As you know, I’m in the middle of coach training.
It is, at once, amazing and terrifying. It is the most wonderful thing I have ever done and also the worst idea I have ever had. It is exactly and perfectly what I have always been meant for and also so far out of my comfort zone that I have never felt so lost.
This week I had a coaching experience that was so disastrous it broke my heart. And my spirit.
I told David and Savannah over an emotional video call that I was done. I said, maybe it’s like those people who hear a concert violinist and decide to take up the violin, only to find out that they can barely manage “Hot Cross Buns.” They realize that they should just appreciate the violin. From a distance. Watch with admiration and love and wonder, yes, but not make the mistake of thinking they should play the instrument just because they love how it sounds in someone else’s hands.
The self-doubt was crippling. The enormity of my inadequacies felt insurmountable.
In an effort to be encouraging, David said, “But every violinist has to start with Hot Cross Buns.”
“But no one gets hurt when they do,” I countered. “And that’s not even all. There’s Hot Cross Buns and then Go Tell Aunt Rhody and …”
“And Rigadoon,” Savannah said. “I hated Rigadoon.”
“Yes, Rigadoon and a million more tiny, excruciating steps before I’ll reach proficiency. And in the meantime, I am working with real life clients with real life problems. I can’t bear it.”
They bolstered and patched me up the best they could, but I went to bed sick and worried and uneasy.
Later in the week, I had another session that went remarkably well and even managed to get my first paying client.
I texted Savannah the good news. She texted back:
GO TELL AUNT
RODIE HERE WE COME
But despite the little victory, the doubts and misgivings continued.
And then today, at the close of sacrament meeting we sang, “Lord Dismiss Us With Thy Blessing,” which just happens to be a hymn set to an old French folk song, that is the exact melody of “Go Tell Aunt Rhody.”
I grinned and wiped my eyes and my broken heart burst in my chest.
Because I have rarely felt so known and loved by heaven.
Do you see? We sang a song today that was picked out weeks ago at random by our ward chorister. And it just happened to be the very song that I needed to hear on the exact Sunday morning that I needed to hear it. Somehow through space and time with all that must be managed in a universe of staggering needs, heaven managed to coordinate a little miracle to send me an unmistakable message. It was an inside joke and heaven was in on it.
Do you see? There is nothing He doesn’t know.
Of course, the heartbreaks.
Of course, the doubts.
But also, the jokes.
Come on, that old, familiar melody said with a wink and a smile, I’m right here with you. I see you. I know you. I love you. Keep going. Someday this is going to be a really funny story: Remember that time I was a human being besieged and crippled by self-doubt? Now that was hilarious….You should have seen your face! I know! I thought I was going to die! And then we will laugh and laugh and laugh until we cry.