Washed by the Water

Growing up, I was raised believing in God, and attended Lutheran churches for my entire childhood, as well as my first couple of years in college.  I was baptized in the Lutheran church shortly after I was one year old.  I went to a Lutheran elementary school for my first two years of education, and sometime after my family and I moved into town in the spring of 1991, I began going to a Lutheran church just down the block from my house. 

I loved going to church, largely because I was going with my grandma, who loved going to church.  The services were very traditional, and I learned them quickly, able to recite the various parts alongside the congregation before too long, without needing to use the hymnal for reference much of the time.  I attended confirmation classes in that same church, was confirmed, choosing Proverbs 3:5 as my life verse, and took communion for the first time in that church.  I can still picture the red carpet, warm wooden pews, and countless stained glass windows that surrounded us.  My senior year of high school, we had our baccalaureate service in my church.  I helped teach Sunday school and vacation Bible school there. I felt so at home.  

Even now, as an adult, when I attend a Lutheran church, I can pull the traditions out from my memory and integrate myself seamlessly amongst those who regularly attend.

Halfway through college, I discovered new churches, and began to attend them.  At first, they seemed a little “out there,” with contemporary worship songs instead of traditional hymns, following different layouts for the service.  Communion was more open to everyone, and often less traditional in how it was taken.  There was much less repeating creeds, call and responses, and the sermons were more vivid to me.  I stopped taking sermon notes, as I had learned growing up, and started to really just listen and remember the messages.  I started laughing in church.  I started to love the music, raise my hands, and sway along with the beat.  

I found myself focused much less on what was coming next and much more on the experience as a whole.  I grew up knowing God loved me, Jesus loved me, and Holy Spirit loved me.  I grew up afraid of messing up and going to hell.  I grew up reciting memorized prayers.

My former husband and I were married in a contemporary church, with contemporary services, although our wedding ceremony was still traditional in most ways.  After a few years, we moved to South Dakota, and started attending new churches all over again.  We found one we fell in love with, the pastor, the programming, the children’s ministry, the worship, the Bible studies, the community.  For the first time since my childhood in my hometown ELCA church, I felt this church was home. 

By this time, I began feeling differently about tradition and was working on letting go of the “rules” I felt religion called to me, and more on trying to just feel, hear, or sense what God was calling. At first, when our oldest son was born, I was unsure of dedicating him instead of baptizing him in infancy like I grew up knowing we were supposed to do, but after prayerful consideration, I really believed that’s what was right for our family.  Along with our dearest married friends who had also recently had a baby boy, we dedicated our sons in that new home church. 

After a couple of years, my marriage started on it’s beginning toward the end, and we sadly went to church less and less.  Our second two children never were dedicated, and for years after my former husband was gone, I felt such guilt about this. I knew in my heart it wasn’t a “necessity” and if they grew up believing and trying to know God, whether or not they were dedicated as babies was not going to keep them from a life of salvation.  The enemy tried hard to dissuade me of that for many, many months.

By June of 2015, my marriage was basically over and my children and my world was crashing down around us.  We no longer attended that church, were living in transitional housing as I worked a new job after being a stay-at-home-mom, with my former husband more a figment of our imagination than a person that was actually around.  I began attending a Lutheran church that was close to where we were living at the time, because I could walk there.   I attended only a few times, and felt so out of place.  

At my new job, however, I was placed in a room at a church daycare, with mobile infants and a couple other staff, one of which became my confidante, one of my best friends, and a beacon of hope and shining light of Jesus love.  Eventually, she convinced me to come to a Sunday service at the church where our daycare located. I confided in her that I was anxious about it, not sure I would fit in, worried what it would look like to be a single mom with three little children, and hated the idea of sitting alone.  She invited me to sit beside her and her family, right there in the second row.  I put on my brave, and I attended the church.

I was completely surprised by how welcome I felt.  The children’s pastor welcomed me and my children with open arms and a heart full of joy.  Over the years, she has become another one of my closest friends, even though she has moved on from that pastoral role.  The congregation welcomed us as well.  There were so many kind, caring people who began to love on me and my littles, and we never stopped going.  That church is still our home.

Soon after we attended, there was a baptism service.  At this church, as well as the one before, children could be dedicated, but you choose when and if you want to be baptized.  I recall, so clearly, watching, cheering, and worshipping as baptisms happened up in front, and in an instant, I had this thought.. “What if some day all three of my children were baptized, and I was re-baptized, and we did it together?”

I could almost envision it in my mind.

That thought never left.  Over the years, we witnessed many baptisms.  The children would often watch, and they would cheer alongside us all as people re-surrendered, re-professed, and publicly invited us all to be a part of the joy as they celebrated their re-birth by water baptism.  Each time, I would think, “what if…”

Occasionally, throughout the years, I would ask my children if they were interested in or ready to be baptized.  Each time, they would say no, for various reasons. I would not push it, because I knew in my heart it would happen when they were ready for it to happen.

Fast forward to a couple of months ago this year, 2023.   My daughter, the youngest child, watched baptisms happening at church and told me she might be ready next time it happened, but she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to do it on her own.  Immediately, I went back to my vision, though I did not tell her that.  I simply said that perhaps, by the time they happened next, someone else in our family would want to be baptized too. I prayed it would happen, and we let the idea rest quietly.

My oldest son woke up one morning, a month or two later, and after I sang the “good morning, I love you” little song I sing each day, he asked me, before any other words came out of his mouth, “Mom, when is baptism happening again?”  I was so shocked that I was not sure I heard him correctly, and asked him o repeat the question.  It was the same thing.  I asked why, and he said, “I think Jesus wants me to be baptized.”  I found out later that it was because he had a dream he was with Jesus, and Jesus lead him to be baptized in it.  

That same day I went and found the children’s pastor and we figured out when the next baptism Sunday would be. I shared the news with my son, and he did not say much more about it.  During the end of the school year, he began attending a youth group at my friends’ church instead of our own, and started becoming more invested and open in his faith.  One day, the second week, he asked me for his own adult Bible.  He attended a youth-group summer camp with that youth group, and about a month later, a youth-group retreat with our own.  The retreat was the week before baptisms were to be happening at our church, and I had not heard much about it again, and was hesitant to ask and make him feel coerced, but I found out he told the children’s pastor at our home church that he was still going to be baptized.  I was elated for him.

The week prior to the youth-retreat that lead into baptism Sunday, I began asking my second son, the middle child, about the possibility that he might want to be baptized, too.  He was largely not committed to an answer, and would sway back and forth between a yes and a no depending on the breeze or his mood.  He told me he would think about it, seriously, and asked multiple times about the temperature of the water.  Once he heard from the children’s pastor that the water was warm, he told me he was ready to be baptized.

Just like that, it seemed, after 8 years of holding onto this vision, all three of my children were planning to be baptized on the same Sunday.

I was ready, too.

I know that to many, it may seem strange that I would choose to be baptized again as an adult, considering the fact that I was baptized as a young toddler back in my first home church.  Even I was battling that thought for a moment or two.  

I wanted to lead by example, on one hand, and on another, I wanted to stand alongside my children and proclaim to everyone that Jesus is MY Lord, Savior, Father, Friend, and Brother.  I wanted to make a public declaration that I believe in His life, and how he gave His for my own, so that I would not go to Hell because of my birth into a fallen world, like I was afraid of growing up.  He makes us new and washes away our sins, and it was time to declare all of those things for myself, of my own choosing.

On Sunday, July 30, 2023, in the middle of worship, all dressed in t-shirts that read “You are a treasure,” my children and I were water baptized in our home church, surrounded by our church family that has prayed for, over, and with us, for most of my children’s lives.  They have supported us in so many known and unknown ways, and loved us during our worst times.  

It was a perfect morning.

I entered the water first, guiding my daughter to join me.  She declared that she loved Jesus, and because of her faith, I was able to baptize her in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  The joy in her face as she rose out of the water was indescribable and she giggled quietly as I hugged her so tight.

My middle son was next, as he had asked me to baptize him too.  I was unsure what reason he would give for deciding to be baptized, because the entire week leading up to it, he was not really able to form an answer if I asked.   When given the opportunity to speak, however, he told, with beautiful language, how he knows Jesus loves him for who he is and he is under God’s wing (in his own words, which are recorded on the church Livestream for revisiting). I baptized him the same, and he rose with one of the largest, most genuine grins I had seen on his face in years, and we embraced before he left the water.

Next, our Lead Pastor joined me, and after we joked about me baptizing him, he asked me why I was choosing baptism that day.  I told a brief account of my vision 8 years ago and how every one of my children had decided, individually, to be baptized, just like the idea I had, and this was fulfilling that vision.   Pastor Brent, the first lead pastor I have met who really sees me for me, loves me for who I am, me, Nicole, as a person, was who I knew I wanted to take this step with me.  Our pastor, who is a brother to us as well, is legally blind, but really, truly, has been the first lead pastor to see me as a sister in Christ.  

 The actual submersion of the baptism felt like it was happening in slow motion. I felt the water as it rushed from my torso up over my head, warm, light, comforting, and freeing, and as I rose, it all fell away with utter weightlessness and I was immediately filled with joy.  I immediately knew that this was a prophecy that he had spoken to me, over the life of my family, being fulfilled, and I had not thought of it that way prior to that moment.  I felt strong, confident, and peaceful, all at the same time.  And as I peered out into the congregation, I saw, even without my glasses, the smiling, cheering faces, of so many who had been there while awaiting the prophecy to be fulfilled. I turned to Brent and hugged him so tight, and then made a way for my oldest son.

My son has become such a brave young man over the years.  Once, he was so anxious about things that he would hide in the back and sometimes cry.  He did not want people watching him.  But this day, he walked with pure confidence and determination, and entered the water ready. I could sense it.   He spoke of how God came to him in a dream, calling him to be baptized.  He too had Pastor Brent baptize him.  He is blessed to have an amazing, honest connection with our children’s pastor too, who has watched him grow up for many years now, and had deliberated between both of those amazing male role models to baptize him.  When he rose from the water, I saw the most brilliant grin on his face, and he came, arms wide open, to embrace me.   As we did, Brent cheered him on from behind, with the church family joining in their seats.  The hug was electric.  It was a perfect moment.

It was a perfect family baptism.  

I have watched and re-watched the baptism and looked at the photos I have multiple times over the last week.  I can play the experience back in my mind so effortlessly. I pray I never lose that ability.  I have cried beautiful tears over it all, and been amazed by how steady God has been through our lives as we all aligned to that day. He is so, so good.

(Thank you to my friend Jolynn of Beloveds Design Photography for capturing baptism photos, including the one I share publicly here.)

Disclaimer: Nothing I have expressed here is meant to condemn or ridicule the Lutheran Church (or any other traditional ones). For me, personally, the church I was raised in was becoming more tradition and repetition and feeding my soul less, and I needed a change. Contemporary church is where I found myself at home again. I still have love and fondness for my roots!)

Unrecommended

I am just going to be completely honest here, and here's the forewarning- it's going to sound like a pity party even though it's not really meant that way. No pity, please. 

If you know me well, though, you know that writing out my thoughts is therapeutic (as in I have kept journals, written poetry, blogs, letters, notes... For as long as I can recall). I don't really want to unload this on my children, because they're children, and there are no adults here. And when I talk about emotional things I start crying and get snot faced, and when I'm sick, I cry and cough and gag and it's a mess. I also get pretty tongue tied and mix up nouns for no reason sometimes... So... Writing it is. I've prayed and cried it all out to God, but there's just something about writing to also help me process, and I often tell myself there might be someone out there struggling to pinpoint their own thoughts or feelings that may resonate with what I say.

But truthfully, I feel bad considering writing this, and even worse actually doing so, because my life is not nearly as difficult as countless others out there and I'm so very fortunate in so very many ways that it feels like I should just silence my thoughts and be simply grateful for the life that I have. I AM grateful for the life that I have, and for the countless blessings bestowed upon me and my children during this stressful time.

But yet, here's how I feel...

This past month has sucked- not all of the moments, but overall, it's been wretched and I want to just curl up in a ball in my bed and sleep for a few days because every part of my body, my mind, my spirit, my emotions, and my ambition is exhausted.  I used to tell the kids not to say "sucks" or forms of it, but during this isolation time, I agreed it was an acceptable description of the circumstances.  I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired while being a mom.

In the past, when I've gotten really sick, I've still been a mom, and really in those times the only parent around. This time is different in that their dad came back to their lives, but it's still very similar in that basically, because of the circumstances surrounding the Covid-19 pandemic, I'm the only parent around. They live with me and therefore they are considered contagious or potentially so, and they've had to quarantine with me while I have been "isolating" for a month.  And, since I can't "isolate" myself from them because they're not self-sufficient (or cannot be trusted) even when I'm finally better, they're supposed to be quarantined here. I feel absolutely terrible, guilty, ashamed, angry, and sad for their little hearts having to have not only been stuck here in this apartment for over 30 days now, but with a mom who is sick and tired of being sick and tired, who has little energy or ambition, and less patience than normal, although every effort is made for patience, grace, and mercy.  The only upside is that when I'm finally feeling better, at least I will hopefully be able to provide more enjoyment for them during this time than I currently have been, though goodness knows I've tried. 

I feel like I try so hard. I push to play games, listen to their stories, anecdotes, ramblings, and songs, cuddle, do creative things, watch movies, cook, and enjoy each other. I try so hard to be persistent and encouraging with the distance learning for school, which it seems, no matter what, ends in tears for at least half of us on a daily basis because the environment right now is not conducive to actual learning and it feels like  a chore or punishment to work through in such an array of distracting situations.  I feel like I fall short from their expectations or hopes though, and that slays me. 

• I know I'm not alone in my feelings, I just haven't had a homework assignment telling me to write about it yet.

In times past, when I've gotten sick, even though their dad was MIA, sometimes the boys could go to school, Norah could go to daycare, or friends or family could take them to church, or on a date, or hang out with them so I could rest. 

This time, that has all basically been stripped away because of coronavirus. 

So there's the diagnosis and the insanely long recovery time that I was finally working through, and then pneumonia hit me and set me back to basically square one. And while that's not an illness that would itself cause this isolation to continue... It's all wrapped up in the coronavirus pandemic. 

I worry my kids are suffering because of this. I know they're technically fine, and I know they know I don't feel well. Some days I had been doing better than others, and it has been such a rollercoaster all along, I feel like it's so hard for them to understand or anticipate and it's incredibly frustrating for them. It has to be, because it is for me. 

This month-long illness for me has been one unlike any other.  I cannot even fathom what it would be like to be a single parent with a terminal illness and it breaks my heart so heavily to think that there are people out there who have that reality as their life story. 

The doctors and advice all say to rest and not stress... And it just feels impossible when you're the only parent of three children in the home. 

528 out of 10 : I do not recommend getting sick when it means the world shuts down around you and locks you away like it does during the covid-19 pandemic. I do not hold strong opinions one way or another on the way the government and population are approaching things, because I see many facets of thinking and how many options are simultaneously good and not so good. 

I don't understand why this has happened. I do know that, just like every other difficult, overwhelming, exhausting, or traumatic thing we have been through in the last 7 or so years, we will come out declaring that God is still good (because He is). I am just... a beautiful mess singing a broken hallelujah, I suppose. 

Sorry, that was heavy and long. 

Thankfully, while I was writing this, worship music and prayers playing in the background gave me the press I need to carry on and try to tackle this day too. 

Special thank you to anyone who has prayed over us during this time, sent mail, texts or other messages, brought groceries or meals, helped us stay afloat, and so much more. I can't even imagine how much more difficult this would have been without you.

Just a Little Different this Year

Christmas is here, again!  Can you believe it?

It's been another long year of ups and downs, triumphs, setbacks, and trying to give glory to God amidst it all.

This year was so much like the past few years, in that we found ourselves showered with love and blessings in many shapes and forms, from hugs, to being welcomed into homes, to spending time with family and friends, to being given gifts without any expectation.

We continued with the traditions we have been developing over the last four years.  We made some gifts, we bought some gifts.  We spent a Christmas weekend with my family back home.  We dressed up (well, this year I wore jeggings and not a skirt which was a bit different than usual, but we were crunched for time) and went to the candlelight church service.  This year, my children all sang "Silent Night" loudly, and I had the biggest grin on my face throughout the entire song.

We spent Christmas Eve with the children's aunt and uncle, having pizza and breadsticks and exchanging gifts.  We all were given new Christmas pajamas to come home to, and I stayed up too late doing the last gift wrapping duties. 

There was one gift for each child wrapped in brown paper, blessings from "Santa," just like years past, because I've wanted the kids to know each year that there are so many people out there who love them deeply and want to bless them with items that they chose especially for each of them, that we don't "need" much from Santa so I've asked him to be simple. The brown paper is to help take the focus and glamor off of Santa and more on the abundance of blessings and love from others. (In no way is that supposed to be condescending to anyone else and how they approach the Santa issue, that's just how I've decided to do it.)  And when it's all said and done, their aunt plays the role of Santa anyway.

The children let me stay in bed until I was light outside, then we took a few photos, and had our gift opening marathon.  We spent the afternoon at our dear family friends' home, enjoying homemade Mexican food, conversation, laughter, and gifts.  We came home to unwind, and here I sit, reflecting.  Some things are better left unchanged.

But, this Christmas was different in some ways too.

For example, this year, as years past, I set it in my mind that I should probably grab a couple small gifts for myself to wrap up and stick underneath our tree.  However, this year, I took my daughter, who is now four (and a half, mind you), along the day I happened to find a small item I thought "they" would like to give me.  I decided to run the idea by her, which resulted in a strong counterargument.

"But, Momma, we didn't get it for you.  We didn't go shopping.  We didn't buy it."

"I know, but I can wrap it up and pretend that you did.  I will act surprised, for your brothers..."

"But I will know that you got it and that we didn't."

Good grief.  This is the same little girl who used the exact same argument for her fourth birthday, where she chose her own gifts, we locked them in the back of the van, and she had to wait two weeks to open them.   "I'll act surprised so my brothers don't know," was her exact argument.

Well, I bought the cup anyway.  And before all the commotion started, I enjoyed a quiet cup of coffee on the floor by the tree this morning.  This year, we've past that era.

This year, as in years past, there was one big expensive item that was requested.  It was actually the same item that my oldest son requested last year, but he never received.  This year, his siblings knew what it was and joined in on thinking it would be a good item to have.

In past years, if there was something that was out of my budget, they either wouldn't receive it, or it might come from someone outside our apartment walls.  While I have always been grateful from the depths of my core for generosity and kindness, as humbling and overwhelming as it is to accept sometimes, there's always been this small sliver of sadness inside of me that I couldn't always provide their most expensive, popular culture type items myself.  I always knew it wasn't failure on my part, because I've been working full time and trying hard for years now, but still, I often wished I could just do everything on my own.

This year, out of unexpected urging from a friend, I started baking macarons for other people.  In an absolutely surprising request, I was able to bake a few hundred macarons, which helped me with bills, also was the provision for the item my children had wanted that I never imagined I would be able to give them.

This evening, after all the hustle and bustle was done, I revealed that the one gift on the couch labeled for me was really for all of us, and the joy in my oldest son's face after I explained that I had worked very hard to get this gift for them, and that was how much I loved them, showed me that it was a choice worth making.  They knew I had been working hard at all that baking for other people, and he knew how expensive the gift was.  It was then that he realized what I was saying, and he ran across the room to hug me, and hug me, and hug me.  He had tears when he finally backed away.

This year, that was different and it was a huge milestone and accomplishment for me, and the meaning behind it was perfectly timed for my oldest son especially.  I believe it's a Christmas he will always remember.

This year, you see, he and I have been struggling a while.  He's eight now, and his intelligence and language are great enough that he is becoming more adept at expressing his feelings verbally.  But, for the past few months, he just... hadn't been.  He had been quiet and quite speechless most of the time, especially for me.  Recently, we had a breakthrough, and those language skills came to the surface, where he admitted his deep heartache and sorrow at the continued absence of his father.

I know, it's still about that.  I've received a few comments in the past about so much of our lives and our story being about that.  And, truthfully, it is going to be about that quite a bit of the time until there is some sort of resolve or healing (or both) for my children.  We pray it through as we wait.

Anyway, this year... he admitted that he's angry with me.  He's angry with me for divorcing his dad.  We have had lengthy discussions about it since he expressed himself, and it has made me realize that's why he doesn't speak to me much and is so withdrawn sometimes.

But, the great news is that because it is in the open, this year, we are going to be able to work through it, and he can join me on the healing side of the path.

But on that topic, this year... this year I didn't even miss their dad on Christmas morning.  I feel so conflicted saying that, but it is the truth.  Most Christmas mornings, I wish he was here to see the joy and hear the laughter in the room around us.  This year, I didn't even think about him until this evening at bedtime, when we said bedtime prayers, and I realized that in my blissful ignorance, my children had probably missed him silently all day long.

This year, I forgot to make a birthday cake or cupcakes for Jesus like we have the past few years.  My children forgot, too, so I'm in the clear.  Hopefully, next year, we will remember.

This year was a good Christmas, just like the years past.

It was just a little different this year.

To me, at the end of thirty-three...

Dear Me,

Here I am, the last day of the last year of my life, once again.  Tomorrow, a new day of a new year begins.

I usually write these letters to my children, hoping someday they'll come across them and read them, and see how much I loved them, my thoughts and feelings about each passing year of their lives, and see the growth and change we've all went through.

This year, instead of avoiding and trying to awkwardly accept birthday greetings, I'm embracing, without sadness or reserve.  Or, at least I'm going to try.  It's decided.

The past couple of days, especially, have been... odd.  I cannot think of a better way to describe them, but I spent many moments wondering if my birthday really had any meaning for myself, whether or not I should tell my children about it, how awkward it is to tell my children about it, whether or not it would be a big deal to them, whether or not they would be upset if my birthday passed and they didn't know about it, whether they'd be upset if they heard others wish me a happy birthday and feel like I was keeping it from them.  I spent time irritated with their father for bailing on us multiple times, and angry with him for leaving me to make all the special occasions special, birthdays meaningful, and so forth.  I was annoyed that he isn't around to tell them about my birthday himself, and help them make cards or gifts or whatever goofy little things their hearts desired, and not wanting to have to do it myself, because it's just so weird.

So I resigned to talking about my birthday with my Bean, and letting them overhear, and her telling them about it and getting them excited, so I wouldn't have to on my own.

So odd. So awkward.

And now, here we are.  The night before the "big day."  The day that I entered this world... 34 years ago.

I've had my share of fun birthdays.  I've definitely had a lot of memorable ones.  But it seems like the past three years were a struggle.

In 2014, after all, my world came crashing down.  It crashed on my birthday.  The man who promised me would come back and fight for his family and work on his marriage after taking "a break," had gotten his unemployed (at his support and urging) wife and his three small children evicted from their home, and refused to really help them find a new one (or even help out with packing or childcare while his wife tried to find a place to live).  It lead to a short stay with a friend (to whom I will forever be grateful), a stay at the homeless shelter, and months in transitional housing, while tracking him down for a divorce after he completely abandoned and disappeared.

I don't sit and dwell on it often, and I certainly try not to let it bog me down.  Today, though, I sat in a dark, silent room, thinking about my upcoming anniversary of birth, and I realized that it's been three years since that birthday that started the real crash and spiral.

As I thought about it, though, I began to feel uplifted.

To quote myself earlier, "Three years ago tomorrow, my world came crashing down, and it felt like my hopes and dreams for my life were all dying. It was the most devastating and overwhelming birthday.

But now, three years later, I look back and see that in that figurative death, it was a day of rebirth. A day to celebrate my birth into this world, but also the day where a new life was birthed for me. This year, I celebrate both of my birth-days, and reflect on how far I've come and the new life I've been living. It's bittersweet, yet incredible. It's amazing to see how God truly turned sorrow into joy."

As I sat thinking about that more and more throughout the day, I decided that maybe this year, being it's my third new birthday, it might be time to write myself a letter.

You see, I have come a long way.  Now, I won't lie and say it's been easy, or that any given day is easy and completely void of any drama, stress, frustration, or tears.  Most days are.  I mean, I do have three children who are still fairly young.

But, I'm no longer traumatized.  Yes, much of the year 2014 traumatized me, and while I would rarely admit until now, today, I see that, and I will state it.  I was traumatized.

Was.  Now, I'm not.  Now, I can sit and reflect with a clearer mind, more stable emotions, and see that not only was I not broken and my life wasn't over, but I was simply crushed and given a new chance.  It wasn't a chance I wanted and still sometimes wish was not my reality.  But, it lead me to such beauty and empowerment.  I've found strength. I've found peace. I've found joy. I've found determination. I've found patience. I've found love. I've found faith.

I've found many victories.

I've seen my children flourish. I've seen them survive trauma, more than once, and seen them grow into loving individuals with bright smiles, joy-filled laughter, and endless hugs.

I have been basically the sole provider for my family of four. I've had some help I will admit.  But, for the most part, I've done it.  And we've lived in the same home for over two years now, which is the longest any of my children ever had a home.

We've had heat.  We've had electricity.  We've had our own address and walls.  We have a church family.  We have a work family.  We have a friend family.  And we still have our blood family beside us.

I've been able to get past triggers, such as my birthday coming up, that would take my breath away and send my mind in a nosedive for darkness.

I'm not perfect.  I'm not even close.  But I'm better than I was before.  I am able to see my flaws and my weaknesses more easily, and embrace them and attempt to change them.  I'm always a work in progress.

I have learned new skills and developed my talents.  I've loved deeply, and lost greatly in the last three years.

I'm a better woman because of it all.

And I've a better life than I had before, even though it's changed drastically, left me longing from time to time for what I once had, and left me in tears of anguish and frustration some days still.  I refuse to lie to myself and say that these days are done. I'm human and I have weaknesses, and I know that I will face days in the future I miss having my husband by my side, and living the life I thought we lived, happily ever after.  But, I also know now, ending 33, that my life is beautiful, and I am beautiful.

So, while tomorrow, I turn 34, my new life turns 4.  It's nice to see my birthday with a renewed sense this year.  Tomorrow will be my first one where I will not allow the past to bring me down.  I'm claiming it.

I thought about sharing a picture that I took of myself to commemorate this evening.  You know, one that looks good because I know my angles or whatever.  Something I found to be "pretty" and wonderful.

Instead, I'm going to show myself a photo or two that are taken by my oldest son, who is almost seven.  Because, instead of seeing who I want to be or what I love about myself, I want to remember what he sees, what he loves, and what he is proud of and wants to share.  Because really, that's the woman I have most genuinely become, I think.

So, Me,

You're weary, you're exhausted, but you're strong and determined.  You're smart, not crazy.  You're a good mom, not a failure.  You're a good employee.  You're a good friend.  You're a good child of God.  You've done amazing things for yourself and your children.  

You've got this. 

Happy Birth and Re-Birth Day Tomorrow.

Love, Me

A Life in few Words

Along with countless others I know, and probably even more people that I don't know, this week engulfed my heart in sorrow and challenged my emotions like no week has in recent past.

The world lost an incredible man.  I've known for years just how incredible this man was.  He had been around my entire memorable life.  I was in his wedding as a toddler, when he joined as one with my dear aunt.

I've known.

Or at least, I thought I knew.

But it turns out, it takes someone being gone forever to realize that what you know isn't all there is to know.  What you know is only the surface, and the depths of what you don't know reach further than you'll ever begin to uncover.

It's overwhelming, really.

As family and friends gathered today to bid our earthly farewell to this incredible man, I realized just how small our words are when it comes to the life of an individual.

Obituaries and eulogies are beautiful, significant, and often poetic, but they too just scratch the surface.

On my return home, I began to dwell on this fact.  It seemed to me, in a way, that obituaries trivialize and marginalize a person's entire existence into a few key facts that are out there for others, so they can get the highlights, if you will, of someone who many held dearly.

They're important.

They're inadequate.

Listening to people talk about my uncle, Gregg Edward DeSmith, born June 12, 1964, to his parents, Dorothy and Edward, who passed away on Saturday, September 9, 2017, it became all to clear to me that the man I knew and loved for my entire life was even more incredible than my small mind could comprehend.   Gregg, the devoted husband of Linda, and beloved father to Sasha (and Kyle), Carissa, who left this earth at age 2, and Hannah (and Dylan), wonderful grandfather to Kalesia, Elijah, and Miles, dear brother to many, uncle to even more, and friend to countless others, was a man of Jesus.  It was evident today, as I heard about his life and saw numerous people whose lives he touched.

It overwhelmed me, as I longed to be able to tell him that I admired that in him.

He and I spoke occasionally on aspects of God.  I never really pressed in, knowing he believed in God and was raised in a Catholic church, the one in which he was baptized, married, and said goodbye to today in the Mass of Christian Burial.  He knew more about my faith journey than I did his, and today, I felt selfish for not knowing more about what he believed to be true.

But, at the same time, I could see in the way he lived.

Gregg had a servant's heart.  He spent countless hours with those in need, in both small and large ways.  He devoted time, energy, love, and so much more to those around him.  He did so with a willing heart. He did so, expecting nothing in return, and often wouldn't accept anything in return.  It wasn't all that long ago that he saved me in a small way, where my van window wouldn't go all the way up, and it was about to rain for my two hour drive home.  He was on it in a flash and had a temporary solution that still enabled me to see, and I made it home safe and dry, so relieved and thankful for the small gift he was delighted to give me.

He went out of his way to take you aside and tell you that he was proud of you.  No matter what you had done, no matter where you had come from, no matter where you were going, or what you had been through, he saw you as you were, a human, full of giving and receiving love, and he let it be known that you were worthy.  He built you up in spirit and mind.  I cannot personally recall an instance I heard him tear someone down.

He loved and served the least of these, just like Jesus did.

His love for his family was unconditional and overwhelming.  He stood faithfully at my aunt's side for 32 glorious years that were no stranger to stress and sorrow, trials and tribulations, but also great joy and blessing.  They were one.  You could see it and you could feel it when you were with them.

Gregg loved spending time with people.  He had a jolly laugh and a great wit.  He wore a smile often.  He loved to tell a joke and hear the laughter of others as well.   Some of my best memories of him were at his farm, where my large family would gather for days on end.  He would go all out to ensure each gathering was phenomenal.  He had such great humble pride in welcoming us all and allowing us to create everlasting, joyful memories.

He was a delightful mix of manly man and teddy bear, who loved fixing things, classic cars (both real and miniature), go carts and his Harley.  He collected countless unique and older things and loved to share them with people around him.  He loved the outdoors and having a great time with family and friends.

He was adored by so many.  Children and adults alike could call him a friend.  My oldest son, who is not quite seven, sobbed this weekend, as he realized just how great a buddy Gregg was to him, and how devastating it was to know that they would not be making memories together anymore.   He told me about how Gregg helped him to be brave, and how cool it was when he finally rode go cart for the first time, and how Gregg told him he was a little man now. Gregg knew when to encourage my kids and when to be silly, and each of the three of them loved him deeply for that reason.

He was a great buddy to most everyone he met, I feel.  I heard so many claim that over the past two days.

He is going to be missed daily, wholly, intensely, by countless people who knew and loved him, who he loved in return.  Knowing that his all-encompassing bear hugs will never be given again leaves my shoulders feeling vulnerable and cold.  I know I'll receive hugs for the rest of my life, but not one will be quite like his.

Gregg loved the phrase "No Regrets." I smiled as I heard that, because long ago, I had coined that phrase for myself.  I didn't live it like he did though, as I sit here tonight, regretting that I hadn't told him one more time that I loved him, thanked him for all he did for us, and for the endless encouragement and support he never ceased to provide for me and my children.  I regret not taking more photos of him with the people he loved and not having photographic proof of the hardest working hands I remember seeing.  Even with life gone from his body, when you saw him this week, you saw the proof that he worked endlessly to provide for his family and his friends, the stain left behind on his fingerprints as a reminder of how much he gave of himself.

I know with all of my heart that he is with our Jesus now, and my children have reminded me multiple times, through tear-riddled eyes, that his soul is in heaven.  I stand firm in my faith and thankful for everlasting life and salvation through Christ, but at the same time, my human heart and limited mind is having a most difficult time envisioning our lives without him.  I see the farm, and it feels emptier knowing he will never be pulling down the driveway in one of his vehicles, never racing around on a go-kart or hauling with a tractor.  He won't be building or bringing new and exciting fun to us all, or helping the children feed the birds.  His spirit will never leave, but his body and his voice will never be with us as we sit in the summer sun.  That realization takes the wind out of my lungs for a moment and burns my eyes with tears.  I know I'm not alone in this space, missing him so much already, being devastated for us left behind, and overjoyed for he who will never again know sadness.

His body is gone, but his light can shine on.  I hope that his loss will encourage others to live a life like his, showing Jesus inside us to others.

I sit here, exhausted and weary, writing away, knowing that although my words are more in number than an obituary or even some eulogies, they do not suffice.  They will also never begin to scratch the surface of the life that Gregg lived. 

No words really will.

And off they went

Today was another milestone day in our little family's journey. Today was another first day of school.  Today, my oldest son started first grade.  Today, my younger son started kindergarten.

It was a day we had been anticipating for months, after making the decision to register for kindergarten.  That decision in itself was harder than accompanying the boys to school today, because my new kindergartener's birthday was cut-off day.  He attended a couple different pre-kindergarten schooling adventures prior, and both sets of teachers said they thought he was ready, so I registered him and  we began talking and planning for the big day to arrive.

Today was that big day.

This morning began like many others, only it was prefaced with a night of very little sleep for the younger boy, I suspect as he was filled with anxious excitement following a long, busy weekend with extended family.  I woke the children with my special "good morning" song, and dressed them in the outfits they decided on the night before (which isn't always how we do things, but for big days, we plan ahead).  We had a light breakfast and then excitedly hurried out the door for first day photos.

The most emotional one this morning was their little sister, who has been heartbroken for days at the realization that she would not be able to attend kindergarten this year OR next year.  She really, really really, really, really, really wants to go.  She says so herself.  I've tried to explain how awesome it will be to have momma all to herself if I don't have to work some mornings while the boys are at school, but so far... she's not sold.




To keep her in good spirits, or at least the best possible spirits, we decided that we would all accompany her into daycare this morning, so she wouldn't have to watch the boys leave her, rather, they hugged her goodbye, told her they loved her, and hoped she had a good day.

The boys and I then made the short trek to the elementary school.  We arrived early, which was my plan, so that they could play on the playground a bit and get out any nervous energy left over.  We took some photos together, and some of them individually.  When the bell was about to ring, we went searching for their class lines, and I left my oldest with his class and walked the younger to his.  I stood beside him, talking him through the process of the bell ringing, and how when they started to walk into the school, I would not be able to go with him.  He was very calm about it all, and then I ran back to his brother... twice.... to surprise hug him and tell him I was proud of and excited for him.  When the bell rang, the kindergarten class went in first, and Collin turned around, smiled, and waved at me as his class went inside.  As soon as I could no longer see him, I ran once more to Spencer, for one last hug, and watched him smiling and waving as he too went into the school.


And just like that, off they went.

Their days were filled with excitement and some frustration.  First grade was reportedly the most awesome and the teacher was top notch, so says my son.  Kindergarten was a bit of a struggle, but knowing that my kindergartener was literally the youngest in the class and the youngest one could be to be in school that year prepared me for that report.  When I asked him how school was, he reported it was good, and he liked his teacher, and yes, he did get in trouble a some times.  It's a learning curve, and I'm just going to pray he adjusts quickly (because I know he resists change and new authority), and that soon, his days will be as wonderful as his brother claims they are.  I would covet your prayers on the matter, too.

When we got home tonight, the little sister was overjoyed to see her brothers, and that they still all matched.  She asked if she could go to school tomorrow, but she didn't cry when we told her she still had two years to wait.

Now 5, Little Big Ollie Bear

Dearest Ollie Bear,

Today, I think I called you by my little nickname more than the rest of the week combined.  I realized, as we spent so much of the day together, that you're so little big now, and someday soon, there's a chance you'll ask me to stop calling you that for good.  You already tell me too frequently that 'I'm COLLIN' when I address you as my little cub.

But for now, today, and hopefully a few more tomorrows, you're my little Ollie Bear, my teddy bear, my cuddly bear, my grizzly bear.

Collin, I can hardly believe that it's your last day being four.  I don't want it to be true.  I have tried to deny it.    I put you to bed tonight and I said "what is going on tomorrow, again? I forgot." You laughed SO hard and said "I'm FIVE BECAUSE ITS MY BIRTHDAY!"  I hugged you as tight as I possibly could and kissed you before covering you up, declaring our love, and asking you to please stay in your room and go to sleep so I could wrap your presents.  

Today, we were blessed with the surprise pre-birthday gift of time together.  We spent a portion of it with your brother and sister, who are your closest friends and also occasional foes, investing our time making memories at a park, and then adventuring with sea creatures and butterflies.  Your laughter echoed all around us, as you delighted in wonder and also in knowledge about the creatures around us.

Then, we said 'see you later' to them, and we were given time for just us.  It was of immeasurable value, as I listened to you talk about the things you love.  I took you for a special lunch, where you asked to take a fun picture with me.  You talked non-stop with one of the employees there, who you also asked to have cut your hot dog, to which she gladly obliged.  You love people, and it shows.  You are a true extrovert in that way.

Mister Man, I know we definitely have our differences  There are countless ways that it seems we are exact opposites, which makes for some interesting power and stubborn struggles on a regular basis.  You're loud, I'm quiet.  You're a firecracker, I'm more of a Scentsy warmer.  You're demanding, I'm requesting.  You love dirt, I prefer dirtless.  You hate pants, I love pants.

But we are also very similar.  You love with your entire heart, for better or worse, and you have a huge heart in your tiny body.  You care when others are sad and hurting, and you take great care in protecting your treasures.  You love to snuggle, to read, to wrap yourself up in a cozy blanket, to sit and watch the clouds go by, to oogle over babies, and to just sit and be still (sometimes).  You have great passion.  We share that, for sure.

You're starting to really come into your own now, little big boy.  It's exciting to me to watch your interests unfold.  You play sometimes that you don't really "know" stuff, but the moment my head is turned, you blow me away and share your knowledge when you think I'm not paying attention.  You're incredibly intelligent, and it makes me proud.  I'm amazed with the way your mind works.  You've even begun to help me with problem solving of my own from time to time!  Just the other week, I was struggling to figure out how to do a project to make some paint stick on a shiny surface, and you simply said "why don't you paint the back."  It made perfect sense.  Thanks for your genius, Ollie.

This year has been filled with joy and reunification, but also repeated loss, and I know that makes it a little bit of a tarnished birthday for you.  You've been looking for one who isn't around again, and I know that puts some cracks in your little big heart.  But buddy, I promise you, even though one isn't there, you're completely surrounded and enveloped by the love of countless others who are, and I know for a fact that God is going to heal those cracks right up for you in time.

As much as I wish you weren't already turning five, and away from your baby and toddler years toward the big, bright world of elementary school, I am thrilled to see what the fifth year has in store for you.  You're going to blossom so much more, I can feel it in my heart.  It's going to be an overwhelming and wonderful world for us all, and I'm so thankful that I am such an integral part of yours.

Ollie Bear, thank you so much for being you.  Thank you for the struggles you provide that make me a better mommy, and thank you for the calm and love you give me all the same.  Thank you for loving me no matter what we go through, and for being excited to see me at the end of every day.  Thank you for never withholding a hug, even if you're mad.  Thank you for showing me love I didn't know I had.  Thank you, for being mine.

I pray that we both have patience, grace, and mercy as this next year continues. I know that there's going to be big bumps in our road, heated moments, loud voices, and struggles all over.  But, there's going to be thousands of hugs, millions of giggles, tons of kisses, and infinite love.  And that's just from me... it doesn't include your brother, your sister, your family, your friends... your village.

I love you, Ollie Bear.

Happy Birthday, when you wake.
Momma Bear.

Cautious Bravery

When I decided to blog after church today, I heard the enemy telling me "People are going to just think you're crazy, hearing voices, and psychotic. You didn't 'hear' God or 'feel' Him. It's all in your imagination."

Screw you, Satan.

---

Recently, there's been a change brewing in the life of me and my children.  Something unexpected happened, and as a result, I had to make some decisions I wasn't mentally prepared to make.

I prayed about it for days.  I took a break from social media and filled the time I would have spent catching up with friends online praying and seeking wisdom as to how to proceed.  I sought advice from trusted companions, and found confusion in doing so, with divided opinions and advice coming from multiple avenues, so I kept on praying about that as well.

After about a week, I had what I decided was the next step, and proceeded with cautious bravery.

Cautious bravery.

I'm not sure that's a thing.  If you google "cautious bravery," you find a few different takes on it.  On one hand, people seem to think you can't be both cautious and brave or courageous, and then on the other, it only makes sense to do so.

For example:

That said, this new juncture and all of the possibilities of what could happen based on whichever decision I made was nerve-wracking, slightly terrifying, anxiety inducing, but also hopeful-exhilarating.

As I mentioned, I took my options, prayed about them, tried to imagine probable outcomes, and went with what I thought God was calling me to do.

I was afraid of being wrong, afraid of interpreting what I thought God was telling me wrong, and afraid that even if I was doing what was right, it could all go wrong anyway.  But, I owned the decision, and I stepped forward on faith.

I decided, in doing so, that if I was going to just assume it would all go awry, I was speaking words of death over the decision, and also placing my faith, trust, and hope in humanity instead of God's divine sovereignty.  I decided to anchor myself on hope and God's ultimate goodness, and I committed myself to continued prayer, because I know that human emotion can be wishy-washy sometimes, and I knew myself well enough to be able to foresee that I wouldn't always be completely hopeful, and the old patterns of condemning thoughts and negative assumptions would slither into my mindset occasionally.

I told myself that even though the decisions I make affect more than just myself, and that all people are infallible, God can use everything and anything that would come from it for His ultimate good.  I know that while it is best and important that others in my life have God in their lives, all I needed to rely on was Him, and who I am in Him.  I know who I am in Christ, and I believe I have a good idea who my children are in Christ, and that was enough to solidify my choice in proceeding.

Now, I acted on my decision, and so far, good things have come from it.  I give each day to God, and when I start to fear and worry, if I turn to my closest confidants first instead of God, they remind me to give it to God.

Today, in church, I had a big God moment.  During the beginning of worship, which is generally the part I connect with most emotionally, I was singing along, but struggling to be emotionally invested in it.  I kept having random thoughts filtering through and I realized partway through the second song, if I recall correctly, that I just couldn't "see" or "feel" who it was I was singing to.  Usually, this is not an issue for me, but today, I just felt disconnected.  Realizing that, I decided it was probably an attack from the enemy, and with the knowledge I've gained through the past couple months, I decided to use Jesus as my ammunition and attack back.  I had a moment of bravery, in that I would normally be apprehensive that others would hear me or notice, and I spoke aloud, "The enemy MUST go NOW in the name of Jesus Christ.  You have no business here."

It sounds silly, I know, and I've felt that it was silly on the multiple occasions that I have needed to conduct warfare in such a way.

I continued on, praying audibly, "I feel like I can't see you Jesus, and I don't know why.  I know You're always there."

I stopped singing almost instantly, and tears started falling.

"You can't see me, because I'm hugging you."

That's what I heard him say.

And it made so much sense.  I was suddenly flooded with the image and feeling of a warm embrace, my head buried in His shoulder, as I heard him tell me that he was proud of me, that He has made me strong, brave, courageous, and that it is okay to be cautious.  He knows that I worry sometimes and I fear other times, and He understands how sometimes I find it difficult to come to Him first, but He forgives me, accepts me, doesn't condemn me, and appreciates my honest attempts to keep Him first. I am okay, I am perfect.  He told me that what decision I made recently didn't matter as much as the fact that I sought His counsel and waited earnestly before acting, choosing what I believed He was telling me to do over what the world told me to do.  He reaffirmed that no matter what, because my hope is anchored in Him, it's going to be okay.  He reminded me that He has been there through every peak and valley so far, and that He has ultimately won it all for us anyway.  He reminded this little quiet warrior girl that she is filled with His peace and grace, and that good things will come from the trust I've placed in Him.

While I don't know what will come from my decisions and what is in store for us, I trust that it will all work out for God's good.

Sometimes, it's scary to not know His plan.  Sometimes, I fear I don't know if I'm listening or hearing or interpreting correctly.

Sometimes, I just have to latch onto the cautious bravery he's formed within me.

Not oddly at all, the next song in worship was about sitting with Jesus, being with Him, hearing His heartbeat, and so forth.  The pastor spoke how the Holy Spirit was heavy within the place.  He spoke of God's gifts being imparted right then and there, and the sermon was about healing.

It made sense.

I've found freedom, healing, and seen myself through God's eyes this year.  It's amazing what will happen when you give it to God.

A Healed Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a big deal to my heart, and has been for a long time.  It's a family, love, and gratitude focused holiday that I've always adored.

Thanksgiving this year was a bigger deal than I realized.

A year ago at Thanksgiving, I was still married to a man who had gone MIA.  I was brokenhearted, on the verge of feeling defeat, feeling a bit like a failure, feeling lonely, feeling anxious, and feeling a bit out of place in my own world.

The children and I were invited to Thanksgiving dinner with our friends and some of their family.  I accepted, knowing that my friend knew my heart and emotional state quite well, knowing I would feel safe, and that my children would have fun.  Still, I was nervous, not knowing how the others at dinner would approach the fact that he was not with us this time, as he had been months before when we were over for Easter.  I was cautiously optimistic that no one would ask a single question or even mention his absence in our lives.  The day, as far as I remember, was wonderful, filled with joy and laughter, friends and great food.

But I missed him.  I felt like our family was incomplete in some way.  I came home that evening, without my kids, I believe, and cried as I realized I went the day without him and made it through.  I longed for the vision of life that I had thought we were creating.

I spent a little bit of time over the past few weeks in prayer, trying to prepare myself emotionally and mentally for what this year might be like, whether the children and I were home alone celebrating in solitary fashion, or if we were fortunate enough to be surrounded by people we cherish somewhere.  I knew in my heart I would be emotionally and mentally okay if we were going to be celebrating alone, although I hoped we wouldn't be.  It wouldn't have been devastating though, like I may have felt it would have last year.

This year, he's still missing, and I am divorced.  This year, we were invited to the same family home for Thanksgiving dinner.  I've not been feeling well, so I was a bit quiet this year amidst all the hustle and bustle, but I felt at home anyway.  My friend still knows me well, and I know her family accepts me and my children for who we are, as we are, how we are, even without him.

When the children and I arrived home tonight, they were all fast asleep in the van, and I sat there for a bit, realizing that it was my first Thanksgiving as a divorced, single mother.

I didn't cry.  I didn't even emotionally flinch.

I then realized that I didn't miss him at all today.

This year, he was mentioned.  We discussed how the son who used to look so much like him looks less like him this year, and how my other son looks much more like him now.  I talked about how some of their mannerisms are very much like their dad.  I mused over how my daughter doesn't have close attachments to men, except my friend's husband, my dad, my brother-in-law, and she's somewhat close to a co-worker and her uncles.  But she's never felt a relationship with a dad that she would remember, and it affects her, somewhat, I think.

I was even asked by one of the family members if I would ever consider remarriage or having children in the future if "the right guy" came along.  I didn't freak out or withdraw really, although I was completely taken aback, I didn't act like it.

I didn't cry.

I didn't miss him.  Not like I used to.  I mostly miss him on behalf of my kids, and I feel sorry for him missing out on them.

But I didn't hinder me.

It didn't overwhelm me.

It didn't cause me anxiousness or nervousness.  I didn't even think about him before going.  I didn't sit and wonder if anyone would ask about him or mention him or worry about how I would react if it happened.

That's a lot of healed wounds.

Thank you, Jesus.

If it weren't for the Cleansing Stream retreat less than a month ago, I am sure I would be in a different emotional state tonight.

But I'm okay.

The kids and I are okay.

I don't long for him to love us.  I don't feel like we are missing out on his love.  I know we are, realistically, but I don't feel that soul-crushing overwhelming longing that was there a year ago.

Because we don't need his love.  It would be nice, but it's not a necessity.

We have God's love, first and foremost, and because of His love, we are loved deeply by many others.  It's obvious to me that we are loved more deeply by others in our lives than we could be by him at this point anyway.  My children are lacking their dad, but they're not lacking their Father's love; they're not lacking love at all.  Today, they were surrounded by love, like they are every day.

Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, to me, are especially important emotional holidays.  They flood my heart with appreciation for God, family, friends, love, memories, laughter, and companionship.

For the last 15 years, up until this year, a huge portion of all of those holidays were invested in him- even the last two, when we was sort of here and then not here at all.

This year, that chain is broken.

This year, I see so much more clearly the love that we are showered with.  I saw it last year through clouded lenses.  This year, it's more real.

I can see so much more clearly this year that I am not alone.  I wondered a few days ago, while the enemy was after my mind, that I would be alone eternally, spending holidays without adult cameraderie, huddled up with my children, forgotten by the world, because I was just a pity case or that people were sick of the burden I am, wishing for interaction aside from only children (I know that sounds horrible, and I love my children dearly, so please don't assume I hate spending time with them).

But that's just crazy. I have family, and friends that are family, and friends beyond that who love us so much.

I am not alone.  We are not alone.  And God wouldn't allow us to go through this life alone anyway.  I get reminded of that on the regular.  Sometimes, I just get in my own way of seeing it.

Thank you to the many friends and family who have sent me messages of love, empowerment, gratitude, prayer, and blessings.  Your love is deeply felt and appreciated more than I find myself able to express at this time.

Ripping Bandaids

I've had some heartbreaks in my life.  I say this not to be dramatic, or for sympathy.  It's just fact.  Now, these heartbreaks, in some ways, define who I am as an individual.  They help develop the capacity for love and loss in my heart.  While many times, I wish that they had never happened, I know that they are my testimony.

This weekend is another milestone or anniversary-filled weekend.  I look back, and five years ago, I was losing my second baby, early on in pregnancy.  Two years ago, I was a bit terrified, knowing my then-husband was driving to my hometown to bring my children and I back to our current town, after I had fled for a few days in fear and confusion, spending them largely trying to decode mysteries and lies in our lives.  

The memories of these dates came rushing back to me this evening, as I made the drive home from taking my children to see their grandparents.

This weekend, this year, was filled with my former husband's family.  It nearly completes the first visits with each of his siblings or parents in over year (or more in some cases).  

A month and a half ago, I spent a few hours at his mother's house.  His mom has been a second mom to me for about 15 years now, but I hadn't been to her house since before he disappeared from our lives.  I hadn't been to the house I spent countless hours, days, weekends, and weeks at in over two years.  Her house was where he first told me that he wanted me to be his wife some day, that he wanted to have children with me, grow old together, and hopefully die together at the same time in a poetic Romeo & Juliet-esque finale (meaning simply at the same time or minutes apart).  We spent many holidays there together.  The house itself is jam-packed with memories that shaped who I was individually, but also who we were as a couple.  

As I drove there that day, I prayed repeatedly that God would give me strength, peace, and grace, and that I wouldn't be reduced to a blubbering ball of tears.  He answered my prayers and I didn't cry at all until the drive home.

Fast forward to this weekend, where his youngest brother, who I met when he wasn't even a teenager, who became one of my dearest friends very early on, his wife, and their infant son came to visit.  I hadn't seen them in over a year at all, since a family gathering I felt completely out of place at the summer before.  I was excited and anxious at the prospect of the three of them here, in our new home, for the first time.  I didn't want it to be awkward or silent or feel like there was a giant chasm in our relationship.  

We had a good time over lunch, watching our children laugh and play, and reminiscing some and talking about life now.  We exchanged multiple hugs, and when they left, I didn't cry at all.  I felt at peace, and I was so relieved.  

His twin brother is married to one of my dearest friends, and they live nearby.  (He was at our place also when the youngest brother was here.)  They've been around before, during, and after my life crumbled, and they've never wavered.  We see them regularly and my children adore them, as do I.  We were blessed to be able to have an afternoon adventure with them at the science center, which the children talked about the rest of the evening.  The science center and their baby cousin.  It was a good day.

Today, the children and I were journeying to my former-husband's father and step-mother's house about an hour away.  Up until today, I hadn't been there in nearly two years.  The last time we went was Thanksgiving in 2014.  He had shown up late, angry, and bitter, and the drive there was wretched, as was the drive home.  Knowing this and feeling some of the residual emotions still lingering, the prospect of going back there today, without him, was uneasy.  But, in my heart, I felt I needed to.

As I was preparing myself for the adventure today, I told a friend that it's sort of like ripping another band-aid off my heart.

The wounds that were left when our marriage crumbled were deep, intense, gaping holes.  I remembered him vividly telling me that no matter what happened, I would always be a part of his family, not only because of the kids, but because they loved me.  I tried to believe him, but always was weary of the truth, because so many of the things that he had told me in that period were blatant lies.    

While I have been in contact with the majority of his family this entire time, I hadn't gone back to his parents homes, and I hadn't seen most of them much at all, because, for all of us, it was painful.  We may not have spoken it, but it was true.  He ripped all our hearts up a bit, and seeing each other was a vivid reminder of that- the life and lives he helped create and then abandoned.  There are always questions, but most of the time they are unspoken, because we know we do not understand or have the answers.  

I have ripped nearly all of the band-aids off, in regard to his family, the other half of my family.  

Some of it remained constant, and some things have changed.

I think the changed have helped me, honestly.

There were slight differences at his mom's house.  New photos of my kids on the fridge, the basement looking completely different from it was the years I spent hanging out in it.

His youngest brother and his wife have a son.  They visited us here, our new apartment where he has never set foot.

His dad and step-mom have new furniture.  I know that sounds trivial and silly, but it wasn't like walking into a big time machine, and the newness of it helped me ease back into the walls.

I mustered up the courage to see these people all again, without him, in new circumstances, a year or more later from the times that were very meaningful in this journey.  I am so glad I did.

Because I realized, for once, he was right.  He didn't lie when he said his family would embrace me as their own, and that they wouldn't shut me out.  I haven't been replaced, and my children and I are loved and welcomed.  They still hug me and tell me they love me, and of course they do the same for my children.  Yes, there's still pain and awkward pauses, but they don't sever us like they could.  Yes, we still wonder, and yes, I still cry.  I may cry each and every time.  I don't know that it will ever be a completely pain-free experience, though I pray that it will.

 I cried today when I left his dad's house.  I realized in the moment they were hugging me that he was right about his family.  

I ripped the band-aids, and the wounds have healed.  Yes, they've scarred over some, but they're no longer gaping.   Things are definitely not the same, but they're not terrible.  In the pain we all feel, we still feel joy and blessings.  Each of the times I ripped the band-aid off, I have been told that his family hopes to see us again soon, and that they are proud of me and my children.  

I think... I think I am proud of us, too.