March of 1993 was the last time that Atlanta had a snowfall like the one it saw in January of 2011. The city shut down for a week or longer in some parts. “What a coincidence,” I thought, as I heard that little tidbit on the radio (knowing full well I didn’t believe in coincidences). I had moved to Atlanta eight years earlier to escape the snow of New England. Now here I was preparing to attend a weekend retreat the following month, one very similar to my teenage experience back home 18 years prior. In the back of my mind flashed a snicker, “You can run, but you can’t hide!”
A few weeks later, a fellow church member told me she’d also be attending this retreat; fancy a guess at her name? I thought, “Well, naturally, people will know that Holly and not know me. God, are you trying to get at something here? Am I about to relive my teenage experience?” If that was going to be the case, I thought, why bother? Would it even matter?
That same week, my step‐father passed away. We weren’t close, as he and my mother had only been married about two years and still lived in New England. His death was sudden but expected, as his health had declined tremendously during their marriage. I grieved for my mother, but there was another reason that his death caught my attention—he was the only man named “Charlie” I had ever really known. I reminisced about that “other life” I once lived as “Charlie.” Could that persona still have followed me these 18 long years? If so, did it now need to meet the same sudden but expected death?
Back in January, I also started leading a “biggest loser” group with a friend to shed post‐pregnancy weight. In front of my treadmill, I posted a collage of pictures from my bachelorette party where I had scaled half the 47‐foot rock climbing wall at Dick’s Sporting Goods. I wore a little white barrette veil and tight harnesses, which accentuated various “parts” from behind. My final fitness goal would be to climb that wall to the very top, but I was quite aware of obstacles still in my path. I had long carried heavy burdens, still immovable after half a lifetime of faith; neither anorexia nor changing my name gave me freedom from weight I bore spiritually and physically. Reliving those mistakes was decidedly not an option.
Finally in February of 2011, I arrived at the retreat facility on a cold, Thursday night. A deep anxiety grew within me cautioning me from trusting anything I heard, wondering if these people would be as fake as some of teenagers I once knew—just as fake as I once was too. I fought to contain my fear and maintain a smile because, surely, these people wouldn’t care about my depression or have power or influence enough to change it.
By night’s end, I felt more alone than ever. The leaders had taken our cell phones and watches, leaving us with no method of connecting to our family or friends, no sense of time, no means of distraction—we were to meet with God one on one and let the chips fall where they may.
Earlier that day, I had run my fastest mile during my afternoon workout; as I headed for bed that night, my right hip ached terribly, unaffected by pills or other attempts at alleviation. Several hours passed, wide awake mentally and physically, and one thing came to mind, a story I had once read about Jacob’s hip injury in the book of Genesis. Grabbing my Bible in the darkness, I sought light in the hallway, finding it only bright enough by an open doorway. Two ladies, Patti and Paula, sat just inside that room; startling them, I asked if they knew where that story was in Genesis. Without questioning me, they led me to chapter 32, verses 22‐31:
That night Jacob got up and took his two wives, his two female servants and his eleven sons and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. After he had sent them across the stream, he sent over all his possessions. So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man.
Then the man said, “Let me go, for it is daybreak.”
But Jacob replied, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”
The man asked him, “What is your name?”
“Jacob,” he answered.
Then the man said, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.”
Jacob said, “Please tell me your name.”
But he replied, “Why do you ask my name?” Then he blessed him there.
So Jacob called the place Peniel saying, “It is because I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared.”
The sun rose above him as he passed Peniel, and he was limping because of his hip.
After we read it together, Paula (who mentioned that it was 3:00am) said, “That was the moment when Jacob went from being just one man to being a nation!”
I thought to myself, “Now that’s what I call transformation! Okay, Lord, if that’s why I’m here, bring it on! I won’t let you go until you bless me! But…do you think I could keep my own name this time?”
I never found sleep that night, as I knew I was just beginning a weekend of wrestling with God. The next day I limped about from my hip pain and wondered what it would be like to see God face to face, like Jacob did. When Moses saw God face to face, he was shining so brightly that the people had to look away. Transformation that true and that obvious is what I had always longed for. Throughout my life I had watched countless movies about transformation over and over again, hoping for a simple escape from my own reality into one of them. I clung to the hope that I would one day be truly transformed too.
Throughout that day, we heard several speakers talk of God’s transforming power in their lives, but it was so hard for me to believe it was actually possible for me. Then a pastor spoke about the need we all have to know Jesus; he asked anyone to stand up to receive Jesus into their hearts for the first time. Six women stood to their feet, and everyone rejoiced at their decision. Well, except me. I was more annoyed than anything. The emotion I could not understand, made no sense, left me baffled. It was almost as if… I should have been standing too… “Why should I stand up?” I thought. “I did that years ago! What am I missing here? Do I not actually know you, Lord?”
Distraught confusion only grew when a woman later spoke of unforgiveness she had discovered in her life. I began to look back at my own life, from birth to the present, and I could see a lifetime of unforgiveness building up inside me too. Perhaps that had been the source of my depression from the beginning. But I also realized that my depression was far worse than I even let myself know. I began to see how dead I felt inside, how hopeless, and how ready I was to give up…on life itself… And I opened my eyes to the fact that God had arranged this moment in time for a meeting with me—face to face. He was getting ready to intervene.
To be continued.
The Art of Choosing True Life 