley, where the mountains pick up and move to new places, and yet it’s wonderful, anyway.
Just say “yes,” Heather. Accept the invitation. Open the door. See what happens. Chances are, it will be wonderful.