I stayed out really late on Friday. So late that despite smelling like campfire, I rolled up into my freshly washed sheets and passed out.
I woke up later that usual on Saturday and I would have slept in longer except I had to go practice the song I was finagled into singing today in church. As we were practicing, there walked across the back of the chapel, a women carrying flowers on a cart. Of course I had to ask if there was a wedding to which she replied, "No, a funeral."
Um, awkward.
Ten minutes went by while we still practiced and she still worked on setting everything up when she approached us again and explained that she was setting everything up for her mother's funeral. She asked, "Will you ladies please sing?" She then went on to explain that the musical number which was arranged fell through at the very last minute. She also explained that the song we were singing, "Love at Home" was one of her mother's favorites.
How could we dream of saying no? Can you imagine burying your mother, on mother's day weekend, trying to have a beautiful day to remember her and have the musical number cancel on you at the last minute? We cleared time in our schedules and agreed to do it. We had a couple hours before the funeral to go home and make ourselves look presentable. I am proud to report that I did shower before coming to the rehearsal and didn't torture the others with my musty campfire aroma but didn't go much beyond by way of making myself look presentable. My hair really doesn't do the whole air dry thing so well and I have to admit it wasn't my cutest moment to be in public much less performing a musical number.
On the way out to my car, I ran into a missionary couple in the parking lot. They looked lost and asked me if they found the right church building. Being in Utah it is easy to get the Mormon church buildings mixed up and confused. I asked them if they were there for a funeral. "No, we are here for the the 12 Step Addiction Recovery Program group meeting." My interest and curiosity peaked as I peppered them with questions about it. They invited my to sit in on the group to see what it was all about. It was an invitation that I gladly accepted.
I probably could go on longer that I should about my experience there and won't. To be honest, it feels too special to share... weird, I know. I always share details. But I will say that it was an amazing and humbling experience to sit with complete strangers and witness their courage to accept that they have a problem and make the decision to exist on the brutal, uncomfortable, and scary road to addiction recovery.
It took me back to a time that I struggled with an addictive lifestyle, an eating disorder. I remember my road to recovery and realized that these people were just like me, only the me several years ago, completely enslaved to those behaviors and struggling to see any sort of happy, healthy life beyond them. And then it hit me, not for the first time, but harder than ever before: I am not captive to those demons any more. I have been freed. I have been healed. And I was able to share my story of hope with those who are struggling just like I did. And it felt so wonderfully good.
I am looking into being more involved with the program as a facilitator. It's a new passion and a new cause. More on that later I am sure.
So back home I quickly ran to pull myself together for the funeral.
Her name was Margaret. She was tall. Humorous. Fashionable. Loving. Full of grace and charity. She was a woman that I had never met but felt as though I knew her. So surreal. I decided that I wanted to be like this woman. To live a life like hers. Imperfect yet complete because she ultimately knew what things mattered most. It was obvious by the way she made others around her feel.
Yesterday reminded me that life is beautiful. Unexpected. And to be cherished. Yesterday reminded me of the messy process we are going through to become something, someone better.
Life sure is good.
13 more hours until I begin my first marathon.
