Season of Surrender

It’s been quite a while since I put out one of my Sunday short stories. While this one may not be as humorous as some previous stories, it is most definitely filled with the ups and downs or different seasons of real life. I took a much-needed break in September after hitting my personal goal of one Sunday short story a week to focus on my day job that was starting to gear up. At the time, I was working in business development, event planning, and group sales for a Christmas event that was doing a trial run in Nashville. It was a test market that would either succeed or fail, and I was willing to go along for the risk to simply get myself out of the depressing world of healthcare. Besides, I love a themed party, I love Christmas, and I love people, so I clearly thought it would be a slam dunk.

Now, after fifteen years in the healthcare business, I figured I had seen it all. I was sure I had come across people from all walks of life whether taking care of them as patients, dealing with them as stubborn physicians, or fighting with one of the insurance company representatives to approve a procedure or transfer. I honestly did not believe there was much that could faze me. Boy was I wrong.

Here are a few take aways from my role as a Christmas event planner otherwise known as elf extraordinaire:

I have a newfound view of people who leave reviews on google and yelp- whether good or bad. I wanted to hug those who left rave reviews and tell them how much it meant since the crew worked night and day to make everything magical for them. I wanted to jump through a phone or computer and tell negative reviewers about the stage manager who pulled every string in the book to get a proper Santa Claus for their child’s private party or explain exactly why the fifty-foot Christmas tree had half of its intricate lights go out in a storm and had to have specialized electricians flown in from Vegas. (I guess it’s simply soul preparation for future book reviews).

I never in my life thought I would have to deal with helping find a quick replacement for a proper Mrs. Claus after the scheduled one showed up drunk as a skunk from too many spiked hot chocolates on a random Wednesday.

I’ve never felt more concerned about the future of humanity than when a customer personally called me to complain about the fact that he and his family lost their sense of direction in the light maze. I honestly thought he was joking at first, but he went on and on about the issue. I kindly explained the definition and point of a maze and reminded him that there were clear exit signs all around him per fire code. I was feeling better about things as we talked until, he ended with asking for a full refund because his three-month-old baby was fussy during the event, therefore he and his wife couldn’t enjoy everything as much as they had hoped. My mind quickly flashed to all the times my children were fussy infants and how it never crossed my mind to ask someone for a complimentary re-do. I took a deep breath and told him I’d have to call him back.

January came, and I made it through the six-week world wind of Christmas joy. I put on parties from two to two- thousand, had more kettle corn and hot cocoa than the average person, and saw a side of entertainment I had never seen before. I guided star guests from local pageant queens to country music legends while listening to stage managers complain about the head of wardrobe’s attitude. All and all, being a self-proclaimed professional Christmas elf was a blast. It was a nice change of scenery from the politics and stress of post pandemic healthcare, and I absolutely loved all the creative people I was lucky enough to work with.

Then the fateful decision came- Nashville’s test market had failed, along with a few others in the South who were hit with natural weather disasters like ice storms and torrential downpours that caused the show to cancel for days – even weeks at a time, which in turn, caused a significant revenue loss that couldn’t be made up. It was official- at the end of January, I was laid off. For the first time since I was fifteen years old, I did not have a job, and I did not know what to do. Sure, I have a partner who would support me where I needed it, but for my Virgo, controlled self, my soul was in panic- filled with a swirl of anxiety and embarrassment. I knew it wasn’t personal, but it sure felt like it. With that, began a full force season of life… a season of surrender… where so many things that I was dependent on for comfort and security were stripped away one by one.

The first few weeks were those of refocusing, recentering, and trying to figure out what exactly it was that I wanted to do. I looked at job listing after job listing weighing the pros and cons. I jumped into side jobs, helping friends out at their companies, and did a little here and there. March rolled around, I took a needed self-discovery hiatus, and went on Spring Break with my children. I enjoyed riding the roller coasters at Dollywood with our children. It seemed fitting since I was on the roller coaster of life that I just added a real one (or two) to it. Plus, Dolly makes everything better.

The kids went back to school after the break, and we continued our somewhat boring, normal routine until our little world came to a stop- a complete stop. It came to a standstill. Exactly 1.8 miles from our home, the unfathomable happened. A school shooting occurred right in our back yard- down the street from our home- 2.5 miles down the street from where our kids were sitting in their own classrooms. It was the most horrific day where six people including three precious children lost their life. To this day, I shudder when I hear a siren near my neighborhood. My shoulders still tense up anytime a helicopter flies over our home. “It wasn’t their school,” became a phrase I repeated to myself in the days and weeks after the horrible event. “It wasn’t their school” became the phrase that was packed with equal amounts of guilt and relief. My nights were filled with either insomnia or nightmares. My pleas to my husband to move our family to a bunker in nowhere Mississippi were met with “it can happen anywhere.” The safety net of our small bubble in the heart of Nashville, Tennessee, was obliterated in a matter of minutes.

I felt emotionally paralyzed for the next two months, using what energy I had to make sure our children were adjusting to post-school shooting life in Nashville- the unwelcome and unwanted new norm. My friends and I cried at the drop of a hat thinking of the children who were lost and still never leave our minds. I went through the day-to-day motions like a zombie along with every other parent thirty miles in sight. I answered heartbreaking questions of an innocent child like, “Mommy, what do I do if the bad guy finds me when I’m hiding?”

March turned into May. I received news that the small publishing company I had signed with to release my debut novel was in breach of contract, forcing me to choose between trusting them with a six-month contract extension or a full release of my publishing rights. After waxing, waning, and asking the advice of my fellow writing mentors, I trusted my (and their) gut and decided on the latter- to ask for my rights back and search for an entirely new and different publishing home- to completely start over. The guarantee of its release became null and void. The summer debut of my novel was the next thing to be stripped away, and there was no promise my creative art would find a new home.

I continued the path. Each step felt like drudging through thick, gooey mud with quicksand around every corner. It was like I was living in the Swamps of Sadness from the 1984 classic, The NeverEnding Story. The few highs were high, and the lows kept getting lower. I watched as some of my closest friends climbed the social ladder so ferociously, they became unrecognizable. Our family’s plan to build a new home and future was officially nixed due to multiple reasons while the pink penny tile our six-year old daughter so carefully chose for her new bathroom collected dust in the corner of the garage. Our beloved pet (and claimed first born) was to undergo surgery for potential, newly discovered sarcoma. I had no energy to exercise, and my body felt the extra ten pounds I packed on with every shift I made. Certain relationships, future hopes, the life of our cherished dog, and personal confidence were the next to be stripped.

My children made it to the end of school in May. It was a simple gift I cherished after the horror of March. I prayed and meditated on the daily, hoping that the season I was currently in had an ending somewhere on the horizon, but I couldn’t see it, and I sure couldn’t feel it. I constantly reminded myself that it could always get worse, and that I still had so much more than most. I reminded myself to be grateful for our health, our life, and the home over our heads. And then, for a reason I am still trying to figure out, my husband killed the small amount of grass in the front yard. It was the final breaking point for me. Here I was- no job, no hope, no security, no motivation to write or muster creativity, no shorts that fit, and no green grass out my window. I was done. And that is when I surrendered. I threw up my hands and said, “Okay, God, I give up. You’re in control.”

It became clear to me that the season I had been in was a true season of surrender. It became clear to me that things that normally gave me security (other than my faith) were being stripped away one at a time. I also realized that not only was it a complete stripping and force of surrender, but that it was a complete shifting to a path that is better than what I could imagine and is surrounded by people that are perfectly aligned with my journey, not those I was clinging so tightly to who were on another route. When I realized this, I immediately thought of all the small blessings here and there, that I had personally experienced over the past few months. It was the family that helped physically and monetarily. It was the precious nurse practitioner, skin care founder, and yoga instructor who helped me find my outer confidence again. It was my fellow writer friends who helped me refocus my creativity with phrases like, “You are a writer, so write.” It was the old school friends who asked the simple questions like, “What do you really want to do when it comes to work?”

Once I officially surrendered to it all, things started to shift. Positive things started happening- like our family dog’s post-operative clean bill of health. We started coming up with a game plan for the dead grass. Friends I needed, rather than wanted, started filling my space with positive reinforcement and loads of encouragement. I remember answering my friend’s question about what I really wanted to do, and as random as my answer was, it was a one-hundred percent, from the gut, authentic answer: “Well, I just want to write, be a good mom, and do something with Ole Miss sports.” I remember laughing at how seemingly off the wall the answer was- but it was still my authentic answer.

Fast forward to today. I can see now what a wonderful gift it has been to have had more time with my children this summer and to be fully present as they adjusted to the new Nashville they are living in. It has been a gift to have a break from the hustle and grind of corporate America, no matter how scary it was. It has been a gift that I have reconnected with a wonderful (and fiercely loyal) friend who approached me with the opportunity to work in business development with the most incredible group of people- where one of our first partners just so happens to be a sports entity associated with my beloved alma mater. And it has been a gift to refocus my writing as I search for a new home for my now two novels while surrounding myself with the most supportive and creative people I know.

I write this not only as a reflection of what I believe (and sincerely hope) is the close of my season of surrender but to possibly provide hope to anyone going through a similar season. My intention is to remind others that while it can always get worse, it doesn’t take away that these painful seasons of surrender do happen, but that the seasons of surrender are actually a shift in the right direction. It is to remind others that when you rely on your faith and learn to follow the unforced rhythms of grace (Matthew 11:29) that beautiful things can come from the surrender- like getting to write, getting space to be a good mom, and getting to work in sports with your beloved alma mater.

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