Confessions Of A Ball Hog

“I was forced to be blatantly honest with my SheLoves family about All.The.Feelings I was experiencing.”


Two weeks ago, I wrote about (finally) saying YES to a big, hairy dream God had placed in my heart: raising $10,000 to provide desperately needed sanitary pads, hygiene products and life skills training to a school of 250 young women in Uganda.

Here’s the Coles notes version: God tells Megan to raise money for Keep a Girl in School. Megan tries to get out of it. God’s not down with that. Story concludes with Megan heroically telling God, “I’ve got this.” Cut to Megan standing on a dramatic cliff, her superhero cape fluttering in the wind.

Yup, that’s pretty much accurate.

So I threw myself into this big hairy dream with Chervelle, a divine friend of mine. We began organizing a fitness-themed fundraiser: Sweating For Sisterhood. For two months, this project consumed my existence. My son began to think Elmo was his new mom and the laptop, his new (very demanding) sibling. My husband begrudgingly became accustomed to living with a wife masquerading as a very cranky Energizer Bunny. Meanwhile, I drained every grocery store within a ten mile radius of Cookie Crunch Dairy Milks.

sweatOctober 16 arrived—the day of the event and launch of my blog post. I was dead-on-my-feet but my superhero cape was still firmly in place. I was ready for God to open the floodgates. Why wouldn’t God? I had said “Yes,” after all. Now it was God’s turn to make it all happen.

The event was gorgeous and moving and everything we wanted it to be. Except for one teensy thing.


There weren’t nearly enough people to raise $10,000. I am forever and a day indebted to every woman who came out. But I knew it wouldn’t be enough to reach our goal. A solid drop in the bucket perhaps.

But still, only a drop.

For the next several days I wallowed—Anne Shirley style—in the depths of despair. I was so confused. I had done what was asked of me. So where was my spiritual epiphany? Where were all the warm fuzzies? To quote Michael Scott, “Where’s my Oprah moment?”

Worse than this embarrassing pity party, I was angry. I was angry at God for not holding up God’s (presumed) end of the bargain. For choosing me when He knew I would fail. I was angry at all the well-meaning people who asked,“Oh, how did your thing go?” I had to curb myself from yelling, “If you had BEEN at my thing, you would know!”

Most of all, I was angry with myself. For not being enough. For falling short.

Continue reading Confessions of a Ball Hog at SheLoves Magazine . . .

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