Seek and Ye Shall Find

I have a very wonderful story to tell, but it is a long, long one. We'll see how this rolls out; it might be in installments.

I've been working my way into a crisis of faith for about two or three years now. When I made the decision to make some big changes, I knew that finding my own answers was probably the most important thing I needed to do. This is the story about the beginning of my journey back. It's not a preachy story. I've never had scripture speak to me, so I won't be spouting any. There will be no hellfire and there will be no brimstone.

Let's start here ...About a month and a half ago, I take two of my employees to a Chamber luncheon. The speaker was Jodee Bock, whom I would go see read a can of Lysol. Just being in the same room with her is uplifting.

Today, she's working almost extemporaneously on a subject she had just started offering, "Are You A Fire Fighter or a Fire Starter? Ideas for Bringing the Spark to Work."

So we're sitting and Jodee’s talking and I'm getting comfy and while I'm listening, I'm trying to keep an eye on "the kids". Now, I should tell you the reason I took these guys with me was to demonstrate to them that the organization feels their presence at our agency is one in which we see a leadership future. Their potential to grow into movers and shakers is staggering, so I'm introducing them to the non-workslug part of the game.

Jodee is talking and she says something that makes me scoff, but I notice the other two scribble down as if the Holy Grail was being passed to them. "Live with intention!," Jodee proclaims, "ask yourself why you're doing something ... examine your intention. Examine your intention globally; in every part of your life. Why are you doing what you're doing?" Uh-huh. Whatever.

But then she says something that grabs me, "Look at your feet. What direction are your toes pointed? Now look up; that is the direction you're headed."

I get an instantaneous and very powerful image of myself cruising through my own life, looking in every direction, but never, ever forward. To the side, behind me ... hell, I'd crane my neck to see what I may have missed behind me... just never forward. Why would I do that? The way I'd been living, nay ... the way I'd been sitting back like a passenger in my own life ... well, whatever was ahead of my was bound to be scary. Let's not get crazy, people. Looking forward, indeed!

But then Jodee said, "Now turn your toes just a few degrees." My head pops up as I zero back in on Jodee's words. "Viola!" she says, "a new direction and a new destination!" Hmmm ... very interesting ...

So we head back to work, the kids and I, and I'm all excited to talk about the direction my toes are pointed. They had other ideas.

them: "so why did you snort when she was talking about intention?"
I: "did not."
them: "totally did. how come?"
I: "because it doesn't apply."
them: "you're kidding. of course it does."
I: "does not. we already live with intention in every way conceivable simply because we're human beings. we don't have the choice to be without choice and therefore intent ... intent is the flesh of our souls."
them: "you should think about it more."
I: "humph."

Now mind you, these are my employees. They do what I say and when I say. And if I don't like what they do, they do it again. They are mine 40+ hours a week. And now they deign to think themselves experts on my life? As if!

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day thinking about it, and when my 4:00pm appointment called to say the doctor had stomach flu and would I like to reschedule, I said you bet and left work anyway.I knew what needed to be done.

I'd already taken the big step and told Spartacus we were done. Now I needed to do something for me. Something that scared the ever living poop out of me.

I headed to the gym.

Now, let's stop to consider that I am a 235lb woman with a serious knack for acting like it doesn't bother me. (I am lying. It does bother me, and it's more like 239.)

So I park my truck and stride on in, smoothly greeting the woman at the front desk by name.

Noting my quick reading of her nametag and willingness to use her name like we’re best friends, she sums me up in about 5 seconds flat. Her expression changes, but just a tiny bit. I know I'm up against someone as smart or smarter than me. Shit.

There's something you should know about me to demonstate how truly wonderous this interaction was: I do not show the real me to strangers. The me I show is the one you will like. It's the one you will find so witty, so smart, so engimatic that you'll have no choice but to want to be my friend. It's the me I use to detract you from noticing how fat I am. Trust, me, you will like me. (I moved around a lot as a kid, I developed a skill, okay?)

So Denise and I start chatting; we're talking about my goals, what the facility offers, what the fees are … when out of NOWHERE, real Laura jumps out of my mouth, "You know, it's a miracle I even walked through that door."

Ooops.

Denise’s eyes quickly go wide, and just as quickly they narrow ever-so-slightly. She has just had the crack in the dam pointed out to her. Her smile leaves her face and she looks into my eyes with a gaze I can not break. She holds me with that look, reaches her hand out - palm up - and says calmly, "Give me your keys."

Oh shit. She knows. She knows. She knows!

My heart starts to race. Nobody is supposed to know. Nobody is supposed to figure it out. See, I'm a leaver. If something feels even a little bit uncomfortable or like I might give away something about myself, I will make up some plausible excuse and get the hell out of there.

But she saw it. And she took my keys. A little voice in my head whispers, You’re already scared; go for it.

So I drop the act and tell her about how I don't care if somebody is waiting to work-out with me - that I know they're getting paid and their time doesn’t mean anything to me. I told her I'm a chronic re-scheduler. I told her that I used to have an amazing body. I told her that I'm scared. And I stayed for 40 minutes talking. And after that 40 minutes, I joined. And I meant it.

We're not done there.

I leave the gym heading home and I see it. The counseling center I'd been to almost 18 months ago when I was trying to figure out the, "should I stay or should I go" question.

At that time, I'd met with a counselor named Lisa. She was great, we really connected. But when I left that first session, she had asked me to think about something. “When you come back, I’d like you to look at your marriage and answer this: what does your it need to look like for you to stay?”

When I realized the answer was, “when he or I are different people,” it scared me. I called to cancel my appointment, telling the receptionist I just couldn’t afford it. (That wasn't as true as it is now; I’ve got serious skills when it comes to making excuses into “reasons.”)

As I neared the building, the little voice from earlier was no longer whispering. You’ve already done something that scares the crap out of you today and you’re still alive. Do this.

So I pull in to the parking lot, walk through the door, stand in front of the receptionist and say, “I need help. I’ve been here before and I saw Lisa. She was wonderful and I’d like to see her again but I really and truly do not have the funds to pay for counseling. There is a miracle in my home every month that enables me to pay for my son’s lunches, but I know something has to change and I’m not sure how to do it. Please help me.”

I didn’t cry at that very moment, but telling it now makes the tears flow.

I can not tell you how long I’d needed to say to someone, I need help. I’d been functioning as though everything were “fine” for so long that the rope was frayed and about to give. I couldn’t keep lying to myself and lying to everyone around me. My emotions, my spirituality and my body were in shambles and I needed someone to pick me up, dust me off and point me in the right direction. Twelve years of doing what you think is right despite how it feels can be quite taxing.

Then it happened again. No sooner was the phrase, “please help me,” out of my mouth than this woman locks eyes with me and sees through the smile. She says, “Do you need a hug?” Those five words induce a torrent of tears; all I can do is nod. She comes from behind the desk. Her name is Julie and she is an angel. She holds me for a while, and I let her. Then we talk. Between hiccups and sips of water, I tell her what I can. And she listens. She has me wait for about 45 minutes, telling me that Lisa is there, but she’s on a phone session and she (Julie) just really, really thinks I should stay and talk to her that very night. I think I’m waiting to talk to Lisa about obtaining what they call a scholarship, but apparently Julie has different ideas. When Lisa gets off of the phone, Julie dials her, murmurs for a few seconds, hangs up and says to me, “You can go on up.” I do.

I walk into Lisa’s office not quite knowing what to expect. Her face lights up with instant recognition and she says, “I wondered when you’d be back.” We embrace (I’m in serious need of hugs by now) and as I turn to shut the door, notice there is writing on her whiteboard adjacent to the door. Always the nosy one, I read the two statements written there:

- Live with intention.
- The direction your feet are pointed is the direction you are headed.

Ho-ly shitballs, Batman.

I recover quickly and - always the Vulcan (I need scientific evidence, Captain!) – gesture to the whiteboard and ask if her if she is maybe receiving a newsletter?

“No,” she says looking a little perplexed.

“Did you go to today’s Chamber luncheon?”

“No, why?”

“Do you know Jodee Bock?”

“Oh, sure – I saw her speak a few years ago. She was very inspiring.”

Flummoxed for a moment, I suspect this is not a set-up, nor is it a coincidence. I come to realize later that this was, like so many other things that day, a moment of grace.

Lisa sits talking with me for nearly two hours that night. She remembers things from our first session. She listens. She cries with me.

This is the beginning to a glorious journey I know is not yet finished.

I’ll tell more of the story in future installments, but I can tell these things now: We all matter. We are all vital. We are all loved. And if we allow ourselves to see and accept it, we are all connected.

Be well.