Some days, it is honestly a pain in the ass to help run a women's spirituality center. It's hard to negotiate with the other egos, it's hard not to feel you're doing too little or too much (or at least more or less than other members), it's hard to navigate money (is this free? Why isn't this free? What is Minnesota sales tax? What falls under Minnesota sales tax? Do we qualify to be a nonprofit? So if this is donation only, if I donate fifty cents to this cancer thing, do I still get a reading?), it's hard to be faced with community resistance ("No, I will not be at your gathering. I will be at my church praying to my God, now take me off your list!"), it's hard coming up with new ideas every month, it's hard to know how best to serve and where your place is in all of it and where you need to draw your boundaries.
But, ask me on my worst day when I've lost the key to the money box, the tent has imploded on us, I'm dehydrated and tired and watching people cross to the other side of the path in order to pass our tent, and all I want to do is scream, and I will still tell you it's worth it.
Because I still have moments when we sit in meditation & people cry and it's okay.
Because I've never laughed more my whole life than standing in the kitchen, eating chocolate-covered strawberries at the Women's Gathering while one of the ladies describes the recent antics of her mentally challenged dog.
Because our own beloved mentally challenged dog (erm, well, I usually say Banger "isn't stupid, he's just big-boned") still doesn't understand he probably shouldn't go around licking toes and faces during a past life regression, but knows just when to go sit in someone's lap when they're describing a particularly difficult month.
Because I've had corn ice cream, watermelon soup, and cake on a stick, and enjoyed every bite.
Because sometimes, after a Tarot reading, a woman says to me, "I've always wanted to connect with a group of women like me."