You Don’t Know What You Think You Do

Several years ago, I signed myself up for one of the most horrible experiences of my life.

Just in writing that sentence, I have removed myself from the room repeatedly for tissues, water, and any other “logical ” distraction to keep me from posting “out loud” an experience that ultimately defines a big piece of who I am today.

Mind you, I didn’t know it was going to be so horrible when I signed up. Our church provides a women’s retreat for members of the church to come and walk closer to God, connect with other women of faith, and in general give them a better, perhaps deeper, spiritual connection in their busy, sometimes awkward lives.

One of the elements of this retreat is called “the box“. Participants in the retreat are not supposed to know about the box before hand. Before the retreat, letters are solicited (on the sly) from loved ones, friends, and “supporters” of the participants. They are collected in a box, along with letters from past participants and hosts of the retreat weekend.

Because I open the mail in our home, I found out about “the box“. I was eagerly waiting this part of the retreat all weekend. Surely my husband would encourage the boys to draw a picture, write a note, or he himself would offer some words of spiritual encouragement.

I spent most of the weekend anticipating the box. Frankly, most of the retreat was a blur for me because I just kept waiting for the box to arrive. I wanted to see what was in it for me.

And when, after much “spiritual and emotional work” we were probably at our lowest point as participants, out comes “the box“.

I was like a kid on Christmas morning for about 15 seconds. As I tore open the box, I was so excited, my hands were shaking.

I pulled out a form letter from a past participant. It was nice, had a pretty picture of Jesus on it, and said something about hoping I had a transformational weekend.

Then another one, it had a dove or something on it.

Then another, and another, and soon, I just started skipping over the “form letters” and digging through the box. I was watching other people around me reading letters from their family and friends. They were crying and rejoicing and sharing with each other.

I just kept digging – down, down, down… to the bottom of my box.

And there was nothing there (that I chose to see at that time – more on that in another post).

No letter from mom, or any of my friends. No funny pictures, words of encouragement from my spouse, or anything personal and meaningful from someone I actually KNEW.

Quite frankly, it sucked.

But I put on my “game face” and portrayed a happy participant that was encouraged and touched by the “outpouring of support” these form letters were supposed to provide. Inside, I was angry, hurt, jealous, and probably felt a bunch of other stuff I can’t put into words even now.

It got worse.

At the end of the retreat, the church hosts a reception, where all the participants gather one last time – this time with their family and their emotional support group – singing songs, eating cake, and generally closing the event on a positive note.

My husband had made other plans to be somewhere else that afternoon, so there was no one there for me. As people started all that hugging and carrying on, I slipped out into my car.

And I grieved. Heavily. Kind of like I am right now.

That gut-wrenching, body heaving crying that you do when you’ve lost a piece of yourself. When the tears come so hard that you can’t see to drive the car, so you just sit in the parking lot for 20 minutes a happy faces come and go outside your vehichle as the place starts to clear.

It was the most horrible experience I have ever endured. Worse than the death of either of my parents, it was the death of a truth I through I “knew”. It still hurts today.

But it’s a good kind of pain.

In the moment of my deepest, hurtingest, sob-filled wail (yeah, that sounds pathetic, no?) the voice of James Earl Jones, in his best Darth Vader impression, echoes through my head:

“Your ways are not my ways.”

“Screw you God! That doesn’t help me very much right now.”

Yeah, I’ll probably go to Hell for that, but that’s what I shouted at the top of my lungs in the church parking lot.

God just persisted (he’s funny like that).

“My ways are not your ways.”

And while I was recovering from the grieving, I uncovered a new truth. That this horrible, painful experience, was very necessary to move me to what comes next in my life. I eventually went on to host that same event, and made a point of staying up all night to write a personal note to each participant because I didn’t want them to feel the disconnected “emptiness” of expecting something that was pretty much a “sure thing” and not getting it.

Fast forward to Sarah Robinson’s Create Irresistible Presence event.

I came to Atlanta with a singular purpose: To help refine the voice of The Renaissance Mom and give clarity to the message and audience that we’re trying to reach. In short, I knew I blew a huge opportunity with the live event we “made virtual” earlier this fall, and believed that it was because I just didn’t do an effective job of honing my niche, crafting my message and getting it out fast enough to get butts in the seats.

At some point yesterday, I started feeling like I was blowing an opportunity. A big one. I felt like I knew stuff, I’d done most of the exercises we were learning, and while I was learning, I still felt very disconnected from everything. An awareness came to me at o’dark thirty this morning that I’ve spent most of my life “trying”: to be first, to be best, to be heard.

So today, trying to be all “self aware”, I decided it was a “no-mascara” day. That if I was going to “try”, I would try to be more patient, not be first, and to let others have space to “be” and be heard around me.

It is incredibly excruciating for a person like me to wait. It’s the worst kind of torture in the world. I want to hurry up and help people so they can get to what comes next.

“My ways are not your ways.” The stupid God-voice replies.

At the break, my head was pounding. I finally broke down before lunch and got some meds (Thanks, Lori!)

For me, a massive energy headache like this is a sign of big things to come (and probably a thunderstorm later today – you’ve been warned).

And I sit in the not-knowing right now. Because what I thought I knew isn’t true.

I mentioned during our session that I came to Atlanta looking for something, and expecting one thing – and I’m not getting it. Right now, nothing is what I through it was going to be. My assistant, Bonnie, will probably kill me if I tell her that, right now, I feel like scrapping everything and starting from scratch. We’ve been building this brand for 9 months. I still believe that God set this “mission” on my heart to serve these women, but I’m not feeling it, I’m not connecting to it.

I’m not getting it.

So I’m grieving and sobbing and mourning the loss of the thing I thought I was going to get. Because that thing, as important as I thought it was, is nothing compared to what God is trying to set in my hands right now (and I’m still not sure what “it” is).

His ways are not my ways, sometimes.

Sometimes, God can be unwieldy, and messy, dirty or cumbersome. God does his best work in the hardest situations, because that’s when we finally throw our hands up in the air and give Him the opportunity to grab hold of our (now open) hands and pull us to safety.

So today, my hands are up, as I grieve the loss of what I thought I knew about myself, my business(es), and the way I THOUGHT God wanted me to show up in the world.

It is horrifyingly painful, wretched, and excruciating. I wouldn’t will it on anyone.

And I couldn’t be happier.