The shortest woman in the congregation approached me after services. Her shock of blonde hair knotted on top of her head was the only indication she was making a move through the crowd. Bounding over chairs as the rest of the large congregation waited patiently to file out of the auditorium, she made a beeline directly towards me. I was waiting patiently for my row to file out when she approached with her blonde topknot and wide smile to make her introduction. “I hope you’re open to things like this,” she said. “I am being given a message from your angels. Would you like to hear what they have to say?” Proudly being a new-agey Californian, I replied curiously, “Of course.”
“Well, I just feel like you’re supposed to be up on that podium,” she said. “Your have a story to tell and we’re supposed to hear it. You’ve been gifted with an experience that will help to heal people. It will help so many. I don’t know exactly what your story is, but I just feel like you’re supposed to tell it. Does that make any sense to you?” I couldn’t speak, but my subconscious was nodding furiously. “Yes, ma’am. That does make sense. Thank you for telling me.”
With that, she gave me a hug and stepped away. The congregation had dispersed, but I stood there for a moment with the realization of what had just happened hanging heavily overhead. I knew exactly the story that I was supposed to tell, but it was not something I felt others would be receptive to hearing. Perplexed, I exited the auditorium and made my way towards my car. I wondered to myself, “God, is that you? Do you seriously do things like that now?” My mother would tell me to beware of false prophets, but I had to wonder, “Of all the people at the 11am service – why did that sweet woman pick me?”
And, so, with that – a tiny seed was planted. This nudge I needed from the universe to get back to writing and sharing on this little blog of mine was squarely delivered months ago, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
I certainly have been gifted with a diverse set of experiences and a deep longing to share those stories in a search for meaning. If they’ll help to heal others the way this sweet, little blonde messenger said, then: Amen.
With the fresh calendar page of January 2017 quickly filling up, much has been on my heart and mind. I want to know that I’m living a life with purpose and meaning packed in between all of the flurry of activities. I’ve been searching my heart and my mind for what that purpose could be for years now. Could it really be as simple as sharing my stories?
I drove myself to the beach tonight just in time for sunset. I sat looking out at the cotton candy colored clouds as they melted into the horizon and I thought – you can do this, Hillary. You can try to share, again.
You see, sharing your personal stories can be scary. It opens you to a vulnerability that is akin to nakedness – and if that nakedness leads to rejection, then you’d better have a pretty thick skin or some broad / sloped shoulders so you can brush it off.
I can’t claim to have either of those – but, what I do have is a heart that longs for connection. And, if experience has told me anything – you aren’t going to find that connection or that meaning in isolation.
So, here’s to sharing our stories and opening ourselves to new connections, healing transformations and miraculous discoveries.
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