Summit Hangover

I attended the Global Leadership Summit last week at one of its satellite locations and it was amazing.  We listened to world-renowned speakers from every end of the leadership spectrum, including an army officer, business man, doctor, pastor, lawyer, author, film producer, and more.

 The lineup included:

• Bill Hybels

• General Colin Powell

• Patrick Lencioni

• Liz Wiseman

• Chris Brown

• Bob Goff

• Mark Burnett

• Joseph Grenny

• Vijay Govindarajan

• Dr. Brene Brown

• Oscar Muriu

• Dr. Henry Cloud

• Andy Stanley

I've been wanting to write a blog entry about the experience, but my brain still feels like it's going to explode.  Dr. Brene Brown spoke about the concept of a vulnerability hangover, and I'm convinced that I have a summit hangover.  When all was said and done late Friday night, I sat in my room and cried.  I was just so overwhelmed with all the wisdom I had taken in and the fact that now I had a choice.  I could,

A-Wake up the next day and go into work and have it go just as every other day has gone the last 2 weeks, or...

B-Wake up the next day and go into work and have it go just as every other day has gone the last 2 weeks and look for opportunities to apply this newly acquired wisdom to some practical situations.

After a conference like the GLS, you leave wanting to change the world.  Then reality smacks you in the face.  Sometimes you realize what you're up against and decide that what you've learned simply can't apply to the situation you're presently in.  Maybe it'll be useful later on in life.  So you just tuck it away for later.

That's usually me.

Something inside me just won't let up, though.  I still want to change the world, so it makes me angry that I am where I am.  Making coffee and dealing with disgruntled employees and people who will run me over in the parking lot trying to get to the drive-thru 1.37 seconds faster (not thinking about the fact that if they run over their barista, there will be no coffee in the first place).  It's easy to get bitter, discontent, and unsatisfied.

It's been a struggle.  I've been wrestling with it a lot.  I know that I am here for a purpose.  God has something to teach me.  I know that God did not bring me to the Summit to get me all fired up, then squash my flames in a torrential downpour of disappointment and frustration.  I think He planted within me a seed to change the world.  But He wants me to start by changing MY world.  And for some reason, that's a whole lot more tedious and less inviting.

It seems I'd rather change the world than change myself.  OUCH.

I'm exhausted.  It'd be really easy to give up and settle and accept what I have for what it is.

But I'm too stubborn for that nonsense.  So I'll dig in my heels and lean into God and let Him do a work in me.  And I'll start by sticking my nose into Liz Wiseman's book Multipliers.

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There's something to be said about being a part of something bigger than yourself.  Bigger than your world.  Bigger than your reality.

That's what this weekend was about for me.

A few weeks ago I received a call from Mercy Ministries asking me if I would share my testimony at an event at Seeds of Greatness in Delaware.  There was a lot to consider in making the decision.  It involved a lot of discussion with my support system and prayer with my God.  But in the end, I excitedly agreed to share my story of healing and transformation.

I've always loved public speaking, but this was different.  To reveal your deepest secrets and stand vulnerable before strangers is not the same as giving a speech.  Usually, a speech entails some sort of message.  There's an agenda.  A purpose.  A mission to accomplish.

So I guess in that way, a testimony is a speech.  There's a message of hope.  An agenda of healing.  A purpose of transforming.  A mission of saving and redeeming.

But when I give my testimony, it really isn't mine.  It's God's.  My life was, is, and will always be about the greatness of my God.  It is through my story that He is glorified.  His strength is magnified in my weakness.  His victory is displayed through my failure.  His peace is highlighted in my turmoil.  His blessings are abundant in my crises.

Anyone can see God in a rainbow, promotion, birth, graduation, or flower.  We love to get on Facebook and tell the world how God blessed us this week.  And that is awesome.  It really is.  But I often find that this can bring on more jealousy than hope.

But when we stand vulnerable before both our friends and enemies.  When we make ourselves available to God and He shows up in the midst of our disasters...now THAT'S inspiring.  There's something about the brutal reality of such a lifestyle that DRAWS people.  Even when they don't want to be drawn.

There's no limit to what God can do through us.  Honestly, I was way more excited than nervous about sharing my life story with a few hundred strangers in a distant state.  I have witnessed what God is capable of doing in the life of a broken human being.  To be called upon to be a tool in the process is an incredible honor.  Sacrifices were made in the process, but I have never regretted walking in obedience.  And I've gotta say...there's nothing like standing on a stage next to Nancy Alcorn, opening your heart to the world and your soul to the Holy Spirit, and watching what happens in a room bursting with passion.

In my testimony I talk about all of the labels I received throughout the years.  How I used to define myself by the labels that teachers, mentors, and doctors all gave me.  But how Mercy showed me the truth.  I am not defined by any earthly labels.  I am a child of God.  A daughter of the King.

But, there IS one (and only one) label that I will cling to every day that I walk the face of this planet:

Brittany Bowen

Mercy Graduate

:-)

The Story of My Nuked Chocolate Chip Cookie

Several things within the last hour have struck me as noteworthy:

First of all, I'm sitting here at my computer at 11:30 at night and I realize that I really have not been to the bathroom since 11:30 this morning.  This tells you something.  I am so busy right now that I actually forget to go to the bathroom.

Secondly, after the store was closed the 3 of us were still furiously cleaning for half an hour.  I had the trash bag full of expired pastries on the floor and I look over and one of my coworkers is crouched down eating pastries out of it.  He looks up at me with sad eyes and says, "This is not filling the void in my heart.  Is this what it has come to???"  We're laughing hilariously, but something about the whole situation rings true.

Is this what it has come to?

I don't know.  I mean, it's late.  I should probably go to bed.  I have to be back at work in less than 8 hours.  So I limited myself to one chocolate chip cookie.  I even microwaved it so it was kind of gooey.  Microwaving things always makes them taste better.

But despite the fact that I am indeed receiving some sort of comfort in a nuked chocolate chip cookie, the fact is that I will soon go to bed, get some rest, then wake up early enough to renew my mind a bit before heading into work again.  Even though I may rather come down with a severe case of the bubonic plague.  Because I refuse to be the one eating expired food out of a trash bag.  I've been there before.  It's not funny.  It's depressing.  And that is NOT what it has come to.

I knew this week would be a hard one.  I knew that the heart preparation required for giving my testimony on Saturday would leave my physical body and mind vulnerable to attack all week.  I knew that when I agreed to speak.  So I've been praying and I know that I am being prayed over.  I know that I am covered in prayer and that God is my strength in my moments of weakness.

It's easy to get caught up in the madness of the last few hours.  It's easy to forget about the feeling I had in the car.  I left the college just before 1:30 to stop at my house to change and be at work by 2.  I clearly did not have much down time.  But as I was listening to Kari Jobe while driving, I felt a wave of God's presence in my car.  He was there, siting in the passenger's seat.  I realized that His hand has been on every detail of the last several days.  That only He could have orchestrated things to come together as they are.

There's a lot at stake.  But I have to trust in Him.  Because I wouldn't have even realized what was at stake if He hadn't been whispering into other people's ears.  If He hadn't put my face in people's hearts.  If He hadn't planted my name as a seed in people's minds.

His hand is in it all.  So I'll snag my chocolate chip cookie BEFORE it goes in the trashcan.  I'll savor a moment and then I'll hit the rack.  He's gotten me further than I've ever gotten myself, so I think I'll leave the future to Him.  I'll just accept tomorrow as a day to scrub the floors, bathe in bleach, and study.  And we'll just go from there.