The life of an introvert is whelming—not over, not under—just whelming. And that’s how I like it. When my well-planned days lead to drama-free nights, I thrive.
I first met Charlotte at a writer’s retreat. Her boisterous, Southern charm tripped my extrovert alert system the instant the hey y’all shrilled through her bright pink lipstick. Of course, I heeded the internal warning, veered away from her, and steered myself into a sea of reserved writers more commonly found in that habitat.
No, I’m not a snob and definitely not an unfriendly person. But a dark season of life had brought me to that conference weary and wary. The only thing worse than wrestling with mom-guilt over the troubles of an adult child, is having to endure the giddiness of someone who that kind of grief has never touched. So my official conference plan for rejuvenation and self-preservation involved dodging Charlotte, attending classes, and enjoying alone time with God.
The strategy worked until the final morning of the retreat. Even though my burden remained heavy, I was able to sit at cafeteria breakfast table and reflect on God’s goodness; the deepest valleys so often provide the sweetest refuge in Him. With my mind fixed on things above, my internal alert system must have malfunctioned, because when I emerged from my thoughts there she stood, wearing a bright fuchsia blouse and dazzling smile. Before I could say a word, Charlotte introduced herself, sat down, and plunged into an animated description of her ministry and writing.
I listened with polite interest, hoping the firecracker of a woman wouldn’t spontaneously combust before my eyes. But when she launched into the description of her book, the first sentence captured my attention and held it hostage. And every word that followed pierced my heart. I had been so wrong in my assumption that Charlotte had been untouched by grief. She had. Her son had been wrongly accused of a heinous crime and sent to prison. But God had shown her how to pray—how to fight for him in a way that was powerful and effective. That’s where her joy had come from, and she was shouting it from the rooftops—and the breakfast table. I left the dining area changed by her story—somehow healed by it.
Later that day, Charlotte offered to drive me to the airport. I was tempted to decline, but something in me needed more of the life flowing through her. I accepted … before I realized she intended to shove me and my two-ton suitcase into in her fiery red convertible for the drive. If a human could ever have an automobile twin, there would be no doubt Charlotte and the hot-rod came from the same womb. I took one look at the vehicle and asked a logical question, “Where will we put my luggage?”
Charlotte never answered the question, but her laughter echoed through the parking lot as she popped a small hatch located behind the two miniature seats. She then chucked my enormous suitcase into the tiny opening where it wedged tightly to all four sides and stood tall against the opened lid.
Warning sirens blared in my head, demanding that I ask Charlotte several other questions, “If we can’t close the trunk, what will keep my luggage from flying out while we drive? How will you be able to see through the back window? And what if it rains?”
Charlotte provided jovial answers. “I drive with my trunk open all the time, nothing’s ever fallen out.” “My side-mirrors work just fine.” and “A little rain never hurt nobody.”
With all questions asked and answered, I did the only thing any polite, shell-shocked recluse could do; I folded myself into the bucket seat of Charlotte’s red sportster, and silently vowed to never again ridicule those poor Lifetime movie characters who make irrational decisions that led to their demise.
We pulled onto the winding country road with car top down and trunk lid open. My neatly arranged hair whipped in the wind and wrapped around my face for over an hour. And it rained. But while Charlotte talked a million miles a minute and drove almost as fast, another voice broke through. I never realized God could speak with a Southern accent; Charlotte’s every word provided real answers to my most agonized prayers, and as a bonus— her infectious joy lifted my heavy heart. I felt so refreshed I didn’t even care that I looked like a deranged vagrant when we arrived at the airport.
Charlotte is now one of my favorite people in the world. She’s a precious woman, full of life and God’s Spirit. Just the thought of her makes me happy. It scares me to think how much I would have missed had I chosen a safe route home. The common ground that bridged the gap between elusive introvert and excitable extrovert became my road to hope.
My tip for this month is to step out of your comfort zone. Allow God to use His people—all kinds—to help mold your faith and your writing career into what He has destined it to be.
Scripture: Hebrews 13:2, Ephesians 4:16, John 17:21
Fun Fact: If you’d like to learn more about dear Charlotte and her amazing testimony check out her newly released book, Live In The Victory: God’s Victorious Battle Plans for Parents of Prodigals. Her picture is on the front and back cover of the book if you’d like to sneak a peek. You can find her book on Amazon here.
Annette Marie Griffin is a award-winning writer who speaks at local women’s group meetings and women’s retreats on the topic of biblical womanhood and finding our identity in Christ. She is the Operations and Events Coordinator at a private school for special needs students and is the editor of their quarterly newsletter. She has written custom curriculum for women’s retreats and children’s church curriculum for Gateway Church in San Antonio, Texas where she served as Children’s Ministry Director and Family Program Director for over twenty years. She and her husband John have five amazing children and two adorable grands. She’s a member of Word Weavers International, ACFW, SCBWI, and serves on the Board of Directors for The Creative Writing Institute.
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