We Can All Do All the Hard Things
I received the contract from my architect for my home rebuild.
Instead of getting excited that we were one step closer to the reality of me having a home again, I became instantly terrified. The reality of the dollars and the effort and the potentially rough and tumbly road ahead hit me. Hard.
It’s not just a little dream of a pretty kitchen anymore, Toto.
The day after our houses burned down my two immediate neighbors and I committed to building together (same architect/contractor) to save time and money.
We are all underinsured, but what sets me apart is that I am a single income household. Signing a giant contract like this feels like I am jumping off a giant cliff and I’m not sure I packed my parachute properly.
I was a bit paralyzed by that fear for a few days. My heart isn’t resilient yet. So, what might normally have a firm grip on my heart for a few hours can take me out for days.
I remember exactly where I was walking Stella when I had the thought that this is not the first, nor the last juncture in this long journey that is going to terrify me. I cannot survive being in constant terror until the rebuild is complete.
I asked myself if I wanted out. Immediately I was a “no” to that. Quitting was not the answer. But I knew that the fact that I had asked the question signaled a serious need to get a handle on this fear.
I have made seemingly impossible things happen before. A lot. I tend to come up with big ideas and execute on them with a fury. I came up with the idea for The Angel Store and it was open in less than four months. I came up with the idea for Love Forward Talks and it was up in six weeks. If I feel passionately about something, I tend to get ‘er done.
But all those journeys were also laced with fear and adrenaline. Those were short spurts. I wouldn’t survive a terror-filled 50+ months.
I called my friend Fran, a sister in our spiritual journeys since we met in our 20’s. She is better at this fear thing than I am, and she is excellent at talking me out of terror trees.
We talked about the word that has slayed me since my 20’s when I started my spiritual journey in earnest: surrender.
It took me decades to be comfortable saying the word God. Surrendering to said God was more than I could wrap my head and heart around.
I’m an Aries: I do. If I can’t figure out the doing, I ram the square peg into the round hole.
Surrender and being are not my strong suits. So, it’s a good thing my dad started me on my spiritual journey in my early teens. I am a slow learner in this arena.
And apparently, I needed a fire to expedite my getting this lesson: God is right here.
And God was there for all the hard things.
Once the idea of The Angel Store popped into my head, everywhere I went I met an angel author, sculptor, painter. I would be drawn to turn down a street and come upon an angel artist’s studio. When the idea of Love Forward Talks popped into my brain, there was no conversation that didn’t lead me closer to that vision – even if someone was saying “no” to my request.
I am starting to see the trend. I’m loud and boisterous in how I get shit done. It’s easy for me to drown out the sweet divine whispers of loving support. It’s easy to talk over God. It’s easy to interrupt with my genius idea of how I’m going to make something happen.
We are in extraordinary times. Not only those of us affected by the fires.
The world is on fire.
The world is on fire.
I mean, not to be dramatic or show my trauma too much, but the world is kind of on fire.
And we are all in it.
Almost everyone I know is feeling the intensity of these days.
I have four friends newly battling cancer. They are on the front lines - in spite of their fear, looking fear in the eye, enveloped by fear, steeping in fear, patting the head of the fear sitting next to them while they bravely receive treatment.
We can do hard things.
I have friends losing their parents very slowly to dementia and Alzheimer’s.
We can do hard things.
The world is on fire and appears to be calling us to be our highest selves.
If I know in every cell of my body that I am divinely supported,
since I have heard, felt and seen that divine support since I was a child,
I have the duty to jump
and have faith that
and surrender to the fact that
God helped me pack that parachute.
I can do hard things – with all the help -- seen and unseen.
My dear friends Elisa and Bob came to visit and brought me this teeny tiny yet mighty gift that couldn’t have been more perfect:
I signed the architect’s contract yesterday, after my neighbors and I had asked all the right questions.
Last night I was awakened on and off with the magical symphony of rainfall on the many skylights in my place. I had no idea rain was coming. It felt like I was enveloped by a luxurious divine blanket: safe, cozy, the sweet pitter patter on the glass was almost maternal in its touch of my heart. And for the first time the bliss lasted.
I slept in very late. Stella didn’t even stir.
I drank my coffee as it was still raining and wondered if the Santa Barbara Farmer’s Market would be happening.
As we drove off for a series of late morning errands, the rain stopped, the grey clouds retreated, quickly replaced by big white puffy ones, announcing the sun’s arrival. The ocean shimmered with the sun’s kisses.
The Farmer’s Market was literally sparkling when I arrived. You could feel the thrill of the bustling shoppers that the rain had stopped for our purchases of acid-free tangerines, almond maple butter, cosmos and anemones.
Stella sat patiently in the car. Recently trained by Elisa to go into the back seat, I think she feels even more in charge of the car when I leave her now, perched on her throne.
I’m starting to think maybe this journey doesn’t have to be quite as hard as I think if I can keep remembering who packed that parachute.
Restructuring my knowing that we can all do all the hard things – together with all the support at our finger and heart tips - helps me a lot on this journey.
Hopefully I’ll get this surrender thing down one day. For now, I will keep reminding myself that God is right here helping me do the hard things.
