And you go back in forth in your brain, send, delete, send, delete ...
And then if you're the praying type you might ask God what He thinks you should do? But you don't get an answer in 5 seconds and you're still playing the should I or shouldn't I game, and so you hit send.
And almost immediately you know you shouldn't have?
And then you go to a place that has no internet connection and for 72 hours you are beating yourself up because you know now without a doubt you should never have hit send.
So you pray that God will open the recipient's eyes ... that they can see the good intentions that were the motivating force in preparing the email in the first place. And any misunderstanding due to your inability to clearly communicate would be minimal.
And then because you're a fallen human who is imperfect, you continue to worry all weekend when in your head you know that worrying is not going to change a blessed thing. Realizing you need a God moment you sit in that place that usually brings you closer to Him, that place where you feel a gentle breeze, that place where you used feel safe enough to sit in your pajamas and get a view of the lake, that place where it was quiet, that place where your soul would be restored and your heart would be lifted - you realize that even though the table and chair are still there, nothing else is. Well, He might be. But the smell coming off the porty potty, the whine of the stone cutters saw, the dust from the excavator, the loss of view, the constant coming and going of workers, owners, lookee loos and neighbours is getting in the way.
So you mourn the loss of that special spot on the deck, and wonder where your new God-place will be. And you feel sorry for yourself. And continue to worry about the e-mail. And look at a calendar to figure out why your boobs are sore. And then beat yourself up some more for writing an e-mail during THOSE particular 5 days when clearly all communication tools should be broken, locked up or out of reach.
On the drive home, you pray some more, hoping God can hear you past the awful music Drew has blaring. And you hope for a pleasant surprise.
Maybe a kind response?
Or even no response?
Or a request for clarification?
Or at least a hint of "I don't agree, but I appreciate where you're coming from" response.
You get home and dread opening up your inbox.
You see 62 non-spam new messages in your 4 email accounts.
And the one you worried about?
It was there.
"... The elephant trumpeted again,wrapped its trunk around one of Mbembe's legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.
Probably wasn't the same elephant."
In other words, this story doesn't have a happy ending.
It would be overly dramatic to say you were killed by the response. Because, you're obviously still alive.
But you know you never shoulda sent that e-mail.
Three things I'm thankful for:
1. Another free public lecture at Regent College this evening. And she spoke slowly and clearly enough that I understood every single word. "She" was Susan Phillips. And the topic had to do with Spiritual Directors.
I think I need one.
To prevent me from sending e-mails before I hear from God. And other stupid things I do.
The best part of the evening though, was the hour long ride home's conversation. Thanks Carolyn for speaking into my life those words of encouragement and affirmation. You would ROCK at being a Spiritual Director.
2. I'm thankful we have no internet at Cultus. This weekend, it was just Drew and I up there. We prayed together, played a buncha games of Yahtzee, had a few conversations, watched "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?" (I'm not) and mostly got along.
3. I'm thankful for the friend that called me seconds after reading my Clean Sweep answers saying, "I think we're soul mates... don't you?"