Finding My Frequency

I wasn't so sure of my ability to sustain the faith that had set me on the path of charting my own course, until P-Day. P-Day stands for Pressure Day, like D-Day is for the storm at Normandy on June 6, 1944. The morning was quiet; it was one of those days melancholy seizes the entire home and makes everyone drag. We were all late to wake up that morning. I had managed to lift myself out of bed and assumed a position in front of the window on one of the six school desks I had in my living room for the tutorial class I ran for children. Tried as I did to read a chapter of "The Irresistible Revolution" by Shane Claiborne, the enthusiasm and eagerness that normally keeps me buried in a book for hours when I am reading, was absent. The only positive thing I could do that morning was to exercise my mind – run my thoughts through it. I sat there and played the events of what was require of me to become the motivational speaker and life coach to which I aspired. I was anticipating the journey and reviewing the enormity of the decision I had made to control my own destiny, when the phone rang for the first time that day. The ringing of the phone broke my thoughts, distorted my frequency, forcefully grabbed my attention and changed my state. I answered the phone rather lazily and the sound of my own voice told me of the rut that had consumed me. At about 11:00 AM, my voice sounded weak, raspy and squeaky, like it does when we first awake. The person on the other end of the telephone did not seem deterred or bother by my downheartedness. He asked to speak with Mr. Zonen and when I managed to clear my voice and agreed Mr. Zonen was I, he plunged strictly into his script. "Yes I am aware that my mortgage is late, and yes I am in contact with the bank, but no I am not aware of any foreclosure proceeding," I managed to answer rather calmly after he had made his case. He carried on with his script and informed me of the details in the foreclosure letter that was coming my way. Just before he could end his speech, I heard a buzz in my ear over his voice that announced another incoming call. I removed the phone away from my ear and spied quickly to see who was calling. It was from a 603 area code. I knew exactly where the call was coming from. I hurriedly acknowledged the fellow who called from the bank, ended the call with him and clicked over to accept the incoming call from New Hampshire. The calls from New Hampshire are normally not friendly, so, I braced myself for the harsh talk. When I clicked over and spoke, "Hello", to the person on the other end, just as I anticipated, LeeAnn, Bryce's mother, answered in her usual condescending tone. She wasted no time in informing me about my immaturity and poor decision to quit my job when the court ordered child support was still active. "You are going to have to pay every penny you owe, do you know that?" It was one of the realities I weighed and accepted before I decided to embark on the journey of controlling my own destiny. I understood the law was going to come after me for all my obligations. "I am aware of that, LeeAnn," I answered with a calm in my voice that seemingly irritated her. In a raised voice that amplified the condescension, she informed me that the motion I filed with the court for review and modification of my child support obligation (because of the change in my income) was going to be contested. I told her it wasn't a problem. She went on to lecture me about the insanity in my decision and hung up the phone without allowing me to explain my rationale. At this point, the gloominess with wish I awoke was entirely dissipated. I rose to go in the bathroom with a slight irritation. Just before getting to the bathroom, the phone rang again. I ran back to where I was sitting and answered the phone. It was Direct Loan, the institution that holds my student loan. Just like a snail interrupted in its crawl, the urge to ease myself instantly receded. "Mr. Zonen, we are calling because we noticed you have been delinquent for several months. We are calling to give you options to defer the loan or you risk defaulting and ruining your credit." I broke a smile and answered in the affirmative to the associate from Direct Loan laying out his case to which I stood guilty as charged. After I listened patiently to the associate read me all my options, I asked to call him back. Something remarkable happened after I hung up the phone. I sat there in total bewilderment and questioned the likelihood that I could get all these calls back- to- back from my creditors. What for most people would have meant total breakdown, I sat there for about five minutes joggling my thoughts. Like a punctured balloon, I felt flat, free and uninhibited. I clapped my hands to change my state, broke another smile and bounced off my seat as if I were sitting on a hot piece of coal. I saw the bombardment as God's test of my will. I smiled because I felt I passed the test. My cage was rattled, but I remained unshaken. Leaving familiar for unfamiliar requires a stern resolve. "The pressure from all my creditors will not break me down", I told myself aloud. "This is P-Day, baby!" I announced in an audible voice, like a drill sergeant to his cadets. I clapped my hands again, broke another smile and screamed, "Glory!," ran in the bathroom and eased myself.