Tag Archives: Christian

That Moment You Realize You’re Not Dead

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It was a long five days. Last Wednesday, I packed my little bags and hit an early morning flight to North Carolina for the annual She Speaks Conference; an amazing gathering of over eight hundred hopeful writers and speakers.

Boy, was I in for some surprises.

For starters, the day before I left, I broke a blood vessel below my eye that was such a lovely shade of neon-red, I just knew it was sure to impress every publisher I’d meet; (into my suitcase went my extra-thick makeup concealer).

Then, I ripped my favorite black sweater on the plane before we even took off, got a migraine, and got sick on the second plane – praying the whole time I wouldn’t throw up on the poor, unsuspecting gentleman sitting next to me.

I slept – and I use that term loosely – an average of 3-4 hours a night, experienced a six-hour power-outage one night that took out half the city, my lights, and my air conditioner. I broke out all over my face (thank goodness for that extra-thick concealer), woke up in the middle of one of my three-hours sleep one night to a woman screaming, set my alarm clock wrong one day, left my much-needed coffee behind one morning, and waited patiently for my flight home which was delayed so that the flight attendant could get the things she had accidentally left back at her hotel. Oh. And got another migraine.

Yeah. Funny. Although I had very little expectations of the trip before I left, I certainly did NOT expect all of that. And all of that didn’t do anything to help make this trip any better because, well, I wasn’t feeling all that great in the first place.

Because, honestly? I didn’t want to be there.

You see, although I was excited when I had first booked the trip, everything in me that week wanted to cancel. And I mean, everything. But because I had already made a commitment, that wasn’t an option. And so, along with my luggage, I took a few other pieces of baggage with me that were weighing heavily on my soul:

• The thought that there are already a ton of amazing writers and speakers out there. I do not need to be added to the mix.
• The thought that I’m wasting my time. And my husbands hard-earned money.
• The thought that I’m not as good as them. After all, although I’m a hard-core Jesus fan, I don’t often listen to Christian music. I like Motley Crue. And Heart. Sometimes, even, with a glass of wine.

Yup. All of that went on that plane ride with me. But as burdensome as those were, there was another, even heavier, piece of baggage that went along for the ride:

It’s too late now. I’m just too old.

That weight almost broke me. I carried it around with me the whole conference; into every breakout session, up and down the halls, breakfast, lunch, the bathroom . . .and all the way back home.

It almost did me in.

Except God.

I swear. If you ever need a pick-me-up or a better perspective, He’s the one to go to. And so, I spent some extra time with Him yesterday morning. And as I did, I felt a bit better. And later on in the day, after eating Chick-fil-A, something profound dawned on me:

I’m not dead yet.

That’s right. I’m still alive. I may be old. (Okay, older.) I may not have the energy my young-adult kids have, the curiosity my grandsons have, or the strength I used to have, but I am still here.

And as long as I’m still here, it is not over.

That means that as long as I have breath – and ability – and will – I can keep on keeping on. No. I will keep on going. Because, well,

why the heck not?

As God would so graciously have it, he solidified this in a conversation I had with my sister later that afternoon. See, she’s another one of those brave souls – feeling old as she enters nursing school in her mid-forties. And as we shared our struggles, she mentioned that a 76-year-old woman graduated from nursing school the year before. Seventy-six! Dang, I just want to give that chick a high-five and tell her, You go, girl!

But instead, I say that to myself. And my sister. And you.

You go.

Because if you’re reading this, I’m pretty sure you’re still alive. And if you’re still alive, it aint’ over. And if it ain’t over, you’ve got something to do. Something to contribute. Something to share.

So go do it. And if you want, share with me what you’re going to do. Me? I’ll post this blog. And look forward to writing the next one. :)

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The courage to say goodbye and embrace hello

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It’s been almost a month since we said goodbye that morning; loving on our precious friends at The Lost Bean before they made their way into their new life in Tennessee.

We had thrown them a southern “shindig” complete with bluegrass music, Tennessee Tea and shrimp and grits, then sent the off with a few redneck gifts to help them adjust to their new life in the South . . .a 5-gallon fashionably orange backpack for the college student, a beer belt for dad, mason jar & candlestick wine glasses for mom, and a harmonica for family entertainment in case they get bored hanging with bugs.

We even had their faces superimposed in the American Gothic picture of the farmer and his wife. (Yeah. We’re those kind of friends.)

It was an amazing evening and sucked all at the same time.

But isn’t that the way with goodbye?

It’s horrible. I should know. I’ve said a lot of that this last year. My last blog post of about six months ago chronicled my many goodbyes up until that point – not knowing then if blogging was going to be one of them. (Happy to say, it hasn’t made the goodbye list yet.)

Since then, I’ve had to say a few more goodbyes: letting go of my sweet one-year-old grandson and daughter who moved out of our house to start a new family; saying goodbye to my incredible brother as my husband’s business partner; and saying goodbye to our relocated Tennessean friends.

I now consider myself a professional Goodbyer. And, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it is rarely an easy thing to do; whether you’re letting go of a job you love . . .a relationship that needs to be over . . .a dream that’s simply not supposed to be . . .an expectation that only seems fair . . .

Some goodbyes hurt beyond words. And leave you feeling like part of you is dying. And like you will never get up again. And breathe again. And really live again.

If you are there, I am so sorry. I get it. But I can also tell you, there is hope . . .

Because with every goodbye, a new hello is waiting to take its place.

Pinky-swear.

It will not look the same and in some instances, will never completely fill a void. But it is there; something on the other side, daring you to grab hold: a new opportunity . . .a new relationship . . .a new vocation . . .a new dream . . .

            a new, better, soul-rich you.

And that is the best hello that goodbye could ever give us!

But there’s a catch: we can’t handshake hello if we’re still holding onto something else. We cannot embrace the new with hands full of the old.

In fact, it’s when we refuse to say goodbye that we often remain stuck – no longer wanting to be where we’ve been, but not yet willing to do what it takes to get to where we could be. Like some caterpillars.

Did you know that some of them, for whatever reason, decide not to say goodbye to their plump little squatty selves and go through the metamorphosis of becoming a butterfly?

Butterfly 2

They stay in their pre-butterfly state until the day they die. Forever crawling on their bellies. Never sprouting wings. Never flying.

 What a shame.

But it’s the same with us. If we don’t learn to let go, we will never reach the potential that’s inside of us, dying to be known.

Last year, I said goodbye to a lot of things – and at times it felt like I was letting go of a part of me. Truth is, I was.

But unless a grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies, it won’t bear any harvest.
But oh, if it does! Imagine the crop if it does!
(adapted from John 12:24)

I think I am beginning to see little sprouts coming out of all of my goodbyes. I am blogging, back in school, and even singing again.

It’s a hard thing to say goodbye with all of its comforts and predictabilities. And sometimes, it’s even harder to embrace hello, with all of its mysterious unknowns. But it is well worth it, my friend. It is well worth it.   

So, here is to having the courage to say goodbye and the bravery to welcome the new. Here is to new beginnings, both for me and perhaps for you too.

Happy flying.  :)

Sherri-sig-png7