Prayers for a Zombie in the Midst of an Apocalypse-pt.1

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

The crushing realization came in the midst of a season of crushing moments. After months of anticipation, it was clear that my plans to attend an August conference were in shambles. God had closed the door in a painful, ugly way I still cannot understand. I don't think I ever will.

As I dealt with fractured relationships intertwined with the fractured plans, I kept telling myself God wastes nothing in his economy – not even well laid plans, disappointments, or broken relationships. I tried to believe the PR I was weaving on God's behalf. Let's just say my inner PR campaign fell short of comforting me. 

My brother–benefactor and I began to look around for another plan. Allume, a social media conference, was on my 2013 'wish list' because the 2012 conference sold out before I discovered it. At his prodding, I began a quest to snag a ticket despite the fully booked status. I was begrudging as I searched thinking I was wasting my time and burning up more hopes. I just didn't want another crushing blow at a time of utter emptiness.

I watched the Allume Twitter stream and Facebook pages as cancellations popped up and tickets landed in other folks' hands. The truth is, I gave up and began to settle into a comfortable state of grief over the way God was working, or not, in my life. When I least expected it, a note landed in my inbox. In the space of forty-eight hours, I had booked conference and airline tickets as well as a hotel room. I think I'm still in shock. 

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

When my August conference plans fell apart, I had no idea my marriage was going to implode with even more drama. Nor could I have known those events would unfold within days of confirming my Allume attendance. Ignorance is bliss until realization dawns cold and ugly.

As the shower of words rained down around me giving me to know that I was now 'that woman', the fifty-plus year old facing divorce after over twenty years of marriage, I ceased to breathe, plan, or feel. I could only move through the days on zombie auto-pilot. You have to laugh. 

After the last decade, I'm pretty sure I don't know how to operate on anything other than zombie or zombie-standby mode. I've had my apocalypse preparedness kit in place since long before it was the trendy media joke.

What to do about the conference? If I bailed, my brother would have sacrificed so much for nothing. Given the tight time frame between my separation and the conference, I set my face like flint and followed through. Who knew? Maybe the trip would be just what I needed to soothe my separation scarred psyche and soul.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I survived the flights in a manner that would make my fellow fraidy cats stand up and cheer. Since I was on zombie-pilot, nary an eyelash quivered when I realized my connecting flight was landing as my final flight was boarding. Have you ever had to get from one end of Dulles in DC to the other in that situation? Let's just say, I rock.

I didn't even run through the airport. I stopped for the bathroom in sight of my departure gate. See. I told you. I was a zombie. The gate attendant hustled me on board just before they locked the jet door. Before I knew it, a Harrisburg, PA airport police officer was helping me locate my hotel shuttle. He-he-ha-haw. If I keep doing this kinda thing, I'm gonna outgrow my fraidy cat status and have to change the name of this pitiful little blog.

The conference center hummed with exclamations and conversations as established bloggers met others they'd only known in cyberspace. I surveyed the scene and realized these were mostly young, trendy gals. You know the type: no cellulite or gray hair, grew up with hand held electronics at the ready, cool enough to make horn-rimmed glasses look so hip you feel like you'd die without a pair.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I gasped for air hoping to see someone that looked as disoriented as me. Was there anyone else in the entire event like me: cellulite from neck to calves, gray hair that had not experienced the kindness of salon treatments, can't spell iPad or YouTube correctly much less use them, and looks like your grammaw's childhood librarian if she gets too close to horn-rimmed glasses.

Yep. I was a fraidy cat mess. Too sure I was too unhip to be a blogger much less a cool one that anyone would want to follow on Twitter. Sure I should run to my room and enjoy the next 2.5 days on invisible hiatus eating room service vs enjoying the catered meals. Screaming, “God, why am I here, and why did I do this to me – now of all times when I am a nothing, a no one, and a failure. All these women are young and cute and hip and headed somewhere with an audience big enough to make them a 'success' by my pitiful blogging standards!" 

And yet, there I was in the middle of all that community waiting for the God who wastes nothing in his economy to redeem my season of loss. How was I to know that the prayers of a stranger I still have not met would be a pivot point in my life as a zombie. 

Courtesy B. Creasy

Psalm 90: 14-15 (NIV)

Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days. Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, for as many years as we have seen trouble.