All You Need is a Little Dumb Faith

You just have to be willing to be a little dim about it, be ready with a good word like "oops", and a highly intellectual statement like "guess that didn't work." Unless, of course - it all works out.

Here’s part 4 of where The Agent of Change began. Though you could hop in just about anywhere beyond those writings to get started. If you’re here for the first time, Welcome. I write memoir stories for encouragement, hope and figuring stuff out with your life. Enjoy!

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After my music mentor died, I just gave in. I began to picture life somewhere else. But where? And why? To what purpose?

My first habitual thought was a career thought. Because even though my health was crying out for help – my career, the one that was at a full stop really – was what was on my mind…and ego.

I thought things like, “I’ve always like Nashville.” I’ve been songwriting and developing this musical for a long time. Maybe that’s where I should go. I visited my friends there. I went to music rounds with them. I dug that city.

I thought about Charlotte. It’s an up and coming city. Lots of theatre there. I’ve worked in the area before. Hmmm. Though I don’t know a soul there. (That could be a plus.)

I thought of Texas. My home. I thought of my mother (i.e. grandmother). I thought of how she was getting on. How I don’t get to see her hardly at all any more. I thought about my family and how I didn’t know if I could live that close anymore. (#truth). Truth, right or wrong, it’s how I felt at the time.

I contemplated these places. No others came up as options. Just those three.

Where do you think I chose? (I’m curious. I wonder what you might be guessing right now not knowing me that well.)

All this time, I’m having my discussions with the vicar. I’m learning. I’m listening. I’m… what--- incrementally lifting one finger at time from the Grip. I’m preparing to fall. Waiting for that guarantee that I will not land dead on cement.

I considered my next move thinking, What? Am I going to become a country singer now? Is that my aim? That would be a sharp turn. Nashville is lovely and it reminds me of growing up in Ft. Worth. It feels homey. I love my friends there. Though, in truth only two friends. They are the only ones I know.

Ummm, I’m not a country singer.

Charlotte. I mean. I don’t know anyone. What? I’m going to fly into this new city I have no relation to just to continue doing the thing that seems to be falling away? When I picture the city of Charlotte in my mind’s eye all I see are skyscrapers. I don’t know why but that doesn’t seem like a beckoning sign. Hm.

Texas is filled with… issues. (I sit here, pausing as I write. The curser just winking at me with all those issues I saw.)

Texas. My first home. Where my family and all of the “stuff” (I’m using the nice word) that goes with it.

We had “stuff”. Lots of it.

When I contemplated Texas I felt a wealth of longing, memory, doubt, home, control, freedom, comfort, desire and trauma in the same basket.

Mom couldn’t remember what to call a banana, damnit.

But here was the most illogical and inexplicable thought I had that kept tugging on me amidst all the doubt: when I thought of finding some way out of this hell in my abdomen, I just kept feeling like Texas would take care of me.

That’s exactly how it always bubbled up: Texas will take care of me. Not “your mother” will take care of you. Not “your home town” will take care you or other replacements. I kept hearing fully and deeply Texas will take care of you.

Well, hell.

I spoke to the vicar more. It’s at times like this where sometimes in the process of not letting go of our old life, we begin a tight new grip on the first thing that feels really good, (without letting go of the old); grasping onto something…anything that feels shiny and new. Kind of like holding on to the monkey bars when you’re not quite strong enough to move forward but that next bar is juuuust close enough.

I decided I should go to seminary and be something like - a vicar!

That’s it! That’s the answer to everything!! I’m going to become that person that’s making me feel so sane right now and guess what? There’s a seminary in Austin! And guess what else?! There’s a large music school of the same that I currently work nearby. What are the chances?!?!

That’s what I’ll do. I’ll teach music, go to seminary, and become an Episcopalian priest.

Texas will take care of me! The seminary will heal me. I’ve completely sleuthed this out. Oh man, this God thing is great! I’m on a high now! I’m on a mission. I know what to doooooo.

(Look, I don’t want you to get your hopes high and totally mislead you but in the interest of not disappointing you later, I am going to let you down gently and reveal to you that I am, indeed, not a vicar.)

You’re welcome.

I just want you to be able to read along and journey with me with the high, say, of a good cup of coffee as opposed to the crash after a liter of Mountain Dew.

So now that you know I’m not a vicar we can continue.

I arranged for an investigative trip to the seminary in Austin. I thought, while I’m there I’ll crash the music school for an interview. You know, because I’m a planner. My biggest displays of risk in my life have been through what I’ll coin right now as Dumb Faith.

I met my Annie (my mother – not my grandmother) for weekend in Austin. We stayed at the seminary. I sat in on a few classes. I was eager and hungry for truth. I felt I’d been fed something that would satisfy for the first time in decades. What was this world where they just asked and answered questions about God and his universe all day every day? I’m in. I took a tour. I chatted with students.

I called the music school. No answer. I called again. No answer.

I went to a picnic at the seminary to meet staff and faculty. I met one of the priests. A woman who was also the president, I think. Well if she wasn’t, she presented herself that way. She seemed important. She knew it. I watch her closely as she mingled and made her rounds.

When I lived in LA, I worked for five years as an executive assistant in Real Estate Investments. I met many “important” people in and out of the office. Brokers, agents, project managers, funders, and politicians. I met one politician that was the new hot item that election cycle. Everyone was on board. He had an on-screen marketing campaign that made him appear friendly, approachable, truly down to earth. A working man’s politician. He “got” us. What we minions were dealing with day to day in Los Angeles. He visited our offices.

As I was introduced, I shook his hand.

And in that instant, I knew that he didn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone. He was just another career politician who was doing the big fake-off for votes. I remember his puffed out chest. I remember more his condescending non-smile smile. He was not for anyone.

This was the politician I remembered as this woman, the president priest, said “hello” (with what little time she had to say hello to the new minion) to me, then – I say this without hyperbole - blew me off and promenaded away.

I don’t think I want to go to seminary anymore.

[RING!]

“Hi! So sorry to have missed you. Can you swing by now for an interview?”

Timing is everything.

“Why yes. Yes, I can. On my way.”

Maybe Texas will take care of me after all?

I entered into this lovely, welcoming, joy-filled, spirit-filled musical harbor.

We spoke for two hours. Not just about work - but who we were. I found myself sharing with this lovely woman more about myself and my “whys”, as it were, than I ever would in any normal interviewing situation.

She hired me on the spot. She offered me more work (work that could make ends meet) than I’d ever had in New York as a teacher.

She offered a start date that mysteriously coincided with the end of my sublet lease.

Then it got more strange.

“Where will you live?” she said. I didn’t know. She took a quick gaspy breath in as she had an immediate fortuitous memory. One of her teachers was going to Europe for the first six months beginning the week I would arrive. She made the call right then and there.

Within the hour, I found myself sitting in this Euro-bound teacher’s apartment interviewing for her sublet, the day before my plane was leaving to return to New York. I left with the apartment situation confirmed.

Is God always on time or always last minute? I can never figure that one out.

I sat on the plane in safe contemplation and psychological whiplash. I’m going home. Not to New York. To Texas. I left New York hopeful, all-knowing yet unknowing, and anxious. I returned knowing even less than when I set out but employed with a place to live. I am not going to be a vicar. I don’t know what I’m going to be, but I return with a plan. Or at least with a next solid step.

Maybe Texas is going to take care of me after all? I breathed deeply and in a little shock. Now what? I’ll need a car….

I could feel another finger not prying itself off the monkey bar.

It was popping up. Boing!

And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid to look down.

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