This year I’ve been busily working on a book.  It’s called Loner and if you stay tuned, I hope to be telling you more about that soon!  But as a result, I have sadly neglected my blog while I poured all of my writing energy into the book.  Sorry!  But here’s the good news.  Just two weeks ago — on Thanksgiving day, in fact — I finally finished Loner!  Yahoo!!!  Did you hear the fireworks and the marching band?!?!

 

So again, more on that later, but now that it’s done, I have a bit more space to write about other things.  Things like, last week’s doctor’s appointment…

 

*****

 

My appointment was apparently scheduled for 3 PM.  So when I showed up promptly at 3:30, thinking I was right on time, I was in for a rude awakening.  Yikes!  My mistake!  I apologized profusely and volunteered to reschedule.  My apology and offer hung in an awkward silence, the only response being a professionally polished sigh of long-suffering, followed by a long pause of uncertainty.  As I awaited my fate, I tried hard to ignore the shaming looks over the top of the computer as the staff discussed the problem,  i.e. ME.  In the end, the office agreed to see me, but made it clear that I was now at the back of the line.  They weren’t going to charge me a no-show, but I was definitely going to have to pay for my sins in purgatory.  And it might take a while.  Opening my mouth for one final attempt at reconciliation, I was abruptly cut off.  “Please take a seat.”  I had been summarily dismissed.

 

The words were nothing.  Neutral.  The literal meaning was that I could now rest my tired bones in a comfortable office space while I awaited care.  Not so bad, right?  But of course, the majority of communication is nonverbal, and trust me, the non-verbals were dripping with shame and pungent with punishment.  I would rather have taken a beating.

 

I sat down in the waiting room, soundly chastened, burning with hot, prickly shame.  I am too much.  I’ve made a mess and everyone in this room knows it.  I wish I could crawl out the back door and never show my wretchedness again!  My eyes are stinging with tears, and my throat is tight.  Am I seriously going to cry about this?  Get it together, Sarah!  First world problem!  

 

The toxic inner dialogue was relentless and absolutely awful.  It felt like death by disapproval.

 

Before actually creating a scene in the waiting room, I turned to the Lord.  My prayer was nothing more sophisticated than a squeaky little “help me,” whispered towards the wall.  But it was enough.  What IMMEDIATELY came into my mind was both beautiful and powerful.  Say this to yourself, Sarah.  “I am a delight.  I am delighted in.  I have a delightful inheritance.”  It was completely out of the blue and it was freakin’ amazing.

 

The burner on my gas stove had been burning at high, flames hot and dangerous.  And those quiet words instantly turned the dial to low.  The flame was still there, but just a weak flicker.  I savored the relief  for a moment of wonder.  I breathed in the free air.  But being a thoroughly distractible creature of the modern age it didn’t take long before my mind was caught in the snare once more.  How long are they going to make me wait?  Am I going to be late to my next appointment and have to do this awful song and dance twice in one day?  I don’t think I can bear that!  PRESSURE!  HOT SHAME!  RISING FLAME!

“I am a delight.”  Whoa.  Wow.  POWERFUL FIRE EXTINGUISHER, once again.

 

 “I am delighted in.”  A beloved toddler who’s just made a mess is not necessarily “a delight,” right at that moment.  But no one really cares.  That chubby little mess is still “delighted in,” just because of who(se) they are.  Yes, even when I’ve made a mess, I am still “delighted in.”

 

And as if those two weren’t enough, I have a delightful inheritance.  Inheritance speaks to the future, and mine cannot be altered or taken away by this little blip.  Regardless of their disapproval or ANYBODY ELSE’S, my inheritance, my future, is completely secure.

 

I am well.

 

I am going to be well.

 

Flame out.  Burner off.

 

Thank you, Papa, for intervening so clearly in my mini-moment-of-mental-meltdown.  But thank you, even more, for equipping me with the tools I need for a repeat scenario.  Because there will surely be repeat scenarios.  But next time, I will be ready.  Because I heard You say it… I am a delight!