I left all my clothes in the hotel closet.


Image by: @priscilladupreez


I left all my clothes in the hotel closet.

My mind rushing and heart racing to get me back to the airport –I left behind my favorite jeans. No longer in my suitcase was my little black dress, my crisp white linen shirt or flowy black blouse. A capsule, gone.



A year had been spent planning and preparing every detail of the week; it had finally arrived. Hundreds flew from all over the world to gather and seek inspiration.

I walked through the airport quickly with luggage in tow. Watch me, people…I have places to go.  After a quick flight, I arrived at the conference that had up until this point simply been shared documents, conversations, images, and graphics. Planning has always been my forte. Creating something out of nothing is an intoxicating feeling. And if anything, planning is so much better than the rush of anxiety of having to simply attend something. No, thank you – I’ll pass on that.


And yet, all the well-executed plans were no longer giving me a buzz. Instead of rushing with purpose I walked aimlessly through the plush carpeted hallways.  I paced circles around the pool staring at lush green plants that mocked me. My cold Michigan skin soaked in the warmth of the sun that bounced off the concrete. My heart was tepid at best.


It was all a blur, really.


The best new worship. Dressing rooms with rider contracts. (Side note: My favorite request from a former event was a  gigantic bowl of peanut M&M’s. You live that life Christian rockstar band.) Well-known speakers. New ideas-because we think we’ve finally figured it out this time. I sat in the back most of the time. I wept. I couldn’t breathe.

Is this what it’s really all about? Is this all that there possibly is? Beating our bodies to make it to a three-day getaway that we pack full of reinvented information to temper our lust for solidified answers and bowtied discipleship? I wept more.

A barista poured me a hot cup of coffee as I poured out my hurting heart to a dear friend. He sat with me in the shock of it all and then asked me a question that really was the answer I had been knowing and unknowing for some time.


It was time to go.


Throwing my things back into my suitcase and boarding the plane I left feeling lighter and more determined, to be honest with myself.  Not knowing everything I was leaving behind. The mirror of that week had reflected back to me my state. I could no longer ignore the subconscious doubt. The raw questions. The anger.



Some days my mind wanders back to my forgotten wardrobe. The capsule of the week. The shirt that leaned heavily against the wall as to not to be seen. The sundress that laid by the pool talking for hours on the phone with those most trusted. The jeans that walked aimlessly because it all felt a bit aimless.

I imagine a hotel maid whipping open the hotel closet doors to find a crisp white linen shirt and dark high rise skinny jeans. She slips them on and observes as they wrap her curves perfectly. A new outfit for a new life.

I bought new jeans in the city the other day. I slipped them on and gazed in the mirror observing how they wrapped my curves oh-so-perfectly.


I smiled.


A new life.



My neighbor just rode by on his bike. He told me he was on his way to Sunday school so he could get good-er. I told him he’s as good as he needs to be at this very moment.

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