What if a person was in a meeting and another makes a seemingly off-handed statement,  quite matter of factly as if it was common remark, yet it is a quote so relevant and meaningful, that the person wanted to stop all the good and orderly things going on just to create some space in silence to ponder.  What if that person, myself, came near to tears at the truth of it.   I wanted to put the world on pause, like a moment from a movie, when all the characters and action suddenly stopped while one character wondered about and processed inner thoughts aloud.

 But it was as if no one has heard, or everyone present else knew it.

Really?  Really.

So here it is for me to chew and devour as I like.

"For me, justice is just another word for healing."  Chris Woodhull

Geez!  Where does the evening go?  Rushing by me into the plethora of big girl responsibilities.
Doing better this week loving the unlovely,
 because
I have been loved so well.
Valentine's Celebrating lasted days, not just one, and I was utterly lavished.

Saturday I acted like a grown up.  Had a quaint dinner with friends and went for drinks afterwards, just like in the movies.  We attended to the Library, a tiny bar at the Oliver Hotel in downtown Kville.  The drink menu displayed in an encyclopedia, and the cheery beverages were named for literary characters like The Mr. Darcy and The Artful Dodger.  I had my first Mojito(s), and I'm sure I'll have another or several others in the future.  The fanciful woman who named all the drinks and I had a hoot of a conversation about an art film director stuck on realistic characters whom I said she could find at the Broadway Kroger anytime, day or night.  As usual, the company of friends and my love were delightful. 

Tonight has been spent thinking, washing and scrubbing.  Peace come down rather suddenly with a serious infection on his hip which may even be mrsa.  This was discovered after a trip to the ER, lancing, and a double whammy of vancomycin. YIKES!  All clothing, bedding, towels in laundry and bathrooms disinfected tonight.  I don't know if he meant to leave it out for me, but I read a stunning piece of fiction Peace wrote for class.  That young man can write. 

My girl, Pooh Bear, continues to reel from her life with divorced parents.  I had my usual Thursday elementary school lunch in which the beginning was spent welled up in her tears.  She has needs we cannot find ways to meet, so I'm doing my best to encourage her through it all.

Wise One continues on a steady path of good.

I'm at my usual loss for words concerning Tater.  One minute, he's calling me names which raise the hairs on the back of my neck. The next, he is saying, "Hey, momma.  What's up?"  and laughing. 

Work has been a different and better ballgame with the event of a wonderful, steady, thoughtful new boss.  And with the inappropriate co-worker moved out to another department, I could not ask for more.  Except money.  More money.  And benefits.  Those are always welcome.

Looking forward to a weekend with my love and children.  Also have the privilege of sitting in on a friend's discernment committee for priesthood.

I'm not inspired to write about anything in particular.  I'll just journal thoughts for the day.  I'm struggling.  Wrestling and not winning at loving the unlovely.  For example, a neighbor has let his chaos loose on my home by not taking care of his own business.  I sat in church Sunday praying for him and for my heart to bless his home instead of all the curses I've been shooting through my glaring eyes his way and in my wicked thoughts.  There is another person I shall not be rid of who has tortured me endlessly with thoughtlessness,sarcasm, carelessness and blatant unkindness.  I've prayed for my heart to let go for a long while now, and for the first time in a very long time, I saw a little light...but not in myself.  Hoping it's something of not giving up on asking for God's help.  I've had another setback with someone I love dearly and again have no recourse to change the situation on my own.  I'm not fond of single womanhood and it's multitude of impossible responsibilities. Of all issues, money and car problems cut me to the core, and it's been a few months chalk full of 'em.  Not fond of fraction homework either.  Too many balls get dropped I never knew existed and certainly did not want to lose.  Plenty do single so much better than myself.

   I do have some blessings in my life now for which I am grateful. My son, Wise One, continues to do well. The friends he stayed with last spring and summer got him firmly past his disdain for this, his family. He is actually fun to be around. More blessings. I now have two particular people who daily look out for me and my best interest in practical ways.  Pooh Bear has a "second mother", Miriam.  Miriam does not let her own set of excruciating personal challenges stop her from being available when we are in need, desperate or otherwise.  I remember crying on her front porch when I realized I couldn't be there for Pooh Bear in a hard situation, and Miriam stepped up to the plate with, "As long as I am around, your daughter will always be taken care of when you cannot."  My other person is a man who is teaching me about true love and faithfulness as I've never known before.  He gives sound advice without ever telling me what to do. He is a great listener.  He rescues me (and my children) from difficult situations at times. I appreciate his perspective on the trials of single fatherhood, so I might gain understanding and compassion where I lack. He can fix anything, and says he intends to fix me.  He knows how to make living fun, free, and easy.  Balances out my high strung, intense, volatile personality.  
 

Monotonous

I answer the phone
Sweetly
Conjuring interest in an unknown caller

I may know this soul,
or it may be a stranger.


Today I am a receptionist.

May I help you?
With whom would you like to speak?
One moment please.
Certainly.
Fascinated for the second of connection.
Lingering is not accomplishing.
Friendly, only brief.
I am not permitted tbe time to
ask about the wife
who has cancer,
or the child's graduation.
That would gum up the whole process
now wouldn't it?
Love must be given in a snapshot.
No feature length films today.

I have the time and will to write for the first time in a long while and I've cut my finger badly tonight.  Ironic.  My children have flown the coop to see their dad suddenly, and I have the evening alone.  I have thanksgiving fixings to tend, but it's a rare thing not to have a young person about to tend these days.
   It's been a challenging day having gotten a call from the high school that one of my sons is suspended from school...third time in a year and half...for skipping class and breaking a mirror in the rest room.  I don't even know what to say except, "His dad will be at the disciplinary hearing next week."  My hands are utterly tied and my spirit hurts for my son.  Without proper support I've nowhere to mend with him.
  A friend at work asked me about divorce and children.  I told him it was the worst possible thing to do to them.  No doubt about it.  I also explained in my case that I would have to have given up personhood to stay married.  He looked at me with a question mark clearly between his eyes, but it's all I could or would muster.  My children suffer deeply. In the last year, I  nearly lost everything with another of my sons,  Thanks to an incredible family's support and loving care, the same young man smiles and enjoys life everyday now, whereas last year he spent the year in such a dark place.  I'm so very grateful to spend thanksgiving in brighter space with him.

  

Need to clear the cloudy fish tank of my mind with some writing. My blog is a place where I write lessons learned, and I'm learning some big new things about myself lately.  First of all, I figured out in the last few weeks that I'm not as healed as I thought.  In exploring friendships with men in particular, I've got a long way to go. I wouldn't allow myself male friendships to protect my marriage which I believe is appropriate, but somewhere along the line I stopped being open to any depth with the opposite sex.  Thankfully, I have a few good men around who are kind enough to work with me now.  In some ways, it's torn open some old deep wounds, and now I'm am figuring out how to stop the bleeding.  I am conflicted about how to proceed.  Last week in church, I was listening about one friendship in particular and God clearly spoke, "This is a gift for your healing."  Really?  How can this be?  I know it's stirred up a hornet's nest in me of lack I'd experienced in marriage.  I've doubted myself as a woman through heartbreaking words and actions done there.  Last week, I was told I needed to wipe that slate clean, and believe and trust in the lovely person that I am. I'm trying.  I really am.  I ask every day, "How can this be?"
   And on another subject, a while back in early April, my faith began to return.  Claire, J, and Dreamer gave a symphony of "I know you are mad at God, but it's time to get up and over."  They don't speak to one another, and I found it astounding they spoke to me in the same way in the very same week.  A voice of three had to be a Spirit thing, and I listened.  So, I dusted myself off from my four month long pity party, and stopped holding God responsible for all things hard or negative. I've sunk back into listening prayer and spiritual growth like a familiar old comfy easy chair.  It's a relief to allow myself to be a friend of God.  In hating God, I hated myself.  In loving God, I can look at my untidy self with the perspective of kindness again.

Where's the snow?  The promise of an unplanned break for tired children?
I suppose it blew all around us but not here. I hear Nashville got lucky.

I'm putting on the discipline to write, but not here. Here are my constant thought these days.

I struggle spiritually. everyday.  A friend suggested I'm joining the Saints in the
Dark Night of the Soul.  If that means the closeness I have always felt with God is gone, then it
must be so.  There wasn't a day in my life I didn't know I was God's favorite. until now.  Everyone
else seems to fit the bill. but not me.  I'm mired in the mundane without condolensces.  One day is not
better than another.  It's always the same. day after day.  The care I once felt is no longer present.

My pastor wondered in a lecture at the awe of how God holds every tiny atom together, and how if He let go, matter would simply fly into infinity.  I know he wasn't trying to suggest this, but all I could think was, "Oh, God. Please just let go of mine.  I don't mind to spread across the universe in a million little pieces."

If I have any faith, which is questionable, it is by pure force of will.

I need shelter.

I need shelter.

This home I make,
it is shelter.

But inside and outdoors noisy.
It’s beautiful,
(but or is it and?)
always  a bit imperfect.

The artistry of the saints surrounds me
in the woodwork,
silver spickets,
mosaic, paintings.
Talents shared.

I want to be swallowed up in

joy

here.

Sometimes, instead I’m tears.

My table, please
be rich,
blessed.
Each spoon prepared with love.
I don’t want to settle for bearable.

Beds bid fresh and warm as toast.
Sleep wraps my exhausted body.
My nightstand full of books,
And good intentions.
The clock reminds me to commit.

Colors whisper welcome.
Squash to greet.
A hint of lavender gravity.
Blue sky to soothe.

My children behave politely,
engaged
on good  days.  Other days,
some
Hate me.

The black wiry dog pants adorable.
I sweep mounds enough of his hair
to
Create
an entirely new creature.

My beloved
fireplace
burns peace,
A blanket for my empty arms.

Only baths and creams caress and care for my
aging skin. 

The white porch swing shivers in the
Wind.
I’ll only spend time with her
in the warm weather,
After daffodils.

Birds twitter to the feeder.  I don’t need to see them.  It makes
 My heart
Glad that they visit.
My grandmother’s spirit dwells there
as well.

Don’t ask me about
My work.
It weighs
Heavy.

I don’t share the longings of my heart
With any person
who can share them
Intimately.

I met with my spiritual adviser this afternoon. I have to force myself to believe it was a gift from God to his daughter- a daughter who feels like God shouldn't be giving her gifts.  My spiritual adviser is an old friend I've known for a hundred years, and thankfully I knew it was highly unlikely that I could offend him with the content of my current dark thoughts.  And very importantly, I knew he wouldn't care if I cried ugly.  Apparently, crying is the new important spiritual work I need to be about now.  My friend doesn't judge and condemn in these kind of matters; he's a rare gift of a person.  He can listen and hear with his heart. I explained to him the precarious state of my faith.  I spoke out loud, maybe the first time in my life, "I am angry with God. Why did He make me like this? Why can't I be a person who isn't so..."  But I am that person.  I am angry with God and the way I'm made.  And this horrible hand of cards I've been dealt.  I've never been happy to just go along with the crowd in bliss.  I'm not satisfied.  I want to

change....the....world....with who I am,

but I am not.  I've merely been surviving.  Not grieving.  Not growing.  My friend told me it was time to begin to dream again, and most of me staggered internally.  I can't live my dreams, so I've shoved them down completely.  Shut the door, put on my big girl pants, and walked away into the what-I-have-to-do-world.  The kind of atmosphere where I need to provide my own health insurance and retirement.  There's no room for theological study and contemplation or writing.  I have only time for work, menu planning, grocery shopping, laundry, times tables memorization,  cross country meets, football games, vaulting practice, teenage pep talks, reading aloud and spelling words.  Recently, I've opened my packed schedule for regular bouts of sobbing. After all that, there is no sacred space- only exhaustion. 

All I can manage now is hope deferred, and that's never a good thing. 

My assignments from this spiritual advising session seem to be meet again, read some inspiration, write and cry.  And somehow, this makes me feel a wee bit better.

Made it through the holiday season- barely.  Wise One took an emotional nose dive somewhere in November, and it has rocked, shaken, and tested my faith like never before.  It's official- not one of kids is "resilient" as they say.  Pooh Bear is the only one who hasn't gone through a time of utter hate for me and what I've done to our family.  She may some day when she is older.  It became completely overwhelming when all three boys hit that I-can't-stand-my-mom thing all at once.  I can't stand me either.  I'm emotionally and physically exhausted, and it shows in every way. 

  Wise One desperately needed an adolescent counselor, making a total of three kids in therapy with different counselors.  His counselor recommended Buck move to his own place to give Wise One a more definite sense of divorce.  Dr. G. explained kids are way more black and white, and it might help dig Wise One out the hole of depression he'd entered if he had more normalcy.  So, Buck  and Tater have moved.  Surprisingly, it has helped me enter some deeper healing I hadn't let myself do.  I can imagine it is the same for Wise One as well.  After two months of full on disgust with me, he gave me permission to clean his room tonight.  No small accomplishment, since he was sure he couldn't trust me with his stuff until now.  I spent hours weeding out clothes, sorting things, and collecting trash.  I wonder what his response will be tomorrow when he gets home from his dad's?

  Tater comes to visit a few times a week, and makes mayhem.  He spend the entire time saying, "That is stupid.  Dad lets me do that, and I don't have to do what you say anymore."  Terrific.  Hopefully, this will get better with time, since I tow the same line I always have. 

  Peace drove himself to work for the first time tonight.  He called me when he got there safely and when he left to come home.  God bless his conscientious heart!  I love his caution and carefulness.  His work is just a few miles down the road, but this is such a big accomplishment and relief to me to have another driver coming up in the ranks.  Last night, it worked out that I could take him to dinner alone, and we had the best heart to heart talk we've had in a long time.    I got to see a clear picture again that his compassion and kindness are still rooted firmly in place. 

  At times I wonder if the damage done to my children will be redeemed. Makes the gap, the chasm, in my faith more visible doesn't it?  If my children are redeemed, it obviously won't have anything to do with me- only the grace of God. Peace's conversation with me last night shined a little light on my dark heart. 

  I'm reading Angela Thomas' book My Single Mom Life  which a thoughtful friend gave to me along with a basketful of goodies for Christmas.  I am amazed at her insight and perspective.  She's spot on when it comes to feelings, and I'm trying my best to learn from her "lessons learned".  I'll pass the book on to the next single mom who asks...let me know if you think you'd like this type of good read.
 

Thinking things through lately about this different and beautiful life I'm creating and feeling like it's not where I'd like to be.  I've tied up a few loose ends this week knowing there is more end tying to come.  Still haven't sold the farm- not a great market for sellers at present.  It's a dangling bit of unfinished business I'd give anything to resolve.  Then there are the constant unraveling issues which arise with  children and their needs. 

I cannot be the mom I want to be. 

Peace needs to be looking seriously at colleges, and I don't have time to invest in that like I'd hoped.  I see him trying to be responsible for far too much, and I can't stop it.  Tater is in an okay place now but not much is being asked of  him.  He's trying on his skin and issues surrounding his race for the first time lately.  He's raised questions about having siblings he doesn't know.  Wise One shows shades of darkness I've never seen before, and I don't know where to go with that.  Pooh Bear says her stomach hurts all. the. time.  She didn't have any issues over the summer, but boy howdy, when school hit, she began hurting like the previous school year.  And it's not to get out of anything- it's her absorbing the stress and harshness of school. 

Thankfully, we have good counselors, but lately the amount feels overwhelming.  Three recent session in the last week and a half makes for other things going undone. I knew divorce would not be good for my children, and it is not. 

I want more time with my sons and daughter.

Last week, when I left work to watch Peace's last cross country race, he thanked me three. separate. times.  I eat lunch at school with Pooh Bear once a week, and that in itself breaks my heart.  We had all our meals together just last year.  If I want a conversation with Wise One, I have to ask him to remove his ipod headphones.  He's always been introverted, but I worry he's holding in too much. Tater at least needs me to give him rides to and from his plethora of sports and other activities, and he talks more than a girl to me.  However, his adoption issues get in his way daily.

 I miss the time I could devote to them, and now I have to tell myself, "God will have to take care of that" with not as much faith with which I'd like to pray.  And there is the general reduction of time for remembering my own spirit to boot.

 In so many ways, I'm blessed.  The boys are making it solidly through the teen years without hitting the big problems so far.  All are strong and decently centered people.  May God keep it so.

I didn't even know I needed to  hear them.  I didn't know how simple words could be so healing, and I didn't expect them.  In fact, I told myself that I couldn't need them, because one can't need what another might not have to offer.  But to my surprise, she gave her words away like the balm of Gilead applied to my hidden and grieving soul. 

"I'm so, so sorry." 

I would not allow myself to sink fully into that apology at the moment, because I only wanted part in it if it were true and sincere.  And after consideration and prayer, to whatever extent she could offer, the words are true and sincere.

It's enough for now.  Like daily bread.  And I'll allow myself to eat something wholesome and good for me.

Sundry Lessons Learned Lately

Squeaky toy + puppy + netflix= unsatisfying movie viewing experience.

Ipods can come back from the dead after being washed if placed in the freezer covered in dry rice.

Children are never too old to embarrass you at the store.

Fireplaces in the chill of fall are miraculous.

Brave people are rare. 

Sometimes people don't take responsibility for their own actions.

Sometimes justice isn't.

A river and a run give me peace.

Teenagers are the most hilarious inventions ever.

I wish I'd have watched LOST when it was on television. 

School can be rough on kids.

Freshmen football is kinda fun to watch, but I'm hoping for varsity games next year.

Make no bones about it, AP history is a college course even if taken in high school.

I bought a basil plant in Rugby, TN this spring and brought some inside.  I stuck it in a glass jar to use as needed in cooking, and it rooted without me asking it to or anything.  It doesn't flower, therefore it's always usable.  Who thinks it will remain alive for me all winter in my kitchen?

Tomorrow is October and I still have zinnias (and tomatoes growing madly) in my yard.

Hagrid, my very cute and precocious puppy. 

So, what's with the elderly lady who stopped Pooh Bear and I on my way out of a restaurant yesterday to ask about my GRANDDAUGHTER?  Really?  "Nope, not my granddaughter," I announced looking over my shoulder.

"A niece?", she called a bit louder.

"Unh-uh," I stopped.

"Little friend?" she ventured.

I faced the inquiring person.  "My daughter.  She's my daughter."  You can stop guessing now.  I'm insulted enough.  She looks like a mini-me, and besides, do I really look that old?  No. 

Her husband chided her while catching my eye, "That was mean. She's obviously not happy you called  her a grandma."

You got that right, old man.  I mean, I could be a grandma technically.  I'm sure there are plenty my age, right?

Pooh Bear explained to me as we exited, "When we get home you can dye your roots, Mom." 

So, it was a grooming issue after all. 

There is something so magical when a perfect stranger meets ones son and after an entire minute of talking declares something I'd already spoken.  Last night I took Peace to see Amadeus at the Clarence Brown.  A little opera, a lot of terrific acting, amazing dialogue, and a beautiful mix of the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra made up a fabulous evening to share with my son.

We were seated beside a woman we did not know.  She began to discuss texting and high school with my son.  She'd read about his school in the paper...it's getting rave reviews....She and Peace had lots to say about how he refuses to abbreviate and must use proper grammar while text messaging. She blurted out, "Do you like to write? Are you a writer?"  to which he answered, "Yes."  Then she looked straight at him and asked, "Would you think about becoming a journalist?"  I know Peace thought I'd secretly met her previously, bought her seat beside us at the play, and paid her to propose this question, because I've been talking to him about this very career for a year now.

Just last week, we talked to Barishynikov, a family friend, who has a degree in journalism.   Bary advised Peace to pursue something else as he sees the world of journalism has fallen mercilessly into the hands of blogger and other shady such characters.

I find it remarkable that Peace could get such a direct question from a stranger at a play in such a brief conversation.  I enjoy his writing.  Always have.  His depth astonishes me.  I admire who he is becoming.  I pray he finds his path, and it's straight to the heart of God and impacts humanity in the way he is made.




 And on a completely different note:  how is that this happened at the play as well?  Another woman let us pass by on the way to our assigned seats, and I bellowed a nice friendly and confident, "Hello, where do I know you from?"

She replied, "I work at St. Mary's."

"Nope, that's not it.....ummm.....did I sit by you at the circus in the winter while you took pictures for your grandkids?"

"Yes.  How on earth did you remember that?"

Long silence....

"I have no earthly idea, but nice to see you again.  I'm a little dumbfounded."

A dear friend of mine explained some things to me over dinner the other evening.  She told me she drew strength from my strength over this year.  Her being such a capable, creative and beautiful person, I took this as an amazing compliment. In our conversation, she observed how she had personally struggled with being down, and was looking for a way out to something better.  She met with a counselor who jarred her into turning from seeing the sadness and moving toward gratitude instead.

I've wondered since our conversation if I had I put this principle intentionally into practice myself during my rough patch.  After consideration, I think I have. From the start of August 23, 2009, I adopted a way to make gratitude a way of living.   I realized fearful, hopeless, or blaming thoughts could get stuck me in the mud, spinning my wheels madly over something or someone I could not change.  So, I began to take the proverb of "No one can change anyone else.  One can only change oneself." to heart.  In fact, I bought myself a ring to replace my wedding band with the Ghandi quote, "Be the change you wish to see in the world."

Here's something of the thought life plan I implemented. If I was stuck and finally realized it, I'd identify the feeling.  Next, I'd examine it (if I had the luxury of time) and allow myself to say, "Yes, this hurts.  I'm angry or incredibly sad that I'm in this position."  I understood if I ignored the feeling, that it stayed with me- stuffed waiting like a snake in the bushes to strike at the next person who irritated an already irritable me.  Next, I'd capture the thought each time it came again, and sent it away more and more quickly.  Usually, I prayed for a "what next?" step to take instead.  For example, a thought of one of the participants in the demise of my marriage would haunt and I'd find myself trapped in "what I'd tell them if..." I'd take time to get to the bottom of the feeling, sad, mad, hurt and allow myself to feel it, "Is this what you wanted for me God?  Do these people not understand what they have wrought with their hands?  I am angry for what they have done to me personally. How could..." Eventually, I'd realize how no good fruit could come of the thought, much less the action, and I'd say, "God, what should I work on next?".    The answers were simple, "True, cull your all your stuff.  Everything you keep will be something you'll have to care for besides your children.  Things all need attention and these precious people will need all you've got."  This was a big work,  a long work, consuming....daunting at times. I goodwilled a googob of boxes, bags, and sold precious books thinking of a simple life with my children in the center.  This active process took my mind quickly from revenge toward creating my own beautiful life. 

When I've found myself down, I'll journal new things I wish to make of my life, or I'll return to previous notes I've made and work toward them.  It's a way to be active for my own good.  So, in a way, I set myself toward the positive, which I believe is related toward gratitude.

I am so very grateful for all that I am and have.

Crash Course in Compassion

So, this year has put me through a crash course in compassion.

There are many reasons haven't talked or blogged at all about my divorce.  One has been simply the embarassment of it all.  I heard many a version of "I saw that comin'" which only brought me greater pain than I was already experiencing.  I needed to hear at times, because it clued me into the depth of the issues.  Other times, I took the snide remarks concerning Buck as hurtful personal insults though I kept it all to myself.  I wanted nothing to do with bitterness which is where any amount of Buck bashing would have led.  I've found myself encouraging him in genuine ways instead, because divorce is such an ugly, harsh thing.  I've found my own encouragement in my faith, and God's grace seems to have been more than sufficient for me...sustaining and ever-present better describe His many gifts to me along the way.  And then there are the precious friends who have always been right alongside me, who never wavered in giving me much needed doses of love, respect, kindness, joy.  

But I've always had a chink in my armor-  I have a big problem with pity.  I loathe self pity. Pitiful people do not bring out the best in me, and I have to work very hard internally to be kind. I suppose I define pitiful people as adults who expect someone to take care of them and all their problems without personal action.  The last thing I'd ever like to be is pitied, and divorce is a swirling cauldron of gossip, blame and worse.  Divorced stay-at-home moms are an ultimate target of pity, "Poor True!  Are you going to have to WORK now and send all those children to the INSTITUTION of school?  Are you going to have to be apart from your children?  How will you make it financially?  Won't you be very lonely?  Can you make it without a husband?  If you are a Christian, why can't you just forgive him and stay married for your children?"  Upon hearing about my news, some well intentioned women felt compelled to explain to me how divorce could never happen to them.  I suppose the women weren't thinking how this shifts blame squarely upon me, as if I'd should been a better wife like them.  I did and still do lots of listening, little talking in these circumstances.  I'd already known for nine years there was no such thing as a fireproof marriage for me.

And I did some serious soul searching, as one might suppose.  I had to find a way out from all that pity to the surface where I could breathe.  From the start, I kept much to myself to stop all the chatter and suggestion for my life. Only with three friends and Jesus could and would I explore the depths of the "why me? and how?".   It has truly been enough to show me a clear path to my very own beautiful life.  No time or room for self pity.

In my examination of pity, I stumbled upon compassion.  I wondered why compassion seemed to work for me.  It certainly did not not leave the same bitter taste in my mouth.  Was it the element of sympathy or empathy at play which makes compassion something I'll allow for myself?  One day I posed the question to God who was faithful to answer.  The root of pity is paternalistic..."I'm in a better place than you that I'll never have to visit, and I feel sorry for you".  The root of compassion is community plus passion....:"let me walk beside you in community and have the same passion for your pain".  In pity, I am the lesser.  In compassion, I am an equal.  I felt tons lighter with this revelation. I've known and still know the comfort of dear friends, especially my friendship with Jesus, walking beside me in my difficult circumstance, acknowledging the injustice done to me, encouraging me toward strength, not dehumanizing Buck or minimizing my pain to reassure themselves.  What a gift.  I strive toward this gift for others instead.  May it be the work of us all.

Mosaic

After a year of keeping things under wraps here on my blog, I wonder if it's time to be more open.  Monday was the one year anniversary of the day the wheels fell completely off the old painted wagon of my twenty-one year marriage.   That day, I had to decide between looking square at myself with dignity each morning in the mirror, or sucking it up, again, and finding a way to live without having the value of a full fledged human being.  I'd already lived through humiliation and horror for all the years before, and for me, I couldn't imagine staying with something even God Himself gave permission for me to let go.

One cannot fathom the circumstances, weeping, and counseling which would lead a woman of faith like myself to choose divorce.  I'll spare you the details; some are simply unspeakable.

Though it was right and good for me to divorce, I know the worst of it always lands smack dab on children.  My boys and girl have been no exception.  I have never bought the idea that children are resilient, and I get hoppin' mad when people suggest such a thing. Divorce is damaging every. single. time. My three young men have struggled with their idea of a biblical manhood being shoved over a  rocky cliff and shattered into a million little pieces.  I've watched my oldest change from wide-eyed and hopeful to cynical and somewhat jaded.  He's going to have to shelve all he once knew and find a faith of his very own amidst deep pain.  My middle son with attachment issues has jumped off the deep end and gone places I'd always feared.  Imagine the fragmentation of one family, and then a second. My youngest son holds it all in and explodes likes fireworks on the fourth of July on rare occasions.  My daughter desperately wants one thing- parents who genuinely love one another in every way...something she'll never have. What did any child of mine ever do to deserve having his or her world torn asunder, only to watch while the two formative adults in their lives tape broken hearts and lives into separate pieces?  It's incredibly unfair and utterly disorienting.

Of course, being who I am, I have not done things the normal way 'round in hope and prayer.  Though it sounds absurd, I was so glad to have TV Jon and Kate providing a way for me to think outside of the box.  Jon and Kate made a permanent residence for their eight kids, so the children would have a HOME while the parents moved in and out themselves for visitation.  Buck and I struck an agreement to provide something less Hollywood for our children under strict guidelines.  Buck lives in an apartment in my new house, and we share parenting as our work schedules dictate. 

I've lived in a state of grace this year.  God has faithfully whispered His Will to me as I intently listened, and  He has provided all I have needed.  Buck and I are daily respectful of one another. We seek family counseling.  The cooperation between us has lead many to question the sincerity of my divorce.  Make no mistake. Just because I will not undermine the father of my children, I am divorced and have no intention of reconciliation. If anyone besides my children hopes or thinks otherwise, it is heaping insult to injury to me, and I will have none of it.

Now that I've come out with the story behind the story of the new mosaic of my life, perhaps I'll share more.  I have walked the road less taken of kindness and compassion in a world where revenge is the well traveled lane.  Perhaps I can lead others toward a better path. Who knows?

Two Three Letter Words from a New Puppy Owner

PEE


and 


Joy!