I've Never Been to Vegas, but My Luggage Has: Mishaps and Miracles on the Road to Happily Ever After

by Hale, Mandy

  There are times in life when you aren’t going to be able to do anything to help your friends except be there. It will be frustrating, especially when you’ll want so badly to hunt down the idiot or idiots who broke your friend’s heart and break their jaws. But as we get older, life stops being as simple and the bullies aren’t as easy to spot as they once were on the playground. So what do you do if you’re a woman of action—someone who defends the defenseless, loyally battles to the death for the underdog, and doesn’t let anyone mess with the people you love? The answer is nothing. In this situation I was rendered helpless. There was nothing I could offer Crawford to make it any better—except my presence.

  Here’s a little nugget I’ve learned in life about the secret to being a good friend: when words won’t suffice, lend an ear. When you can’t march into a courtroom or a conference room or a classroom and lay the smack down, lend your shoulder to cry on. When you don’t have money for expensive presents, offer your simple presence. And when you don’t know what else to do for someone, pray for him or her. It does matter. It is enough. It will be remembered for years to come.

  One day as the uncertainty dragged on and the outlook of the impending court case was growing bleaker and bleaker, a Bible verse popped into my head that I knew was for Crawford. Second Chronicles 20:17 says, “You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you, Judah and Jerusalem. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Go out to face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you.”

  I e-mailed the scripture to Crawford excitedly. “This is for you!” I wrote. “I don’t know exactly how it’s going to play out, but something is telling me that you won’t even have to step foot into a courtroom. God’s got this! Crazy, I know, but this verse popped into my head and I just knew immediately that it was for you.”

  I didn’t know it at the time, but he clung to that scripture throughout the entire ordeal, repeating it, claiming it, believing it, and ultimately, realizing it.

  Armed with that scripture, my beautiful friend, who would sooner walk through fire than face confrontation, met the battle of his life head-on, face set, eyes flashing, chin up—and he never backed down. He never lost faith in himself, and he never lost faith in God.

  Several months later new information came to light at the last minute, completely unexpectedly and the day before the case was set to go to trial, which tipped the scales in Crawford’s favor and awarded him primary custody of his precious little boy. He never even had to step one foot into a courtroom. I won’t go into a lot of detail except to say that his goodness, honesty, and all-encompassing faith won the battle for him without him ever even having to step onto the battlefield. Just as the scripture laid on my heart so many months before had predicted, this was one battle that was not Crawford’s to fight. All he had to do was show up big and let faith do the rest. And it did.

  He came into my room late one Monday afternoon, where I sat holding my breath and hoping for the best, yet fearing the worst. I wanted so badly to believe that the scales of justice had tipped in Crawford’s favor, but logic dictated that the court would side with the mother, as most custody cases do. Most custody cases, it would appear, except this one. Crawford pulled a manila folder out of his backpack and held it suspended in front of me. He stopped at the end of my bed and fanned the paperwork in front of me dramatically as I sat with my mouth dropped open, already knowing by the triumphant look in his eyes what he was going to say. Still, we faced off silently for a few moments, him smiling like the Cheshire cat, my eyes starting to fill with tears before the words even left his lips.

  “I am holding in my hands the paperwork that awards me primary custody of Adam.”

  Instantly, the tears spilled over, the yelps of joy, disbelief, and sheer wonder now coming from both of us as I leapt off of my bed and pulled Crawford into an ecstatic hug. I clung to him, sobbing both for him and with him as the realization that the long months of pain my friend had endured were now over. Just like that. He had emerged from the darkest storm of his life, and victory, restoration, and sunshine were waiting for him on the other side.

  We danced around the room like crazy people for a few minutes, giggling, hugging, cheering, sobbing, not believing it was really true yet knowing somehow that the culmination of all the months of heartache, prayer, and struggle had brought us here to this moment, together. Life knew what it was doing when it tossed us, seemingly unwittingly, back together under one roof. I needed someone to love me unconditionally, encourage me, and be patient and kind and motivating as I continued to balance my dream with my job. Crawford needed someone to get feisty, sassy, and in his face; to kick his butt into chasing victory instead of settling for defeat. (And I was definitely the girl for the job.)

  A week later Crawford, his parents, and some other friends, and I got together to celebrate, and as his mom hugged me tight, she whispered in my ear, “He needed you, you know. He couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

  The truth is, I needed him too. Without him and his unwavering belief in me over the years, I might have never learned to believe in myself.

  As most gloriously happy events do, this story has a flip side of sadness, as very rapidly the night approached that would be our last official night together in our house as roommates. Now a full-time single dad, Crawford was going to live with his parents as he adjusted to life as a single parent, juggling life, work, and responsibilities with soccer, homework, and birthday parties.

  When I got home from work the day after he moved out, the silence of our house was deafening.

  A few months before, we had sat and mused about the day when his situation would be resolved and he would be able to move on with the rest of his life. We laughed, planned, and wondered what that mysterious future would look like. Now it was here, and my partner in crime was not. We would likely never be roommates again. And though I was so incredibly happy for him and his new beginning, I was still deeply sad to see the credits roll on our ending. Yes, we will always be best friends, and that will never change, but living through some of the most defining moments of your life with another person is the kind of thing that will never come again. I look back on all of it now—the tears, the fears, the laughter, the fights, the prayers, the dreams—and marvel at the beauty of it all.

  For a moment, we were becoming who we were going to be—together. Then we woke up one morning and were the people we were going to be—apart.

  That’s what friendship is all about, you know. The pulling, pushing, challenging, healing, praying, feeling, loving, and moving on.

  I would urge you, as someone who found myself sitting on the other side of a good-bye I wasn’t quite ready for: Don’t wait until you’re faced with someone’s absence to acknowledge the importance of their presence. Love them now. Realize that the flaws, irritations, bad habits, and imperfections are all a part of what makes them, and you, unique, special, and rare to this universe. Realize that some moments are worth staying up late and missing out on sleep for. Some messes are worth overlooking. Some road trips do need to be taken, right then and there. In ten years, you’re not going to remember that time you got in trouble with your boss for calling in sick for three days in a row, but you will remember that spontaneous road trip to the beach when you stayed up all night and ate nothing but McDonald’s and Krispy Kreme for three days and struck out on the open road with nothing but a tank of gas, twenty dollars in your pocket, and your best friend by your side.

  As for me, sitting there gazing at the packed boxes, the newspaper, and the packing tape littering the floor where Crawford and I had once lain side by side gathering the strength to stand and take on the world, I knew that a defining season of my life was over. It was time to move on to the next chapter of my own life—a chapter that hadn’t been written yet. Just a few months before, I marveled at how it seemed as though history was repeating itself, and I was reliving two years ago all over again. If that was
indeed the case, and I got a chance over the course of those crazy, tragic, sometimes almost magical six months to reboot my past, I’d like to think I was a little better friend, and a little better person the second time around.

  * The Thing Called Love, directed by Peter Bogdonovich (Paramount Pictures, 1993).

  Chapter 18

  Flying Solo, Flying Free

  I stayed at Crawford’s for about a month after he moved out. I needed the time to look for a place of my own, finally settling on an adorable basement apartment in a home in Brentwood, a suburb of Nashville, that was in a fantastic neighborhood and had all utilities included. I felt like I had hit pay dirt. The neighborhood was nestled in the hills and was very woodsy. Every morning when I would drive into work, I would catch glimpses of ducks, deer, and squirrels, and once even a flock of turkeys crossed the road right in front of my car! It was very charming, and I felt like I was living in a Disney movie coming to life.

  It was February 2011 by that point, and 2011 would prove to be one of the most exciting years of my writing career. February first marked the one-year anniversary of The Single Woman. I could hardly believe it had already been a year. I had set a goal on my vision board to hit two hundred thousand Twitter followers by the time the one-year anniversary rolled around, and a little after midnight on the first, we hit the mark. Two hundred thousand Twitter followers! I gave thanks to God for the incredible first year of The Single Woman, and I could hardly wait to see what the next year would bring.

  I had started meeting with a web team a few months earlier to design an official website for The Single Woman, since I felt like the brand was outgrowing the Examiner, and it was time for a change to my own platform. We decided it would be fitting to launch the new site at midnight on Valentine’s Day. A few weeks before the launch, we scheduled a photo shoot with an incredible local photographer to shoot some fun, sassy, “official” pictures for the website. My web team went above and beyond to help coordinate the shoot, locating the photographer and even finding a local hair and makeup artist to come in and beautify me for the shoot. You can imagine my shock and horror when I was told the name of said makeup artist less than twenty-four hours before the shoot.

  It was Anna. As in, the girl Steven had disappeared with for a full twenty-four hours that fateful night almost two years earlier. The girl I always assumed he cheated on me with. The same girl with whom his cheating ways had caused him to flunk the now infamous lie detector test. She had apparently moved to Nashville and was now running a quite successful hair and makeup business. Good for her. I had moved on with my life and wished her no ill will. But did I want her designing my hair and makeup for something as important as my first official photo shoot as The Single Woman?

  Absolutely not.

  “Um . . . ,” I stuttered when my web guy told me her name. “I’m not so sure about this.” I went on to explain the whole bizarre situation to him in a nutshell.

  “Oh wow,” he replied. “Oh wow. Well, it’s so late in the game now, I’m not sure we’d be able to find anyone else. Are you sure she’d even know who you are? I mean, just because you know her name doesn’t mean she knows yours. Right?”

  Being a woman, I instantly knew the answer to that question (of course she would know who I was), but my web team had worked so hard to put this shoot together, I couldn’t bring myself to throw a wrench in the plans. I told my web guy not to worry about it—we would proceed with the shoot as planned. Then I prayed to God that He would not allow this woman to transform me into Bozo the Clown.

  The next night I arrived at the location for the shoot in a bundle of nerves. The minute I came face-to-face with Anna, it was like a giant pink elephant had entered the room. It was so glaringly obvious that we both knew who the other one was, but we didn’t acknowledge the awkwardness of the situation. We just carried on like we were complete strangers. As she went to work on my hair and makeup, I almost started to bring it up a few times, just to let her know that I was okay with the situation, but then I would think, Well, what if she actually doesn’t know who I am, and I bring it up, and it turns into a huge fiasco? So I kept my mouth closed, holding my breath and praying silently that when I looked into the mirror after our session, I wouldn’t look like something from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

  Much to my relief, Anna did a beautiful job on my hair and makeup. The shoot went great, and the photos couldn’t have turned out better. But more importantly, I got to see the other side of a situation that had caused me months of pain and heartache and self-doubt. I got to actually meet the girl with whom my ex had allegedly cheated on me. And not just meet her, but get to know her a little. Hear her stories. See her passion for her work. Get a glimpse inside her life. How often in life does that happen? Though I went into that shoot firmly expecting to hate her, I was surprised to find that I didn’t at all. In fact, under different circumstances, we even might have been friends.

  Though I’m not condoning her actions or Steven’s actions in any way if they really did participate in clandestine behavior on that fateful, long-ago night, I did find a way to forgive Anna for her part in the whole painful episode. I didn’t know what had led her to get involved with Steven or what her motivation might have been, but I did witness her class and professionalism in the way she handled herself in what could have been a very embarrassing situation. And I was finally able to let the weight of any unforgivingness, bitterness, and anger I might still have buried in my heart against Steven fall away, silently thanking God for His infinite wisdom, divine appointments, and full-circle moments.

  The launch of my official website and the continued growth of The Single Woman had me thinking about the next steps I needed to take to make writing and sharing my message of positivity for single women a full-time career. I knew in my heart that I was going to one day write a book; I just didn’t know when or how that dream was going to become a reality. I decided to put together a book proposal and start sending it around to various literary agents and publishing houses. I had heard rumors about how impressive a built-in platform is to publishers looking to sign new authors, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I had a platform.

  Much to my surprise, all of the twenty to thirty query letters I sent out received big, fat rejections. It seemed no one was buying what I was selling. I didn’t take the nos personally, however, as I knew that every no was pushing me one step closer to a yes. I even saved all the rejection letters and e-mails so I could look back on them someday and smile. “I will be a New York Times best-selling author,” I added to my vision board. I knew when it was God’s perfect timing, I would find the right publisher.

  In the meantime, other big things were happening for me. In spring 2011, I was named a “Woman of Influence” by the Nashville Business Journal, and a couple of months later the Huffington Post dubbed me a “Twitter Powerhouse.” I also received a mention in Forbes magazine, where one columnist drew a comparison between me and Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg! I could hardly believe the doors God’s favor was opening.

  I had also found a church I really liked in Brentwood, and I quickly got involved in a life group that focused on social media outreach—both the church’s and social media in general. One night at life group we brainstormed a promotional video to introduce a segment at church that week, and then decided to shoot the video right there on the spot! It was one of the few times I was able to put my producer hat back on since leaving CMT, and though I now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that TV production was not my ultimate destiny, I loved how God allowed me to take detours into the land of TV at least once a year, for no other reason, I am convinced, than to see me smile. A month or so later I was invited to speak at church during a service focused on the power of social media in the kingdom of God. I was honored to get to share my full testimony for the first time ever publicly; and I knew in my gut that God was telling me it wouldn’t be the last.

  By the time summer 2011 rolled around, I decided it was time to invest
some good, old-fashioned QT and attention into one of the most important relationships in my life: the one with myself.

  How often do we go through life pouring every ounce of our time, passion, talents, treasures, and blood, sweat, and tears into everything else and everyone else in our lives except us? I considered myself a happily single, empowered, and evolved woman, so why was I so neglectful about self-care? I decided there was no time like the present to try something new, something different, something revolutionary: I would date myself!

  My first act of really getting to know me was to set some boundaries. If this was going to be a monogamous, committed relationship, I needed to take myself off the market. I did so by embarking upon a thirty-day “love cleanse,” something the likes of which I had tried in the past but didn’t really take all that seriously. This time would be different. I would cleanse myself of the residue from relationships past and journey to the center of myself to a place of peace that could only be found by entering alone. It was time to declare myself free of the ghosts of relationships past, once and for all.

  If you choose to fast from dating or do a love cleanse of your own, how you go about it is really a personal decision. I completely abstained from dating, texting, e-mailing, tweeting, Facebooking, calling, flirting, stressing, or obsessing with or about the opposite sex. This is much easier said than done, but I’ve found that when you make a commitment to focus on yourself and your personal growth, it makes not dwelling on your male counterparts a whole lot easier.

  The ground began to shift beneath me almost as soon as I embarked upon my love cleanse, with the powerful energetic waves of my decision to lay down love for thirty days sending out what I can only imagine was a distress call to the guys I had dated over the past few years: “Warning! We interrupt your regularly scheduled flirting to instruct you to reach out to Mandy this instant! Do it now!” I heard from ex-loves right and left. Out of the blue they began to contact me, as though their primal instincts sounded an alarm to try and hunt what was no longer on the market: my heart. It got to the point where it was almost amusing.