While some of y’all may think it’s a stretch to link the glories of Christ’s glorious Resurrection this past Easter Sunday to my experience last summer at the Edel Gathering, please bear with me for a minute.
After much convincing on his part, I finally accepted my husband’s offer to, “Go – enjoy – have fun,” when we really couldn’t financially afford for me to do so. Yet, getting on that plane and flying to Austin last July was probably the very best thing I could have done for my personal well-being, and, for that matter, the well-being of my whole family. Because something happened when I walked away for a weekend to connect with other exhausted Mamas who were, nonetheless, holding on to hope and expectant with faith – I was able to remember who I was. And not only that, I was reminded of, in a palpable way, to Whom I belong.
There was an immediate benefit to experiencing get-together that I didn’t have to plan (for a change!), but then there were more gradual changes that I won’t get into now (but maybe someday I will). I see now that there was a part of me – the truest part – that had been wrapped up in the burial cloths of rapid-fire and wholesale life changes, profound personal loneliness, and, as it turns out, an undiagnosed case of postpartum depression – that was resurrected that weekend and in the days that followed.
Here’s the post I wrote about my experience. Many Easter blessings to you, my friends. Alleluia! He is risen! And may you rise with Him as well.
*Originally written August 5  (which is like 13 years ago or something in online time), this post has been aging, like a
cheap fine wine, as I impatiently waited for my blog to be released from, ahem, WordPress Purgatory. But that’s another story for another day.
Surprise, surprise – I am late to the Edel after-party!!
Friends, I have started this post in my mind a thousand times. And I just. couldn’t. write. it. Couldn’t. Could. Not.
Reality hit like a ton of bricks the Monday after the conference – so much so that I was inspired to at least write *something* –The Catholic Mom’s “Drop-Kicked Into Reality” Prayer.
And yet …
So many amazing and talented women had already written eloquently and, according to the Facebook comments, really, really beautifully about what happened in Austin last month. I intentionally didn’t read all these incredible blog posts because I was waiting, as I tend to do, for the perfect time – the perfect time to write out my many, swirling thoughts, and then the perfect time to savor everyone else’s. I was waiting. For perfection.
I hadn’t blogged in almost three years, which basically means, in Internet-speak, that I hadn’t blogged since 1864. I obviously needed to update my blog. PANIC!! How can I invite people over to this space?! It doesn’t look or feel right! I need new drapes … or buttons. Something. And content? Lord Jesus! I need time to ponder. I need to think. I need to go out at night, under the cloak of darkness, away from my home, away from the chaos, so I can concentrate. I need to go to Adoration. Okay, the needing Adoration part is almost ALWAYS TRUE. BUT STILL.
And then, somewhere between the piles of dirty laundry (dear God – where does it ennnnd?) and the stacks of filthy dishes, and the fact that school starts next week (whaaaaaat???) I had a moment of clarity, and I finally remembered probably the most important thing I realized at Edel:
God does not want me to be perfect. He just. wants. me.
He wants the me who just shrunk all her new shirts because she forgot they were 100% cotton. He wants the me who procrastinates because the timing (or the something, and the other something, and the something else) isn’t quite right. He wants the me who says awkward things at inappropriate times. He wants the me that is too loud. He wants the me who crashes the dance floor in flip-flops because her shoe strap snapped. He wants the me that is broken, and unsure, and wounded, and spends too much time on Facebook. He wants the me that encourages and prays and stands up on her chair when amazing homeschooling Moms do the robot and the me who shouts, “Amen!” during Marion’s talk.
He wants the me who can still close down a bar with the best of ’em. The me who is often drowning in priorities and diapers and is both confident and hesitant. And friendly and shy and who likes to laugh (again, loudly). He wants the woman who was excited to have a break yet felt very, very guilty for going and almost didn’t. The one who had so much fun live-tweeting during the talks yet admittedly hid behind her self-appointed task so she wouldn’t cry (too much) when the points about being isolated and alone struck too close to home.
He wants all of that. And more. The good, the bad, and the ugly. He wants Heather, His beloved daughter. Heather the wife. Heather the mother. He wants it all. He wants and loves ME.
And still, despite this mini-epiphany, I didn’t write. Womp, womp. Have I learned nothing??! Did I mention it takes me a while?! Late bloomers unite …
So, in a flurry of, “Yes, Lord, I surrender this all to you,” that happened on this very day*, I write this imperfect post – my
first third on my own blog since November 2011 (sweet fancy Moses – did they even have the Internet back then??) I decided that, if I don’t write this thing today, it was just not going to get written. So, this post isn’t anywhere near perfect, and in that respect, it is a perfectly accurate reflection of its author.
And there you have it. For now, at least. There are so many more things I want to say – about Edel, and life, and … I may just have to write about them all. Soon. In His timing.
God bless y’all.