#16 - Space (Guest Post)

by Wendy Scott

I have spent a great deal of time recently considering space. Not outer space, but personal space. As a self-diagnosed borderline claustrophobic, I have probably spent an abnormal amount of time obsessing over my personal space. For example, this past summer I slept in one of those mummy-style sleeping bags on a camping trip. I found it impossible to sleep at night. From the moment I slipped into that cocoon of a bed I couldn’t help but consider the similarities between me and a fly caught in a spider’s web that the spider has wrapped up and is saving for dinner later. In spite of the intensely cold mountain air, there were a few times when I had to unzip and get out to prevent the onset of a claustrophobia-induced panic attack.

The real reason I think I have been consumed with considering my personal space lately, though, is because of my rapidly expanding belly. My husband and I are anticipating the birth of our son in early April, which is unbelievably exciting. But just because it’s exciting doesn’t mean it is comfortable. In the past weeks I have noticed on a number of occasions the alarming sensation that my surroundings seem to be shrinking. It finally occurred to me, my surroundings aren’t shrinking, but like Alice after she ate one of the tea cakes, I’m growing! I can’t slip through the space between the dining chair and the wall anymore (only a few weeks ago I could). My clothes are beginning to stretch across the front of me like an over-inflated balloon, and on a regular basis, I turn around in my kitchen and nearly knock something off the counter with my swollen abdomen. It’s all serving to make me feel… a little bit claustrophobic.

I think my baby feels the same way, too, because he spends the majority of his time pushing against the walls of his home in protest of the restrictive living quarters.

My family and I live in a very modest 1,375 square-foot home. We love it here. We like the coziness. Living in a small house forces us to live the kind of life we advocate, but might not otherwise actually live out if we were in a bigger place. We don’t hold on to very many things since space is a premium. Often we are forced to consider our belongings and ask, “Do I really need this?” More often than not, the answer is “no,” so we give it away. But in reality, we are about to add a whole other person in our cozy 3-2-2, and I find myself wondering—in early April, will our house still feel cozy or more like that mummy-style sleeping bag? Will we feel snuggled in here or will we, like this baby, protest against the confines of our claustrophobic space? Honestly, I fear the latter.

Then again…

I look around my tiny house. If I start feeling sorry for myself, I can talk myself into feeling claustrophobic, that the walls ARE closing in and that the only solution is a larger place, more space. Those things, however, are merely illusions. This tiny house (and my growing belly) is teaching me a very significant lesson about tight spaces in life. What may feel like a prison cell to me is, in reality, very often more like a womb. I’m noticing the regular basis on which God tends to use the tight spots. Confined areas are so uncomfortable, and I want to rebel violently against anything that feels restrictive. I demand to get out of tight spots immediately. But I’m coming to understand— God always uses the tight spaces in my life to eventually birth beautiful things.

In early April, my family and I will most likely find ourselves scooting past each other sideways in the hall. There will certainly be days when this space seems too small for the five of us, and I will want to scream for my own space. God may or may not provide a larger place for us. But if He doesn’t, on those hard days I’ll settle my heart with this knowledge. As with the baby currently growing inside me, God is working, developing and building something beautiful inside the tiny Scott house.