In the midst of the wreckage, make sure you don't miss the collateral beauty. Single, boy momma.
Thursday, September 14, 2017
Solo cup
The last time I was settled and at peace I was 22 years old living as a nanny in New York. And only then it was a partial attempt at peace and rest. It wasn't my home or my family or my car or my city or my state or my kids. But this was the last time I was settled. Pretty shoddy attempt.
For the past 18 years I have been living in a state of discombobulation. I lived with my parents before I married the first time in 2005. I suppose that was a firmer attempt at being stable than being a nanny in a different part of the country. But it was still shoddy.
I had three years of a tumultuous marriage. Katrina hit in 2005 and for the next three years we moved multiple times, finally settling into a house that we renovated. During the time of renovations, we were living in the upstairs Master suite (the only thing that was upstairs) and had our kitchen in an RV behind the house. And along with all of this was our difficult marriage...we were two very different people under a tremendous amount of stress. Even the best of marriages could not have made it through that without scars. I prayed for three years that I would have the peace to stay or the peace to go. One day I woke up and the door to leave was standing wide open. I walked through and didn't look back.
I lived with my parents for a few short weeks, then with a friend, then on the seminary campus, then found a house to rent. I met my second husband immediately. I had a roommate and we moved into another house a year later. I was married two years after I left my first husband. I moved into another house with my second husband. We bought a house and renovated it, moved in and had Brady shortly thereafter. We stayed in that house until our marriage dissolved into a sad puddle that could not be soaked up with Bounty. The duration of our marriage was again a tumultuous time. During all of this madness I was building a business. I had two little boys, a step daughter and a husband that I did not get along with. My brain was on overdrive.
I have lived in 12 houses in the past 12 years, 17 in the past 17 years. I am tired of moving.
When I moved in with my parents after leaving my second husband, I vowed to stay until my brain had calmed down again. There was no better place for me to take a time out. When I thought of my happy place, it was in my parents' living room in front of the fire. I was finally in a position to heal.
And that was what I did. I fought it for some time by being in yet another unhealthy relationship. But God smacked me in the face and forced it on me. He knew better than I what it would take for me to recover. And that was the absence of a significant other.
I remember my brother telling me when I was considering moving in with this erroneous mate that I needed to establish stability for my boys without anyone else assisting in this. At the time his words scared me and slightly infuriated me. I remember thinking that he had no idea what that meant...to be a single mom and be solely responsible for your children. Not just financially but in discipline, health, their spirituality, their emotional well being, their education. (side note: they are with their dad 50% of the time so this fear was only about when they were with me.) It was too much for me at the time to consider doing alone. I desperately needed a partner. Or so I thought.
Those words ended up aligning completely with what my picture of health would be. (I hate it when my brother is right... just sayin'...love you Poops...) It took my brother being honest and what I felt was slightly insensitive (at the time), and a man I was interested in telling me that I had too many red flags to date seriously to make me look at what I was terrified of facing. That I had chosen to walk a path that required my full attention and stability. And I ALONE had to fulfill this task.
I love my alone time. I crave it. I get grumpy when I don't have it. But actually being alone...not so great. I rely very heavily on the approval of others. I need affirmation more than I should. I can't make a decision about much without hashing it out with someone. So why in the world would I choose this solo road?
Because being solo is mandatory to my healing. God wants to arm me with the ability to make decisions without assistance. He wants to be the one who makes sense of my chaos. He wants to be the one to calm my tumultuous soul. This is no one else's task but His and mine. And whether I was aware of it or not, my decisions have brought me to this place where I am able and equipped to do this.
He is the one holding this Solo cup. I'll drink to that.
Friday, September 1, 2017
S'mores and raw fish
Divorce knocked the passion out of me. It's sneaky that way. You wake up one day and realize that you have absolutely no idea what is happening and no idea where you are supposed to go. You just know that you are in an empty house without a fire or wood to even start one, but mouths to feed. Confused, devastated, hopeless you drag yourself from where you were to discover new territory. You now have the task of creating a new homestead for you and your kids. But as much as you try, you cannot get the damn fire started. I wasn't a Girl Scout, so making fires is beyond my expertise. (If I was stranded on an island homegirl would be freezing but fit because my diet would be limited to raw fish.)
After months of no success, you finally see the beginnings of a flame. And with everything you have in you, you protect that thing to keep it from going out.
I think it's curious that EMOTION and FEELING are what makes us productive...passionate. Emotion is unreliable and testy...or so we've been told. We are taught to either stifle emotion or learn to not have any. The only really acceptable emotion is Joy, like in the "Inside Out" movie. My favorite thing about that movie is that it took Sadness to reconcile the situation.
Brady and I have had moments where we both just cried because divorce is just sad. I told him that it was OK to be sad and that it probably wouldn't stop being sad. But it was important for him to recognize that this isn't a great situation and to deny sadness would mean the situation would not be reconciled in his heart. And so we cried and were sad together. Sadness saved the day. And it was Sadness that once again started the fire of our new home.
The flood waters that devastated homes and businesses in Texas sent most Katrina survivors into that time when we were lost and without direction...passionless. You can feel it in the way people are behaving...you can sense it in the grocery store. The cashiers, the customers, probably even the produce is emanating the memories of the flood. You can see it on the news when the local anchors and weathermen/women reported the news. You can feel it even on social media...the sadness and overwhelming loss of control. I can't even look at pictures of the flooding from Harvey. If I did, I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room and I had forgotten how to breathe. Strangers were joined by this one feeling. Our city was bound together by Sadness once again.
So if emotion is necessary to ignite the fire of Passion, it is therefore also a necessary component of energy. It's what separates the successful from the unsuccessful. Chew on that for a bit....EMOTION drives us to produce.
This is a common theme in business also. We do not buy because of the product itself but because of the WHY behind it. I love Plexus because it has changed the kind of mom I am and whether or not I can provide for my kids alone. I love Jesus because I would be lost without Him. I buy dry shampoo because it gives me more time to spend on what is important...not my dang hair.
Passion makes me want to buy some marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers. Passion is a big ol' smore. Without it, my fire would never have gotten started (and I'd still be eating raw fish).
Monday, August 28, 2017
A Smell I'll Never Forget
Since being in trauma therapy, I'm more aware of how my body physically responds to stress. I pay attention to how shallow my breaths are, how tense my shoulders are, how alien my stomach feels. And every time I think about Texas, these symptoms descend on me.
My home was flooded in Hurricane Katrina. My husband at the time rode a boat to our front door. Our house was four feet off the ground and there was four feet of water in our home. We were newlyweds and had just bought our house. I was in Texas with my friends. Rob was on duty with the guard and was in the thick of it...rather, the depths of it.
I remember my return to the city. The landscape was gray and damp. Grass was overgrown, debris everywhere, houses and businesses torn apart, no one was on the road except a few cars. But the stench is what has stayed with me. It was the stench of rotting meat from all the refrigerators that had been without power for weeks. It seeped into the ground. It clung to you like a bad habit. It was paralyzing.
You don't really know at the time the impact that tragedy will have on you. Its tentacles extend for years...weaving through memories and experiences. It changes how you react to situations. It changes your personality. All without your full awareness that it's even taking place. The brain is an amazing thing...it adjusts and puts itself into self-protection mode to keep from being injured further. My guess is that we all have just a little bit, if not a lot, of brain damage.
I feel you, Texas. Even though I might be a bit brain damaged.
Friday, August 25, 2017
oh so quiet
Saturday, August 12, 2017
He can reach the sink....
I felt in that moment totally and completely helpless. Scared to death. It was worse than the feeling of coming home from the hospital with my first newborn baby. That was more of a panicky "WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST DO" feeling. But watching my 3 yr. old walk into a classroom, the first of many for many years to come of his little life....ouch...still takes my breath away.
Being a mother is an amazing, knotty, perplexing, disorienting gift...not even sure "gift" is the right term. It changes you in ways that you are totally unprepared for. And regardless of the many books you read, the many mothers who have gone before you that you surround yourself with, nothing. Prepares. You.
I became a stepmother before I was a mom. I adore that little girl. I was an extremely annoying stepparent because I was so totally caught up in being a part of her life that I overstepped. Often. If I had been a mom, I would have understood how precious and sacred that role is. But I wasn't. It was pretty great actually...I had the love without the paralyzing fear of being her momma.But now that I am a mom, I get to feel this crazy dichotomy of love/fear/responsibility. This crazy pain and fierce protection you feel for your kids. That initial instinct you feel of wanting to erase any pain they are experiencing. The urge to be a helicopter mom is intense. I have to force myself to let them figure some things out on their own. It's not an easy task. I'm a GET IT DONE QUICKLY kind of girl. So watching your kids struggle with a simple task teaches you an incredible amount of patience and self-discipline.
Being a mom has given me the ability to genuinely think of others before I think of myself. It just comes with the territory. Their well being becomes more important than your own. You have to work really hard at taking care of yourself as modern society instructs us to do (my nails and hair tell a different story because momma has mastered the self-care aspect).My youngest son went to the sink at my mom's house and easily reached the water to wash his hands. I was totally confused by this small action. When did he grow that much??? How many years have I missed?? Will he continue to get taller?? I AM NOT OKAY WITH THIS!!! I feel at times that I have lived my life as a parent in the urgency mode of basic survival. I'm just thankful when my kids are alive at the end of the day at times. Parenting is exhausting and requires constant motion and attention. And worry. I worry about their health, their friendships, their character, how they spend their time, their school work, their spirituality, their teeth. My mind doesn't stop thinking about them.
If my mind is constantly thinking of them, how the hell did I miss that he can reach the sink??????I'm currently concocting a remedy to this growing my boys insist on doing. So I don't miss the details.
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
French Pressed Columbian Roast
Thursday, July 27, 2017
Hot Cup of Conscience
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Beautiful Trauma
Sunday, July 16, 2017
Bottoms up!
Monday, July 10, 2017
Movin' on up
Saturday, July 1, 2017
old blog post...still relevant
I have a friend that responds the same way to my talking about Jesus. Every time I bring Him up, she turns it into a conversation about religion. Religion in our day has a negative sense. It means misuse of money, greed, power, sexual deviants, tediousness, judgement, condecension, overly opinionated people expressing themselves in political realms using their religion to justify their actions.
I find that we are not far from Jesus' day. We expected Him to come back to be a political leader, to release us from the oppression of the government. But He always side-stepped the issue of politics. He spoke about the heart, not the taxation of the government.
But we haven't knit Him only into our political views against His better judgement, we have also painted Him as a God who wants you only if you are worthy of having.
Now Christians will be the first to deny this. They believe they are extremely open & non-judgemental. But the opposite is true. They believe that if you don't become like them, then you are "lost." When they really have no idea about the state of your heart & your relationship with Jesus.You see, we have created a formula for what it means to serve God. We have put a big shiny ribbon on our best Bible memorizers, given deacons a big ol' grin & a slap on the back, praised those who always have religious jargon to give if you are in a pickle.
I am not in any way trying to diminish the importance of leadership in the church. As with all groups, leaders are necessary. I am, however, saying that we have given this a far greater importance than it is worth.Is it so hard to believe that there are people who come to church every now & then are just as close to Jesus as those who are there every Sunday? Is it unfathomable to believe that you can be a "good Christian" and not attend a church at all?
I believe it is. I believe that we have created people who feel they are serving only if they serve in a church. So what the outcome of this is that we are a people group who perpetuates itself...we have isolated ourselves from the world that we are supposed to be loving. We have set ourselves apart so much that our interpretation of the world is grossly mistaken & we are irrelevant. We have gotten stuck in a very sticky air bubble and can't seem to find our way out...or like the people in The Village (M. Night Shyamalan is my favorite) are too terrified to do so.
And if we do venture out, it is with the express purpose of witnessing to some poor soul, elevating ourselves to a greater position than the person whom we consider "lost." We have made people's souls our business. We have stuck our nose in, uninvited mind you, and placed a rubber stamp of what we consider as "saved" or "lost." They are "saved" if they go to church and "lost" if they don't. Then we proceed in a predictable manner after making our judgement. If they are "lost" we talk about Jesus to the point of idiocy & invite them to church, and throw around multiple religious phrases to bring them closer to Jesus...or to church, at least. If they are "saved" we are comfortable & free to be ourselves, so long as it is up to par and acceptable behaviour for a fellow Christian.
And when I say, "we have isolated ourselves from the world we are supposed to love" I do not mean the missionary type of love...that condescension of "I'll show you Jesus by not being myself but by being kind & soft-spoken & speaking only religious jargon." Loving people is messy. Loving people means you have given them the ability to hurt you. You have let them into your world, into your heart, into your thoughts of despair & anger. It is an equal love...they give to you, and you to them. It is exposed wounds, sweat, irritation, arguments, and phone calls late at night because you're afraid.
Missionary love does not look like that...it puts up a barrier because we really have no intention of getting to know these people whom we want to "save," or have them get to know us. We do not want them to add anything to us except possibly to increase our spirituality in a measurable way. We simply want to add them to our list of people we have rescued from the firey pit. This type of love is careful with what you say & do. It is constant guarding of your heart & mind. It is the kind of love a teacher has for her students...all one-sided & pious. Even when we are talking to people who have a higher IQ than we do & more life experience. How extremely arrogant of us.
I don't have it figured out. I'm just a girl who has been steeped in, marinated in, and soaked in the Baptist culture. I can tell you every Sunday School answer in the book. I have the plan of salvation buried deep in a place that would take me years to get to. But this has not aided me in life. It has given me a spring board upon which to make my decisions, but judgement of others has given me nothing but heartache & loneliness.
And then I think about Jesus, the author & perfector of my faith. And I know that He has it figured out. That I'm here simply to love Him as best as I can, and love others...love others equally, whether they are "saved" or not. (Being vulnerable & real with a person who is "lost" is quite refreshing. I recommend it if you've not tried it).
So for now all I know is...I love Jesus. But I drink a little.