Spiraling

I am so tired of doing this dance with depression. It is a two step I would rather not be doing. But, here I am again...one step forward and two steps back. I know I bring a lot of it on myself, skipping my devotions and spending so little time in prayer. It is a lie that I have chosen to believe - that I am too tired or whatever excuse I find to avoid doing the things that would help me, but instead I worry and wallow and sleep. It is just easier. I just feel like I let God down and that is why He allows my family to be such a screwed up mess. I just feel so done with all of it.

My health is suffering and so is my husband's and my younger children's, but I would rather sign myself into the hospital then deal with all of it.

Everything is spiraling out of control, but they are things I shouldn't even be in control of......

It is just a wicked cycle.

Longing to Be Missed

I could not remember a time since getting saved where I wasn't missed if I wasn't at church on Sunday. Someone would call or send a message via my parents or sisters and I knew I mattered, that my presence was important. That I was missed.

I didn't miss church much until after my first son was born and then there were ear infections and colds and there were still phone calls and notes of being missed.

And it was comforting. Not that being there and being noticed was the most important part of going to church or the reason I went, but it was nice to be missed. For someone to miss my hug or my face or my voice.

Then we were struggling with whether or not to stay and I was struggling with some intense health issues and we started to miss services and there were no phone calls. No emails. No texts. Nothing to say I was missed. And it hurt. A lot.

I wanted a reason to stay in a place where we were no longer wanted. I wanted to be able to have something good and hopeful to cling to to be able to make the leaving easier. But, it was not there. It was devastating to not be missed.

I have made it important to mention to those I don't see on Sunday that I miss them. That I missed their hug and their face and their voice.

But, at this place of worship we attend right now there are many people there, so many we do not know and we missed church for various reasons for three weeks in a row and not one person mentioned that we were missed. And it hurt all over again.

I don't want church to be about whether or not I am missed, but being part of a community that needs your hugs and face and voice is important. I want that again.

I want to be missed.

In-Laws

The first time she sent me an email and signed it "Love, Mom" I smiled. I felt so blessed to have a future mother-in-law that was already so accepting of me and my son. And when I flew to TX on my then fiancé's birthday to surprise him, she and my future sister-in-law picked me up and when she hosted me at her house I was again thankful for the family I was becoming a part of in just a few short months. My father-in-law was a bit less congenial and seemed a bit too bold in his opinions and such, but she balanced him out and I felt comfortable.

She was helpful and loving and easily became my confidant. Being so far away from my own mother wasn't so heartbreaking, knowing she was a few blocks or a phone call away. She loved her son and her grandchildren and seemed so happy to have a daughter in law that she got along with this time. I took her stories of his first wife with a grain of salt and tried hard to meet her expectations of me as a wife and mother. She made it easy, or so it seemed.

When I became pregnant, she came to our house by herself, glad that the children weren't home so she could talk to us. She seemed broken, but it was soon evident that she was hurt and angry and accusatory. She began to spew hateful words at me and my newlywed husband and I was immediately defensive and devastated. I wasn't sure how it happened, but there was now a rift in our relationship that would never fully heal. I became too sensitive to everything she said or did and I was constantly worried about doing the right thing.  

When I suffered from postpartum depression I wanted to tell her she was a part of my suffering, that she made it hard for me to be a wife and mother now, with her constant judging and silent looks of disdain. I started to loathe family gatherings and longed to have things return to the way they once were, but it never happened.

When we moved back to my hometown I was relieved to be so far away from them, but she still managed to communicate her and my father-in-law's dislike for our parenting style and lifestyle. Her visits brought about anxiety, not excitement and I was quietly thankful that I had to work while they were in town.

I envy my sister and her relationship with her in-laws. She has such a wonderful relationship with all of them. All of their gatherings are full of love and laughter and I long for that, but know it will never come.

My mother-in-law continues to do and say things that drive our family further apart from each other, undermining our parenting and causing my step children to retreat from me and my husband. And she is neither sorry or apologetic for her words and actions and I don't think she cares or wants a reconciliation for our family. And the way that she now advocates for my husband's ex-wife is appalling and ridiculous at best.

And it makes me very sad. So very sad.

Take Me Back

I was making coffee this evening, had my pumpkin candle burning, warm socks on and at the end of the cup of coffee brewing a smell wafted from the machine and I was instantly back in our rental home during the first year of our marriage. We had a cappuccino machine that we used nightly to make coffee concoctions topped with whipped cream and cocoa powder. We would sit on the couch while the children played in their rooms and there was so much promise and hope for our future. Things turned out so differently and as quickly as started to smile, I was sad.

Smells always seem to take me back.....

My grandmother's perfume, watching her put on her bright red lipstick before she and my grandfather treated us to dinner

The smell of a turkey cooking as I woke up on Thanksgiving to see my grandfather basting it in the kitchen

Coconut lime verbena lotion that my best friend gave me at my 30th birthday surprise party. Such a blessed time, but such a hard time. I can not smell it without becoming overwhelmed, not being able to breath because of the postpartum depression I was spiraling into quickly

Victoria Secret's Love Spell sends me back to my wedding day and honeymoon. What a magical time and fairy tale day. Any time I want to feel beautiful I just spritz some on and am transported to our friends' backyard standing before my groom vowing my love to him and then to our cabin in western MD enjoying the first days of being husband and wife

Baby lotion and his first bath, fumbling as a new mother with the help of my sister, wondering how in the world I will be able to raise this baby into a man

My husband's cologne as he finishes dressing for work or another special event, looking so handsome reminding me again and again why I fell in love with him

Finding Balance

There was a time when I could identify my feelings and feel them in a real tangible way, to cry and speak and just feel. I could sort through them and get past the sadness and disappointment and continue to function and live.

Then there was a time when I allowed myself to feel and cry and I couldn't stop. I would cry and stay sad, willing others through my tears to change. But, my crying never changed anyone, not even me. I just became someone who piled others' problems on my shoulders, blaming myself, becoming angry with unmet expectations and sinking deep into depression.

And now, I do not let myself cry or feel or go to the place where I am sad. I bottle everything up and keep it all neatly tucked away, so that I can still function, afraid to let myself cry for fear that I will not be able to stop.

I need to find a balance. I need to be able to cry and not have to wallow in my sorrow or take others' shortcomings as my own, enabling them to continue in their dysfunction, blaming myself and trying to change and fix everything.

I am not sure how to get there, to that place. But, I am willing to try.  

An Ephipany

I have been in counseling now for eight months. I am on my second counselor even though it was not because of me that my first counselor left the practice. Although, it was hard not to think I was the reason after I was told she was leaving because her daughter was sick and a few weeks later I saw her and her healthy looking daughter at a school play. I try to tell myself that I do not have issues.

It's really not all about me.

My current counselor told me at my last session that I have control/perfectionism issues. I was a bit taken back since I have not really thought about myself that way before she said it to me. I have always thought of my older sister as the controlling/perfectionist one. I fancied myself as the easy going on, not wanting to make waves and avoiding confrontation at all costs. I am normally the people pleaser.

Controlling?

A perfectionist?

After she said it, I thought back to when I taught 2nd grade. I always had a parent come in to teach art because I couldn't handle teaching it. I would look at the project in the book and the ones my students duplicated on their desks and get all twitchy when theirs was not an exact replica of the example in the book. It was better for everyone if I was not teaching art.

And then I started thinking of my older children and their science projects and the display boards that I "helped" them with for the fair. I cut out the letters, laid out the format and I remember taking the glue from my son and offering to "just finish it for him". Poor boy. They both won ribbons that year. Dear God, please let those ribbons not have been for their displays alone.

I have been redoing beds that they have made, dishwashers they have loaded, projects they have done for years. No wonder all of my adult children have been in therapy.

Thankfully, for my youngest two I have changed a lot. I have let them decorate their own display boards for school and even some of the art work for their rooms. I do not nag them about their choice of clothes unless it is something outlandish or inappropriate for church. I only go behind them when they clean or do chores if they ask me for my help. Then I offer my opinion about how I would do it without redoing it for them or offering to do it for them.

So, imagine my surprise when my husband was sharing a recipe with a lady at our church picnic today. She was saying that he would have to write it down because there was no way she would remember it and she needed the recipe because there was no way she could veer from the it. My husband laughed understandingly saying my wife is the same way. She then said if I don't follow it the same way every time it may not taste as good as the first time and I can't risk that and even though I was laughing, I was cringing. She sounded so rigid and a bit crazy. But, it didn't hit me until my husband and I were talking about it on the way home that that must be how I sound and I realized that that is crazy.

Controlling.

Like a perfectionist.

Recipes do have some ingredients that are necessary for a flavorable outcome, but they are to be guidelines in most respects and some of my husband's most delicious creations have come from tweaking a recipe. Even though, I am not one to toss a recipe aside and create a meal from memory, I have learned that adding something or changing something can be for the better.

I have always been known for my French toast. People request it when I stay at their houses overnight. I have always been proud of my French toast. In our early years of marriage I did most of the cooking, trying to find significance in my domestic duties since I went from being a school teacher to a stay at home mom. On one occasion, my husband sat down to a plate of French toast and proceeded to put peanut butter on it. I was aghast and horrified. My exact words were, "I can not believe you would desecrate my French toast like that". I was completely indignant.

When my husband and I talked today, he said, "You altered something I made the other day. What was it?" "Your egg McMuffin sandwich. I added a tomato." "So, it wasn't good enough for you the way it was?" he joked. And that's when it hit me.

Controlling.

Like a perfectionist.

Who cares if you put peanut butter or whatever you want on whatever I make. I should have been happy that my family was eating around a table in the home I was keeping. But, I wasn't.

It's really not all about me.

So, even though I was a bit shocked when my counselor mentioned that I may have control/perfectionism issues, I am now beginning to see that she was right.

Thankfully, recognition of your problem is the first step in recovery.





                

40

I am not sure I ever felt like 40 was old before I turned 40, but now that I have reached that milestone, I felt old, it sounds old to say I am 40 and yet I still have more than half my life to live.

I didn't think I had any expectations for my 40th birthday and we had a wonderful day in NYC with the youngest two kiddos, but since my husband surprised me with a party on my 30th I think I was expecting a surprise of some sort on my 40th birthday, which is sort of silly, but true. I knew we would be in NYC and I know that we are not in a position to afford such a party, but I had originally wanted to get away for a few days with my three best friends and my sisters at the beach, but could not work out the details. I truly envy women that have yearly weekends away with their sisters or friends. I have always wanted to do that and yet have never had a group of close friends like that or been able to get my sisters to be able to get away for a weekend, due to circumstance or finances.

I told myself that I would plan more dinners and girls' nights out with friends and my sisters and cousins, but I haven't followed through with it. I suppose I could recommit to doing it and start with a coffee date with a friend tomorrow night.

I want my 40s to exceed my 30s and anything would be better than my 20s, so I guess I will just have to take the initiative and make 40 fabulous for myself.     

Worth the Wait

When you have had your heart broken more than once it makes you a little hesitant to meet new people or believe in love. I was sure that the Boy that I Fell in Love with in High School was the one I would spend the rest of my life with, but I was wrong. When I realized we were not going to be a forever kind of romance, I wanted out and wanted out fast because it all hurt too much, to see the future and realize he was not a part of it. And then to find out a few weeks after I tried to end things that I was pregnant was almost more than I could handle. But, I believed that that child may have saved my life because I had the courage to do the right thing and break things off even when it was hard and uncertainty loomed large and scary.

So, I hesitated each time someone glanced my way or showed a bit of interest because what if this time when my heart was broken it was not only too much for me, but also for him, my son, my child who so longed for a Daddy and a family. I prayed that I would be content to be single as to not have my heart or my son's broken, that we could and were making it with ourselves and Jesus and that was enough.

Then the Man Child Out of the Blue entered my life and I was literally swept off my feet. Flowers and promises, unspoken dreams to become reality and surely God had placed him there like an unexpected surprise because I had declared my singleness unless He moved and moved big and everything seemed too good to be true. Because it was. Another broken engagement, another broken heart. I overheard my son at the young age of 5 tell his best friend that the Man Child had lied and broken my heart and that it was not okay to do that. I think his must have been broken, too.    

So, I built a wall of anger that turned the mortar to bitterness and for a season longed to love someone who was always meant for someone else. Each time it seemed as though God was indeed sending someone to mend my brokenness he was soon claimed by someone else. And it hurt so deeply.

Then I realized that in my brokenness I had forgotten the One that can heal all wounds and bind the brokenhearted. I confessed my bitterness and anger and felt like a weight had literally been taken off of my shoulders. And it looked like He would redeem a past relationship and reunite me and my son with The Boy from High School, so we trusted and leaned in to find Him once again saying, No and Wait, I have someone hand picked for you.

And in an unexpected way and in a way that only God can orchestrate, He lead me to my husband. I would have never guessed we would meet the way we did or end up in a relationship, but as we let God lead us, He began to weave an amazing picture of love and healing in two lives that desperately needed each other.

He fulfilled my dreams beyond my wildest imaginations and allowed me to marry my best friend, my soul mate, the one my heart longed for and it has been the most amazing 12 years I could have ever imagined.

The One Worth Waiting For is the one I was meant to be with and I am so blessed to be doing life with him.

Happy Anniversary, babe! I love you!    

Until It Wasn't

I lived in the same house on the same street for 27 years. I moved 1300 miles away from my family, friends and everything familiar when I got married. I had no idea how hard it would be to be so far away from everyone I loved, everything I had know for my whole life. I knew God had orchestrated me finding my husband and us getting married, so I knew He was paving a way for me to feel loved and accepted so far from home. And He did, in the form of a church that was not made of brick or mortar, but of people that became my family.

When we joined LFC as a family of 5 we were immediately accepted and loved. We became part of a family of believers that were doing life together. We immersed ourselves in ministry and began growing spiritually. It was not easy when the pastor resigned a few months after we joined and the search for a new pastor began. Half of the church left when the pastor did, but we stayed and persevered with those we had grown to love and believed that God was doing a great thing and He was and He did.

When the new pastor was ushered in, more change came about and we got a new location, new members and a new name. But, LHC continued to be a place to meet more people, express and feel more love and see growth in ourselves and our children. We again became involved in ministry and gained more family.

After 3 years of serving at LHC, God impressed on us that it was time to move back to MD, so that my husband could join my father in the family business. Even though, I knew the move was necessary, I did not like it. Selfishly, I wanted to stay because I had grown to love our church family so much. I knew that I had never experienced what we were experiencing at LHC anywhere else and I was afraid of never experiencing that again. These people were helping me raise my children, strengthen my marriage and change my life. I couldn't imagine leaving and yet we did and were back on the east coast in the summer of 2006.

Much as I had when I first left and got married, I felt such loss when I arrived back in my hometown, on the same street, in the same house. I was overwhelmingly sad and struggled with having to go find a new place to worship. I was convinced that nothing was ever going to be like LHC, that there weren't people that would feel like family here and that we would not be able to find a place to worship and minister like we had before. And when our search began it felt like I was right. Nothing felt the same. Nothing felt like home.

Until we visited LHC in MD. The first time we walked through the doors it was like coming home. We felt loved and accepted and at peace. I had been sure we would never feel like we had at LHC in TX and yet we had found a place where we felt like family. And it was lovely.

We opened ourselves up to the members of LHC and began to minister again. We found hope and encouragement when our son went wayward, when our daughter chose to move back home and when my husband lost not one, but two jobs. We started to serve on staff and became part of the visionaries that saw a church on the move and with a future. The pastor and his family became, not just our friends, but our family. We couldn't see ourselves serving or worshiping anywhere else ever. And it was good.

Until it wasn't. The church was growing and was in need of expansion and a new building was sought out, a new plan for a new vision was being birthed and with it came pride and destruction. We began to have our loyalty questioned and to be shirked from the very people we trusted to lead us and guide us. It became about money and numbers and not ministry and spiritual growth. We wrestled with the fact that we would have to leave, our hearts broken and our lives unraveling. So, we stayed when we felt like God was telling us to and we came under more persecution and despair. Then after a long year of questioning and doubting we felt God release us to move on from LHC, so we did.

And it was hard, so very hard. I cried each night for months before we made the final decision to leave and months after we left, so heartbroken, by having to leave and by the way we were being treated by the pastor and his wife when we left. And that is not right. It was not okay for us to be ignored and mistreated by the very people that were called to love and lead us. Personal or not, a pastor is a shepherd and if his sheep leave he should seek to know why and to ease the hurt and pain and to lead by example on how to treat those that have moved on from the fold. But, he didn't and his wife didn't and we were not the first that were dismissed so rudely or abruptly. It had happened before us and has happened after us. And I think that makes me the most sad. That in a place where this should not be happening, it is happening on a regular basis.

And it still hurts. When I was deleted by them on Facebook, it hurt. When I see comments they make on others' statuses, it still hurts. It really hurts. But, I also know that that is not the way that The Church works even if some of those that are a part of the church choose to act that way.  

We have found another place to worship and are slowing finding friends that are becoming like family. It has not been easy and we have been cautious, but God is a God of redemption and a Healer of broken hearts. He is redeeming us and healing our hearts and lives. For that we are thankful and know that He will guide us and allow us to minister again.

In all of this, we need to be reminded that God is the only One who loves perfectly and without fail. We are all broken people trying our best to live life together. And a pastor is not to be valued more than Jesus. He is a front runner for the One who will come and call us home. As we wait, we are going to try to live a life that would honor Him with others wanting to do the same.

Hardest Thing I Have EVER Had to Do

Tuesday was one of the hardest days of my life.

We woke that morning expecting to go to work and for my husband to head out of town, but instead we dealt with our oldest son stealing our iPad. My husband was able to track him down, but he denied having it or taking it. It was less than 30 minutes from the time we discovered it missing and we found him and he didn't have it on him. We then realized that when he came home at 4 AM he could have easily swiped it and given it to whoever brought him home.

This is not the first time he has stolen from us. A few years ago he took our daughter's iPod and last year he stole another iPod from her, video games from my son and money from all of us. Things have been going missing from our house for 5 years and we have never pressed charges until now.

It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but I had to press charges. He shows no remorse even when it was revealed that he had also taken jewelry from my mother as recently as two weeks ago and has been using my husband's ID at pawn shops to pawn other stolen items. It is not just about stealing from his family anymore. It is about so much more and we have allowed it to happen for too long.

A few months ago he registered for school and apparently the semester started this week. He is now begging us to not have him arrested, but with his current charges he is also in violation for his probation conditions. I do not necessarily want to see him get arrested at school, but he needs to have consequences for his actions.

My parents, whom he normally stays with when he is not running the streets and sleeping in cars, filed a petition with the courts that when he is picked up that he will be taken to the hospital first for a psychiatric evaluation. He has been diagnosed with a mood disorder, but has been self medicating with drugs and alcohol. He needs help, a lot of help.

I am praying more now than before that this would be a drastic turning point in his life. He is only 21 and has two small children. He needs to get himself back on track for himself and those babies.

I just pray I did the right thing, because it was the hardest thing for me to do.

Hope Remains

Today I didn't start thinking about it until I had a break at work. But, as soon as I was in the quiet of my office and my mind began to settle, my thoughts immediately went to my oldest son.

I went through my daily routine of checking the judiciary website, texting him, waiting five minutes, texting him again, calling him and texting him again several times in five minute increments. When he doesn't return my calls or texts, my mind begins to wonder. Is he in jail? Is he dead? Did he forget to go to his PO appointment? Will he fail his urine test? Where did he sleep last night?

My thoughts are consumed with concern and worry for him and I am paralyzed for a time until I hear from him or force myself to think about something else. But, anxiety and panic are easily triggered if I let my mind wander to dangerous possibilities or if I see a landscaping truck* - tears come to my eyes and the sadness is overwhelming.

I go through the motions of every day trying to be functional at work, present at home, but I consistently have to refocus on the tasks at hand, not consuming myself with thoughts of my son, but on the here and now.

I know it is not healthy. I know that he does not spend even 1% of his day concerned about me or his family, but I find myself consistently thinking, worrying and praying for him.

I have been grieving for more time than I should be, giving into my fears. Or maybe I have been in the stage of depression too long and not it's time to be angry and work through that stage. My counselor told me that she sensed I was angry with J and she is right. I am angry that he lost his job...again. I am angry that he won't get the help he needs or deserves. I am angry that he is living so contrary to the way he was raised. I am angry that he has no desire to see his children regularly or be a Daddy to/for them. I am angry that I can not do anything to make him want to change. I am angry that he uses my parents, especially my mother and that she refuses to follow our wishes, even the wishes of my father and continues to coddle him and allow him to be stuck in his way of life. I am angry that I have also allowed myself to be an enabler to J.

I think being angry would be helpful if it fueled me to change the way I act and react to J and his lifestyle, but it just makes me feel stuck in a place of helplessness and hopelessness.

I am starting to realize that my grief has turned into worry. I have always had a "Chicken Little" mentality and it has been exemplified in this situation with J. I worry about his well being, his outstanding debt, his children, his future....everything. I start praying for him, but my prayers turn to fretting and my mind fabricates vivid scenarios of tragedy for J. It is not uncommon for me to think about getting a call or a visit from police to inform me that J has died. I also expect to hear that he has been arrested and is back in jail.

~It had been weeks since I saw J and when I did I struggled with wanting to him hug and throttle him. I want to shake him in hopes of stirring up a desire to change, but instead I don't say much. He acts as if he hasn't been gone and tries to slip back into his old routine. My parents let him come back and stay, treating their home like a hotel and chauffeuring him around, not voicing any real concern or need for him to change. I am not sure if they are tired of telling him he needs a job, needs to pay rent, needs to keep his appointments with his probation officer and be responsible and know that their words fall on deaf ears or what, but they are definitely dejected, continue to allow J to live with them without the expectation to change. I know they are disappointed and frustrated and too old to have to worry about him, but they do it and the cycle continues.

I pray for the cycle to be broken - for him to take hold of Jesus, see his potential in Christ and allow Him to work in his life for real, tangible change. I long for J to be able to take hold of his potential and be a functional adult. I hold out hope for his family to be restored and reunited, for him to be the husband and Daddy God has ordained him to be for his children and their mother.

That is all I have - pray, longing and hope. Thankfully that is all I need**

*J had what seemed like a dream job for him - manual labor, 8 AM - 4 PM, Monday-Friday and he lost it when he went to court for drug charges that resulted in probation. I still lament this loss.

**I also have a great counselor helping me work through this journey with J and focus on the fact that it is all part of my story, but is primarily J's story and that God is not finished writing it yet.            

Finding My Way Back

I am not sure why I stop writing when it is so necessary for my well being. I need to write and yet I set it aside for lesser things and then become rigid and frustrated and wonder why. It is when I fail to stir the creative side of myself that I become complacent in other areas of my life, but I still don't make finding time to write a priority.

I know I am a good writer. I know I have a story to tell. I know I have things stored away that need to be inked on paper, typed out in this blog, but I choose other things that do not inspire me or release me and then I am stuck, not able to find my way back to what I know I need.

I have two drafts that I need to finish and publish, but when I reread them I am unable to figure out how to finish them.

Why do I get frustrated when I see that someone else is living the dream I have, to write books, even children's books when I am not even giving a daily moment to my dream. Obviously, they are fulfilling their passion while I let mine go by the way side.

Sometimes it is hard to find my way back to where I belong when I have been gone for so long. Praying I find my way soon, so I do not lose it forever.

My Voice

I am not sure when it happened. If it was after I got married or after I had birthed my third child, but it happened and at times I am proud of my strength and voice in the face of unfairness and adversity and other times it tears and pulls at the very fabric of my family and I feel guilty and ashamed for not honoring my husband and the quietness my soul used to have.

I feel like a Momma bear and do not want to be a woman scorned, but I react in the name of defense of my family, my husband and my children and if you have long tried to cut and destroy our fabric, you will receive a double dose of hell fire and brimstone, especially if you are working from the inside out. If you are family and are spewing lies and destruction, there is little grace for you in the outlashing and as hard as I love, I hurt that much harder. I will do anything and everything to make sure you never do it again.

I am not sure what makes a person want to lie and destroy as it is not my nature. My desire is to uphold a reputation of integrity for myself and my family. I fall short of that, of course, as I am not perfect and when an offense is made, I hurt and I ask for forgiveness and I pray for grace and a second chance. I do not understand someone who purposely seeks to devour and destroy, whose own desires outweigh what is right and will do anything to hurt someone. It doesn't make sense to me when someone will openly lie and twist the truth and then hold on to it as if life depends on it, watching it erode and ruin a person's life, then a family's structure, the future and all that is sacred and honorable.

I know hurt people, hurt people, but I do not understand when someone who has been hurt will tear apart the people who have stood by them and loved them and do whatever they can to dishonor their family.

I have been hurt, deeply, to the core of my being, but I never let it destroy me or the people who stood by me during that time. I internalized a lot of my hurt and maybe that is where my recent outburst of reactions is coming from toward those that have long been trying to destroy my husband, my children and my family.

And it is hard for me to speak my mind and not have a resolution to the situation. It is hard for me to be cut off from their lives by their choice because they are family. And it is hard for me to stand by my husband's choice to cut ties with his daughter and mother, when I feel that I spun the whole situation out of control by my actions and reactions. But, I will honor his decision and pray that the truth is revealed in God's time, in His way and for His glory.

I am thankful that I have found my voice, but I want to be able to use it in the right way, for the right reasons, to be at peace when I use it and know that it is helping others to heal, not hurt or be hurt.

    

Never Be

When I said "I Do" to my husband, I was not just entering into a relationship of holy matrimony, but I was entering into new ground as a wife and mother. My 9 years of being a single mom ended that day and instead of one child, I had now had 3. Three children, ages 9, 9 and 5 that all desperately wanted a family where two parents loved each other and Jesus and were committed to being together forever. And my husband and I gave them that. Twelve years later, we love each other and Jesus and are committed to being together forever. But, that in and of itself was not enough.

J longed for a Daddy who was present every day. Who would be at every sporting event, play catch with him, do homework with him and remember his birthday. Someone he could count on and look up to, knowing that he was loved and wanted. And Rick gave him all of that and more. But, it wasn't enough. He never wanted to take the place of J's biological father and his father made sure he never did. Spewing lies and empty promises, casting doubts and division. He did not want to be what J so desperately needed, but wasn't about to let anyone else be it for him, either. And that was enough to weaken the foundation we so carefully built for our blended family. J's behaviors and choices changed and he would soon reap what he was sowing. And in turn I would question everything I had done and blame myself and cheat the younger children out of being the mother I needed to be for them.

D and C never had a mother that was anything but selfish. She didn't even want custody of them. She pushed Rick away with her infidelity and shattered her children's dreams of a happy childhood. The physical and emotional abuse was horrifying, causing D to grow up too fast and delve into things unspeakable for a young child. C would carry with him the wounds of an abused child and sibling, causing him to hate the only person that ever fought for him. The lies of a mother would erode the relationship I tried to cultivate with them, never wanting to replace their mother, but wanting to give them stability and love, protection and guidance to only have them turn their backs on the only family they had known for most of their lives.

I do not regret saying, "I Do" that day and I do not regret the times I bathed them ,washed their clothes, drove them to activity after activity, held them as they cried and watched them leave. But, Mother's Day makes me sad, because even though they do not think of me as a mother to them in any sense of the word, I mourn for the family we will never be. That I always imagined we would.  

Letter to My 16 Year Old Self

Dear Marlen –

I so wish I would have been able to tell you the things I am about to tell you. There is so much I wish you would have known, but I am also thankful for your innocence and love for life.

You are so sure that you are in love right now and I know you care deeply for the Boy, but it is not love. Much of it is lust and a desire to be wanted and needed. Guard your heart and your body. Don’t give that part of yourself away to the Boy. You will not be able to emotionally handle the consequences of having sex with him. It will not bring you closer or guarantee that he will not leave you. I know that you feel committed to him, that you could be with him forever, but you are not married. That type of relationship is for a husband and wife. Do not be fooled by your lust and emotions.

Continue to sing and sing a lot. You have a good voice and have the ability to do even better. Keep practicing and just sing. God loves your praise and worship. And dance. Often. I know your spiritual leaders would encourage it, but God loves to see you dance. It not only allows you to express yourself, but it is helping you exercise and be healthy.

Stop worrying so much about your spiritual walk such as am I reading my 3 chapters a day or spending 15 minutes in prayer and going to church and visitation? Don’t check things off like 5 steps to holiness. Cultivate a relationship with Jesus. Love on Him and let Him love on you. Read His Word and pray because you want to be intimately close to Him, not because it is expected by those around you, but because you love Him.

Don’t let anyone talk you out of breaking up with the Boy. When you decide to write that letter, stand by it. You do not have to stay with him if you know in your heart it is not right. Let him go, let him grow. If it is right, God will bring you back together. You will survive without him and he will survive without you.    

Enjoy spending time with your friends and your sister. Your time with them is short, but you are cultivating friendships that you will have and need for a lifetime. Don’t take advantage of their kindness and loyalty. You will need each other. You can learn many things from them. Pay attention to their strengths and weaknesses and encourage each other to do your best and choose right.

You are just as beautiful and talented and smart as anyone else in your class or at youth group. Do not compare yourself to anyone else. You are uniquely created by God. You are well liked and that is great, but do not dwell on having to be liked by everyone. Some people will not like you and that is okay because they are not the type of people you will want to have as your friends. Your friends will love and accept you and you need to let them be enough.

When your older sister moves away and gets married, you will be sad and that’s okay. She has been your best friend and anchor for a long time, but it time to let her go and let your relationship with her change. You need to not put so much weight into her opinions for your life. She loves you, but you need to remember that you and God know what the best is ultimately for you. Ask Him for advice more than her. 

Your choices at 16 will greatly impact your future and good and bad, they are what they are. Try to let go of the past and look at the present, only glancing at the future. Try to live in the moment, enjoying your youth and not rushing yourself along to grow up so fast. Soon enough you will be an adult and you will long for school and weekends, late night phone calls and slumber parties.

And in case you’re wondering, your love for teaching will remain strong and you will become a second grade teacher. Keep studying and preparing for college. You are going to love learning and getting your degree. But, it won’t be easy. Focus and stay the course. It will be worth it.

Oh, and let that boy serenade you in the cafeteria and don’t be embarrassed. He only wants to share his talent with you and hear someone clap for him. Those staring at him and you are really jealous. To be so lucky to have a friend and admirer like him doesn’t come along often. Enjoy it.

Love – Marlen

PS – Your braces will be off in time for Senior portraits, so stop worrying! 

Fear that Fuels

When I was pregnant I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid of what people would think of me when they found out I was a single mother. I was afraid to have the baby, afraid of the hospital and the delivery. I was afraid of my water breaking when I was singing in the choir or at the grocery store. I was afraid of being alone.

But, the thing that I never thought about when I was pregnant is what scares me the most now. That my family, that my children will never live lives that honor Jesus.

My oldest son was practically born in the church. He grew up in the nursery, attended Sunday school and  children's church, went to a Christian school until 4th grade. One of his first words was preach and Jesus was his best friend. He sang the words to Jesus Loves Me and knew the difference between Jesus music and devil music. He asked to wear a suit on Sundays and fell asleep with his Bible storybook by his side.

He prayed every night for a Daddy and a family, for brothers and sisters and in 1999 I met his stepdad, who was a single father with a daughter my son's age and a son four years younger. I was so thankful that he was getting the Daddy he prayed for and siblings, too. When we married in the summer of 2000, it was with promises of love and God's blessings.

My stepdaughter and stepson got saved and baptized within the first few years of our marriage. They woke up to Veggie Tales on the TV, praise and worship music on the way to anywhere and family devotions around the dining room table each night. When they were with their mom on weekends they would call for my husband to pray with them and we'd pick them up for church.

All of the children got involved in youth group and VBS, mission trips and my stepdaughter confessed to wanting to be a singing missionary veterinarian so she could sing and minister to people and animals in China.

My husband and I were in awe of how God was working and changing in all of our lives. It was refreshing and encouraging to have a blended family with children that wanted to live for the Lord and loved each other.

We added to our family in 2002, moved to a new neighborhood and the oldest children started middle school. And everything shifted.

As our family dynamic changed, the older children began to change as well. They began to stretch and grow in ways that made my momma's heart proud and in ways that made that same heart weep. They were no longer innocent and sheltered from the hardness of the world, but thrust right into it, embracing it at times, pushing their roots aside and taking down new roots in dangerous and damaging territory. The weeds grew right up around them and even though their foundations had been sure in His Word, they began to choose things contrary to what I had prayed and dreamed for them. For what they had prayed and dreamed for themselves.

There was theft, tobacco use/abuse, sneaking out, lies and promiscuity. Events began to spin out of control, fueled by sin and selfishness leaving a path of hurt and destruction that would forever affect our family.

One of the things I had forgotten when I prayed for our blended family to become a functional, growing, spiritually distinct unit is that the older children do not just have the genes of my husband and myself. They also share the DNA of parents that have distorted their values and opinions with selfishness and abandonment. They were encouraged to lie by the other parent, birthdays and holidays were missed, money was used to secure visits and affections.

All of this was damaging and started to peel away the layers of a Godly foundation we had fought so hard to lay and secure for them. But, a person's spirituality is not built on another's and our older children are responsible for their own relationship with their Savior.

My heart is broken over the wayward lives of my adult children, but I can no longer feel like I missed something or could have done something more or better to secure they stayed on a path of righteousness. That is a path they can only keep themselves on or choose to veer off of by their choices and lifestyles.

Daily my prayer is the same for each of them to leave the sin that has beset them and turn their hearts and lives back to a loving Savior Who is graciously waiting for them.

I am still fearful that I may never rejoice in the fact that all of my children walk in the truth, but I am choosing to cling to the hope that God can and still does redeem and restore.
              

Things in Motion

I am sure that both of us had very different plans for the future. I imagined college degrees, followed by white picket fences and church ministry. He imagined working hard, getting married, having babies and a boat.

I wanted to teach in a Christian school. He wanted me to be a nurse. There wasn't any money in Christian education he countered, look at how my mom struggled. His mother, a single mother, teaching in a Christian school, trying to keep her children from being part of the majority of single parent homes. She pushed him to be the man of the house, wanting him to grow up faster than he needed to, rescuing him from any and every situation that could teach him natural consequences or hardship. She hadn't married his father and knew it was the best thing for him. A father on drugs and in and out of jail was not the man she envisioned to help her raise her son. But, she had given him his name. To remind him or to remind herself, I am not sure, but it always plagued him. To have a namesake of a man he wouldn't know until it was too late for him to have or need a father, too late for him to know how to be a father to his first son.

We were laying in the grass on the side of my house, looking at the stars. He quietly confided in me that he hated his father for leaving and never be a part of his life, how he'd seen him passing by his yard in his car as he stood in his backyard, knowing that he had a connection to the man in car, but not knowing how. How when he showed up at work with a little girl on his hip introducing her as his sister and he was his father, how he wanted to hit him. "I would never abandon my son. Never. I can promise you that", he had whispered.

We both made promises to ourselves and to each other. Many times those promises were not intertwined and   would later unravel around the birth of our son.

When I finally made the verbal declaration that I could not, would not marry him, he left. He was hurt and heartbroken, his vision of our future shattered. His mother would respond with a letter, so fiercely defensive stating that he would not support me in my pregnancy, but be a father to our child once it was born. She made it clear where she stood, where he stood and where I would have to stand. On my own and with God on my side.

My family and my church became my strongholds. Their love and support for me was amazing. It was not easy to be a young unwed mother on campus or at church or even at family gatherings, but having their support made it bearable. I spent long hours in prayer and God's word, crying and pleading for direction and guidance and I know that God had allowed me to be on the path that I was, but I longed for him to be there, to care about me apart from our child. I knew I had caused him immeasurable hurt and that I couldn't reverse it. I just wanted someone to hold me and tell me that it was all going to be okay. And Someone did. God became by companion and held me through the sleepless nights.

My older sister came to live with us during my last trimester. We took college courses together and she literally pushed me through the semester, driving to on campus classes, recording the telecourses, taking notes, typing up my papers. She also became my defender against him hurting me or me dwelling on my pitiful thoughts of loneliness. She was my labor coach and my friend. She reminded me during the tough times that I was not alone and that I could and would get through this.

As soon as my classes were finished and my taxes were filed for the year, at 10 days overdue I went into labor. I had determined that I was going to have a natural birth to prove to myself that I could and to remind  myself of the consequences of my sin. I felt like I deserved to feel all the pain and discomfort of labor as a reminder of the hardship that I had put everyone through over the last 10 months. I leaned into the Lord and allowed Him to bring me through the hard hours of labor and into the exhilarating process of motherhood.

On March 17, at 7:39 PM my son entered the world. Weighing in at 7 lbs 14 oz and 21 inches long he already bore the weight of the situation on his little shoulders. His birth set things in motion. In a way and at a speed that would again alter the lives of the people who conceived him and those that had grown to love him before he even entered the world. And his life would be affected the most.                    

Under the Shadow of His Wings

I was two weeks late, but chalked it up to the stress of starting college and trying to break off my engagement. I had been super tired and just feeling off, but I didn't want to admit that I could be pregnant. I knew it was a possibility, but I couldn't wrap my brain around the possibility.

A dear friend drove me to a nearby clinic and waited in the waiting room for me. I watched a video about the miracle of life and I was just numb. I walked to the bathroom down the hall to collect my urine sample, passing several business men in the hallway with my plastic cup. I waited for the young volunteer to complete the test and what should have taken several minutes yielded results in seconds. It was confirmed. I was 9 weeks pregnant.

My friend cried when I told her the news and we drove to the grocery store to get another test. The cashier asked if it was a happy occasion and I just smiled a weak smile. We went to one of her friend's houses, not wanting either of our parents to know what we were doing. I was only 17 and having to tell me parents was becoming a scary reality.

The second test confirmed what we already knew and I called him at work to ask him to come and see me, that we had to talk. He picked me up and we went to a park. I told him and he said he knew. He seemed satisfied and happy. I was numb.

We went back to my house and didn't tell my parents. We just watched TV for awhile and then he went home. I decided that I would go see my friend and youth pastor's wife in the morning. I am not sure that I even slept that night.

I skipped class the next day and went to confide in my friend. I couldn't even get the words out, only tears. She had been in a similar situation and knew exactly how I was feeling. She cried along with me and advised me not to wait to tell my parents.

I went home and let me parents think I had been at school. I was so tired and was starting to feel the weight of the whole situation. I was scared and uncertain. I could not believe that this was happening to me. I was in college, in the church choir and girls' group, had just received the Christian Character award at graduation and had made the decision to break off my engagement. I could not have this baby. I could not be pregnant.

Talking to him made things more confusing. He wanted to get married right away. He would tell his parents and I would tell mine and then we would decide what to do next. I didn't want to get married, especially when  I was certain we needed to break our engagement. I regret not telling our parents together. But, I wasn't sure how my father would react and wanted to protect him.

I was sick the next day and my mother was sure it was a stomach virus. I knew it wasn't. I had decided to wait to tell my parents when my father got home from work. It was his birthday and I didn't want to ruin it, but I had waited long enough. The last two days, knowing and not being able to tell them was torturous.

I read Psalm 51 over and over until they were both home. I let me father eat his celebration dinner and then I told them. It was a mix of emotions, tears and questions, silence and accusations. I was at an odd place of peace, finally being able to share my secret, exposing my deepest fears and newest heartache.

I never wanted to disappoint them. I wasn't sure what they would even say, but was so thankful that they offered their support. They said they would support me if I decided to marry him, if I decided not to marry him, if I decided to place the baby for adoption...whatever I decided, they would support me.

The next few days were the hardest I have ever had to deal with up to that point in my life. I went from a scared young girl to a scared young woman overnight. I had to tell our pastor and our church, my college professor and my older sister. It was overwhelming for me and yet I chose to do it alone. I hadn't yet told him  that I would not marry him, but had decided with my actions of keeping him out of everything that I had indeed chosen to do this on my own. I regretted not being able to trust him enough or love him enough to marry him, but I couldn't. And that drove him away and he would never return to be the father his child needed.              

Rewriting My Story

I still remember the first time I saw him, standing in the doorway. I remember his eyes and his sideways smile. I remember the second time I saw him, standing by the windows, ball cap on, jeans and a t-shirt. I remember thinking I'd like to date him.

I had gone through the whole "making circumstances turn my way" so, I decided to wait on the Lord and pray a lot. And it didn't hurt to talk to his younger sister and best friend about how I felt about him. But, I mainly wanted it to be right with God before I let myself believe it was right for us to be together.

There were doubts among his friends due to his recent bout with alcohol and drugs. There was concern for how his mother would treat me. I was definitely not a party girl and could not see myself with someone wrapped up in all of that. His mother didn't scare me, but inspired me since she was a teacher. I loved helping out in her class and didn't mind at all that she was a strict, concerned single mother wanting the best for her son. I hoped and prayed I would be, could be part of that best that she desired for him.

Apparently, I was and when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I accepted with anxious anticipation of what our relationship would hold. I had never dated someone like him - soft spoken, polite, respectful. He was so talented on any ball field, holding everyone's attention during soccer and basketball games. It was an honor to be his girlfriend. He was well known among his peers and adults alike for his quiet spirit, involvement in his church's bus ministry and his athletic ability.

I expected so much of our relationship since he was the first Christian boy I had ever dated. I dreamed of dates starting with heads bowed in prayer, reading Scriptures together on park benches, attending youth activities and naming future children after Biblical figures.

Reality hit pretty hard and fast when before our first official date he was detained at the school for possible drug possession and intent to sell. Three students were involved and two were expelled. His mother plead his case and he was allowed to stay. Instead of heeding this as a warning, I longed to help him, find out what would make him want to turn to drugs and away from God and see him change. That desire would prove to be harmful in so many ways.

No one can be someone else's Holy Spirit. If someone does not want to change, no one else can make them. Only God can take a heart and turn it toward right. As much as I prayed, as much as I gently encouraged him there was so much hurt and misunderstanding in his heart and mind that he wasn't able to turn from the past and toward what God had planned for him for the future.

Our relationship had not started out as a physical one. It took him a month to even kiss me goodbye. But, when we consciously made the decision to delve deeper into an intimate relationship it happened quickly. Lust is not love and when a relationship turns to be mostly about sneaking away for a sexual experience, it deadens the quiet whisper of the Holy Spirit, it hinders the prayers of a conflicted heart and it compromises the decisions and futures of its participants.

And that is what we became. Participants in a relationship that was primarily about the next time we could sleep together and less about growing closer to Christ and deeper in love with each other. We allowed ourselves to be tricked into believing that a future promise of marriage allowed us to act like a married couple. We abused the free will God had given us to choose to be pure until our wedding night and it destroyed our relationship.

After graduation, it became apparent that we were traveling down very different roads, that we wanted completely different endings to our fairy tale romance. He wanted to be free from his parents and out of his house as quickly as possible. I wanted to pursue a college career and to renew our promise of purity, to wait to get married until we were financially ready. I asked him to take a break, to allow us to have some time to figure out if we really wanted the same things or if we needed to break off our engagement and go our separate ways. He was devastated and insisted that we stay together, but agreed to take some time, to give me some space. Two weeks later I found out that I was pregnant.

                         

Just Words

I can remember story time being one of my favorite things about school. In kindergarten, I loved listening to Mrs. McCormick read stories to us and then my friends and I will act them out during centers and free time. My mother was always reading a book and every birthday and Christmas seemed to include some new book or series. I would breeze through Nancy Drew, Encyclopedia Brown, Little House on the Prairie...any book I could get my hands on would be devoured quickly with anticipation of the next one.

I loved writing stories, too. And poems. I loved Miss Yate's 4th grade language arts class because she was always having us write stories about being an eraser on a pencil, or about who our hero was, writing haiku or acrostics of our names or a holiday. I always waited anxiously for the literary magazine to come out at the end of the school year, so I could see my name in print under a story or poem or if I was lucky several of my writings may be published.

In middle school, I started keeping a folder of all my poems, turning some of them into songs. I still have the folder and can still sing one the poems/songs.

In high school, I went from writing to acting. I was in several dramas and loved the challenge of memorizing the lines, the nervous excitement of being on the stage, the reaction of the audience and the applause. I dabbled in writing plays for a bit, but pushed all of it aside when I fell in love.

I forgot that my writings were not merely words, but part of me, representing who I am and who I wanted to be. They have never been just words.

Friend, Where are You From?

I am from an green antique writing desk, from yellow counter tops and black and white checkered bathroom tile.

I am from the white house with black shutters and the big porch that smells of Thanksgiving dinners - turkey, stuffing and all the trimmings. I am from the lilac bush in the corner of the front yard. The Japanese red maple tree whose long limbs I have never been allowed to climb and explore.

I am from Christmas cookies baked and stored in pillow cases and potato chip cans and celebrations with an abundance of food and laughter, from a hardworking father, a dedicated mother, sisters by birth and friends by choice.

I am from Saturdays full of morning chores, Friday nights full of pizza and Sundays full of worship and napping.

I am from "If you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all" and "You make a better door than a window" and "Hang on Slopey, Slopey Hang On".

I am from doughies with King syrup and crabs with Old Bay.

I am from Baltimore, England, Germany, Ireland and Hungary. I am from 57 varieties, like Heinz ketchup, from macaroni salad and walnut cake.

I am from a boy who gets a duck for Christmas to have for dinner on New Years' and telling stories that make others wonder what is true and was it for pure entertainment, from corny jokes and tickle fights, from family portraits hung over the fireplace mantel.  

I am from Catholic traditions turned Baptist conversions turned relationships with a Savior. From a small Christian school by the bay and a 2nd grade classroom by the highway.

I am from single motherhood and bedtime prayers for a daddy and a family, from an outside wedding in bare feet and a new home 1300 miles away from all I have ever known.

I am from a brown and orange home, from following the voice of the Father back to a white house with black shutters and a big porch.

I am from the promise of restoration and redemption and peace. I am from a heavenly Father and a heavenly home for a purpose that has yet to be fulfilled.

**Post inspired by this talented gal and this amazing writer.

Starting is the Hardest Part

Today, I was inspired by a wise and wonderful woman to start writing my story. Today, I was reminded by a gentle and affirming gentleman that I have an important story to tell. Today, I was encouraged by a trusted new friend that I do not have to be afraid of my story. Today, I choose to believe my faithful, loving Father and write my story, knowing I have a purpose and a legacy to leave, that I have purpose and a life to live.

Today, I will begin.