Wallflower

Standing in the kitchen with the mister, I commented on the Holy Discontent discussionn group's increasing number of what can be described as conversation with feeling. Those exchanges of words when the speaker's convictions pop up and say, "Hello!" There is no absence of passion in that group of women. Commenting on the notably increasing occurences of feminine passion conveyed in our talk, I told the mister that these particular ladies were not, "Wallflower Women," and he was quiet for a moment or two before replying that he did not think there was such a thing.
I thought about how desperately I can wish to melt into the floor or a wall if thrust into a group of Pleasant Suburban PTA Mommies. Of how my spirit quails at the idea of being surrounded by semi-strangers at one of those parties where the hostess is earning free stuff by selling the guests some exciting product. Of how much reliance there is on a cup of coffee or punch in hand to keep from fidgeting in social situations. (I once fled an engagement party where everyone was of the closest relations. Worse, it was an engagement party in honor of the mister and I.) I can go all sorts of wallflower in under sixty seconds unless an escape route makes itself known. Yet, our subject matter has been that searching for what stirs us. The question, "How is God shaking your tree?" Is one that fails to encourage shrinkage.
I figure that says more about God than it does those women, though the women still have that free will thing going on... but we are not going down the Free Will and Predestination rabbit trail today. I was just taking a few minutes to marvel at the way that passion bubbles up. The author is encouraging each reader to seek out that place where God has built in a unique passion, and to feed it. Each week, the ladies come together and, whether the sparks of our little firestorms of frustrations are large or small, there is something of a conflagration coming that will prevent any of us from remaining ignorant of how we may serve.