The Illusion of Control

"... I realized that having my skirt over my head and my bare backside exposed would not be an appropriate sight..."

- Bridgit Muratore

The Illusion of Control

It was a spring day, but in Las Vegas, that signaled the onset of summer.  As with every year, the arrival of summer marked the beginning of pool season at the resort.  My colleagues and I had just finished lunch at the pool café and suddenly I found life moving in slow motion.  I was on the second step of a three-step descent when I began to fall.  My radio, cell phone, and notebook flew through the air beside me, and I recalled the beige thong underwear I had chosen that morning to avoid panty lines with the white skirt I was wearing.  A whiff of sunscreen wafted by, reminding me of a child playing with his mother at the sandy beach entrance on the other side of the pool.  As I descended, I realized that having my skirt over my head and my bare backside exposed would not be an appropriate sight for the children and adults enjoying our newly opened pool.  In mid-air, I instinctively turned my body to avoid a face plant, and with one swift motion, I ran my arm over my rear to hold my skirt down.  Wham!  I landed on my backside with a thud.

My friends rushed to my side as a stranger leaped from the cabana where he had been reclining, and the café servers froze in their tracks.  Everyone held their breath until I began to laugh. 

They offered me a hand up,

returned my belongings that had been scattered around me,

and chuckled at the spectacle I had become. 

Had my 3-inch heels caught on a step? 

Had the concrete been wet, causing me to slip? 

In all honesty, I had no idea how I had fallen.  It happened in an instant; I was flying through the air with a hundred thoughts racing through my mind, wondering how I could feel so out of control yet aware of every detail.

Sometimes, I feel that following God is akin to flying through the air without any control.  When I was young, I spent a great deal of time with my grandmother.  One day, she asked me if Jesus lived in my heart.  We sat in her garden, and as we prayed together, I envisioned Jesus descending from heaven, gradually shrinking in size until He rested peacefully within my little chest, directly in my heart.  My grandmother assured me that Jesus would always be with me; He never leaves, never falters, and is always present.  I grew up believing that if I prayed fervently and lived as a good Christian, with Jesus in my heart, God would answer my prayers.  When the answers didn’t manifest the way I expected I felt God wasn’t listening, which led me to tighten my grip on controlling the outcomes myself and forget about Jesus living in my heart. 

"I was engaged in a futile battle for control, clinging to a vision of what I thought my life should be while grappling with the pain of what it was not."

My grip on what I believed to be my life plan became unbearable during my husband and my fertility journey.  I felt an overwhelming need to control my body, my emotions, my husband, and our future family.  I lashed out at my husband when he tried to console me and resented him when he failed to understand my feelings.  I despised my body for betraying me, loathed myself for my perceived failures, and hated God for my suffering.  My grief fostered bitterness, trauma, and anger in every cell of my body.  I was engaged in a futile battle for control, clinging to a vision of what I thought my life should be while grappling with the pain of what it was not.

The day I truly began to heal was the day I started to let go.  It felt like falling from a three-step descent, watching my belongings soar through the air beside me.  I began to loosen my grip on what I believed my life should be, and I am learning that it is okay for God to be in control.  Sometimes, not receiving an answer to prayer is simply an invitation to listen more closely.  As I learn to attune myself to my body, my instincts, and God within me, I experience life unfolding in slow motion.  I recognize the trauma embedded in my cells, the pain I continue to carry, and the hurt I project onto others.  I can see the healing process as I allow my pain to flow through me; by releasing it from my body, I enter a space I have yet to explore.  I have been asked how I can be a Christian and simultaneously believe in healing energy.  My answer is simple: Everything is Energy, which for me, means Everything is God.