Once Upon a Lifetime Ago

Once upon a lifetime ago, on August 5, 2006, a bright-eyed, creative, social justice seeking young lady married the man she dreamed of for as long as she could remember, a kind, caring, hard-working, musical and charming young man.

Their friendship had blossomed and deepened quickly, and grew into a deep love for one another, and on that hot summer’s day, in front of family and dear friends, they pledged their lives to one another.

Now, as we know, sometimes forever doesn’t last that long, at least not when humans are in charge.  As is the case more often than we would wish, “Come What May” faded and the fairy tale took a turn that two devoted love birds would never imagine possible, and the union between those two was severed.

I was the young lady in this story.

It’s been over four years now since my divorce was final.  As many know, the divorce did not come easy, and it was actually something I had to work very hard to be granted, for multiple reasons.  It was never anything I really wanted, but it was something I had to have.  Throughout the past six years, actually a little more, life has been a rollercoaster of occasionally unbelievable variety.

Here we are, 14 years after my wedding day.  After separating from my former husband, and especially after the divorce, I sit and wonder, each year, on this day, if it’s something I should acknowledge, publicly or privately.  It’s not an anniversary of continued marriage commitment, but yet, it is an anniversary of a huge life milestone.

I decided, this year, I will acknowledge it, publicly.

It is a big deal.

That love shaped me into a kind, devoted woman.  That love battled infertility to allow me to be a mother.  That love created innumerable memories, both good and bad.  That marriage shaped my life.  In the good times and the bad times, it molded me into a strong, brave, compassionate, woman full of faith in God.

Now that my youngest, my daughter, is six, and her father is in a new relationship with a woman he loves, a woman I am quite fond of as well, my little girl has a lot of questions about love and marriage.  She thinks kissing is gross, but she knows once upon a lifetime ago, I used to kiss her dad. She knows her dad kisses someone new now.  She thinks both situations are yucky.  Oh, I love how innocent she is.

In this new season of life, the kids all three talk about marriage and divorce more than they ever had in the past.

This year, on the anniversary of my wedding, I decided I will do something I have never done before with my children.

I will talk about my wedding day.

I will show them photos.

I will let them ask questions.

I will remember the day for the beautiful celebration that it was.

Being the sentimental and emotional woman that I am, someday I will also show them my wedding dress, if they’d like.  It currently is stored with my sister-in-law.  I believe my wedding rings are there too.  I saved both in the event that my daughter, especially, would like to see them.  I did not know then whether her dad would ever be in her life again, because for most of it, he really wasn’t, but I wanted her to know that she was created by love, out of the dreams her mom and dad once had together.  I have a shadow box their dad made me with my bouquet, our vows and my jewelry, which is stored with a dear friend, that perhaps someday I will desire to get back and share with them.  I just don’t know.

But what I do know now is that this year, I think it’s okay to open up those memories for my children.  I will let them see the joy in our faces as we became man and wife.  I will let my daughter marvel over my pretty white dress.   I will let them create their own memory in their minds of what could have happened that day, and let them know that it’s okay to talk about the joy that led up to their lives, even if that marriage no longer exists.  I will celebrate that lifetime ago that began their journey.        I will remind them (and myself) that even though happily ever after did not turn out the way we imagined, because God is SO GOOD, we have a happily ever after that we can love to live this way too.

(And what’s an anniversary without a wedding photo?  Here’s one of my very favorites of that day.)

Day One

Today is a milestone day. It's one I don't talk about frequently, and in the past, pretty much only with people I know well.

Five years ago today was day one.  Day one of myself really taking charge of my children and my future in big ways.

Leading up to day one was almost a year of struggles and heartache and turmoil and unknowns and the world falling apart in front of us, where I felt we were just being washed up by the tide and I was trying to stay afloat and just praying we would make it by.  With the help of some dear and trusted family and friends, we did make it by, and I found the footing underneath myself to step into day one.

Day one happened at night.  One night after work at my job of 6 weeks, I came home with the children, and made the terrifying, bold, now-or-never decision to pack us up and move from our temporary shelter in a friends apartment to the new (at the time) homeless shelter, knowing our time would have to end with her soon anyway due to a lease being up, and feeling like if I didn't act, we would run out of options quickly.

So, we went, one cold winter night.

It was a temporary solution that felt like an eternity, especially the first night, as I heard my infant daughter's crying in our cold, empty bedroom, because my two-year-old son had woke up screaming and terrified, as it echoed into the high ceilings and sounded like it would echo for eons.  We had to be up and out before the sun rose the next morning, and I had hours to waste before I had to be at work, but 90 minutes to waste before we could be let back into the doors of our temporary shelter.  The next nights weren't any better, really, and I barely slept in days.  But, we stepped out, day one, day two, and continued, one foot in front of the other, until we found a temporary apartment at the St. Francis House (which is sort of like transitional housing for the homeless) and then I had enough footing and finances to secure our permanent home, the same apartment we have been at since.

Tonight, I came home on another freezing cold night, to a warm, inviting home, where instead of hearing my baby cry echo, I hear laughter in the bedroom as the children play together happily.

We have come such a long way since that first day.

I am very proud of us for holding onto God as he helped us navigate year after year of struggle, to bring us to this fifth year, where I think we are happier and healthier in many ways than we have been since, I dare to say, before my daughter was ever born.  God is so good.

I won't continue on, I've written about this before.  If you care to read more about it, or another milestone post, you can by clicking here.

Here's an excerpt I read this evening from my journal that night.  I have to smile as I read the last sentence.  God has done just that, in more ways than one.

"Tonight, here we are. In a family room at a homeless shelter where we can’t have food or drink in our possession, our clothes had to be sanitized before we could have them, we can have no TV, and minimal personal belongings.

I know I should and shouldn’t feel both ashamed and embarrassed. I do feel both. As I walked through those doors with a few bags of clothing and a few handfuls of toys, I knew this was the bottom or very close to it. I feel betrayed by myself and my marriage and my hope and my faith.

As I laid down beside my two toddlers tonight to help them relax and fall asleep, I sang to them, and their eyes quickly closed. My tears started flowing, and I realized that my heart is still so full of love. I feel beaten, but I feel brave. I have been told for years I am strong. People admire my strength and my outlook.

Tonight, I am tested. I am at the edge of my strength and my positive outlook. But, I am going to take that leap of faith that miracles will happen and my children and I will have a home soon. I have faith that my credit can be restored. Someone will give is a chance. It won’t always be this. I won’t always be at the bottom.  I am seeking strength like never before. Strength I don’t know that I have. I am praying endlessly for miracles. God can redeem this all, and maybe if I’m so fortunate, my children will have a mended family someday too."

I'm not who I was...

Thirteen years ago tomorrow, at 22 years old, I became a wife. It was a beautiful summer day, surrounded by so many family and friends. My dreams were coming true, and I was going to spend my life with the one who I felt God had chosen for me. We were going to do life together until we breathed no more.

I was legally married for nearly 10 years, and those nearly 10 years brought me so much joy, beautiful children, and cherished memories.  I look back on them and have so many memories where I could laugh until I cry. I have so many memories where I felt such love and joy that I did cry. And I have so many nightmarish memories that I try not to think about or I know I will lay in bed and cry until my eyes swell.  For the most part, honestly, I would say that it was worth it. I was blessed with the treasures I desired since I was a young girl, and that makes the entire journey worth living through.

The last few years of the marriage really brought me nearly a life's worth of stress and trauma.  There was so much darkness, too many surprises, and tons of huge mountains the children and I had to climb.

 Every year, now, I see the date come and go, I reminded of both the beautiful and the terrible memories that marriage brought to me. It's like a silent movie real that plays a rerun in my mind. This is my third year seeing August 5, my wedding date, as a divorced woman.

Each year, I look at my children and remind myself they were the best gifts ever given from that marriage and I am so grateful that God blessed me with the marriage that made their mommy. Each year that passes, I look back, and I see just how much stronger I am, how much wiser, how much more empathetic, how much braver, and how much more resilient I am than that young woman.

As the years carry on, I must say, on my wedding anniversary, I am able to look back and see that I'm not who I was, not entirely, but rather, how God continues to form me day by day, into the woman He always knew I would be.  I don't feel like I fully know this woman yet. Some days, she seems like a stranger I haven't really met. Many days are a blur, raising three young kids in a busy world, but I've been told this new woman is there and she's the one taking control of my life. I may still shed some tears, knowing my life is not like I had dreamed, walking down that aisle in my pretty white dress 13 years ago, but I think that's to be expected and likely very normal, even if my story is a little less than ordinary.  What I do know is that on my wedding anniversary, each year, I can look back and see a life lived with God, great friends and loving family standing by my side every step of the way.

This year is a little different, because after 26 months of near silence (again), my former husband is back in my life. It's been a few months in the making, but God has called me to allow reunification between he and the children that he willingly walked away from (again) in 2017. I've been pretty quiet about this, trusting my prayers and what I feel God has called me to do, instead of soliciting much advice.  I believe I am doing what is best for my children. On the eve of the anniversary, I ask for a gift this year, not for me, but for the children I was blessed with through this marriage.

Please pray for healing in their hearts. Please pray for healing in their dad's heart.  Please pray he will be a dad to them for real and forever. Please pray for patience, peace, and guidance for us all as we navigate this season with hopeful expectation and obvious reservation.

I'm Anchored.

For quite some time now, I have had it in my mind that I wanted a very specific, simple tattoo on my left wrist.

On my right wrist, I have a simple tattoo that reads "I love you" in my grandmother's handwriting.  In fact, multiple female family members have similar handwriting tattoos on their wrists or clavicles.  We all went together and had a tattoo party when they heard of my idea and fell in love with it themselves.

My left wrist, though, all I wanted was an anchor.

When I was younger, I would have never suspected I would adore the image of an anchor as I do now.  I thought of them simply in terms of sailing and pirates and such.

But then, my faith was tested.  I guess that's a silly statement, because throughout one's life, faith is continually tested.  I'm no different in that regard, and I have had many tests under my belt, each time, my faith in God remaining.  From time to time, I may have distanced myself, but He's always been there.

But recently, over the last few years, my faith has been tested in ways I never dreamed of.  From finding out my former husband was cheating on me with men and women alike, to threatened homelessness while I had no job and three children ages six months to four years old, to living in a homeless shelter and transitional housing, to being abandoned financially and emotionally, to filing for divorce... to self-sufficiency (for the most part, with occasional blessings from trusted family and friends) and single parenting in a God focused home, I've done nearly a complete 180 degree turn around in my life, and all the while, my God has remained, pulling me through, guiding me, walking beside me, carrying me, fighting for me, and calming me.

This anchor...

This anchor is my reminder.   It reminds me of my past and my victories.  It reminds me of God's sovereignty and steadfastness.    It reminds me of hope.  

You see, through everything in my life, my hope has remained.  I've never been hopeless.  I've never been completely alone, because I've known God to be with me always, even if I was refusing to acknowledge him.  Even in my deepest despair and my darkest times, my hardest routes and my scariest valleys, I've had hope in a better tomorrow, and I've had hope that God would pull me through, as He has.

One of my most well-loved bible verses is Hebrews 6:19.  It's beautiful in multiple translations.  "This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls.  It leads us through the curtain into God's inner sanctuary." NLT

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.  It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain." NIV

Hope is an anchor.  What a beautiful image.  In all that life throws at us, this hope keeps us steady.

What is this hope?

God is this hope.

"The Lord is all I have, and so in him I put my hope." Lamentations 3:24

"Sovereign Lord, I put my hope in you; I have trusted you since I was young." Psalm 71:5

"Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from Him." Psalm 62:5

"We put our hope int he Lord. He is our help and our shield. In Him our hearts rejoice, for we trust His holy name. Let your unfailing love surround us, Lord, for our hope is in You alone." Psalm 33:20-22

"You will live secure and full of hope; God will protect you and give you rest." Job 11:18

This tattoo is also my reminder to seek God continually, through my life. It's permanency shall remind me to enter my secret place and to pray.  Sometimes I forget. Often, actually, I forget.

"Let your hope keep you joyful, be patient in your troubles, and pray at all times."  Romans 12:12

And, it reminds me that God has a plan for me, even if I feel things are out of control, totally random or uncertain, or make absolutely no sense.  Because God says so. 

"For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope."  Jeremiah 29:11

The bible talks a lot about hope.

But so does music.  Many know that God speaks to me often through music.  I will hear a song a hundred times, and on the 101st time, it speaks in a new way, or I hear a lyric I had never heard before.  Many songs that resonate with me deeply talk of God as an anchor for us, or his hope as an anchor for us, or him carrying us through storms.  

"Let the King of my heart be the wind inside my sails, the anchor in the waves, oh he is my song." -John Mark McMillan, King of my Heart.

"When darkness seems to hide His face, I rest on His unchanging grace.  In every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil." Hillsong United, Cornerstone

"In the eye of the storm, You remain in control, and in the middle of the war, You guard my soul.  You alone are the anchor when my sails are torn.  Your love surrounds me in the eye of the storm." Ryan Stevenson, Eye of the Storm

These are just a few that came to me at the moment, but I know that there are more.

I don't always have my bible with me. I don't always have music with me. I don't always have my phone with me. But, I do always have my wrist with me.

And now, on that wrist, I'll always have my anchor with me, to show me, to remind me, to inspire me.  Maybe someday, someone I do not know will ask about my anchor.  Maybe they'll assume I'm a wannabe pirate. Maybe they'll think I was in the navy.  Maybe, just maybe, they'll ask.  And my God will fill me with bravery and grace, and I'll step out in faith, and I'll testify.  I'll tell them all about how I've been through quite a storm,and my God, my Hope, my Anchor held me steady through it all, and I am no worse for the wear as the sunshine came out.  I'm stronger.  I'm braver.  I'm calmer. I'm more rooted in my faith than ever before.

Because I'm anchored.

A place of my own

I have my very own bedroom.

I haven't had my very own bedroom since the spring of 2006.

It happened last Sunday, after a month or so of meditation.

Prior to this, I had been sharing the larger of our two bedrooms with my nearly 2.5 year-old daughter.

I actually began sharing a room with her in January of 2015, when we moved into transitional housing straight out of the homeless shelter.

Prior to that, I spent two months sharing a bedroom with my two sons while we roomed with a friend at her apartment.

Before that, I spent 9 years or so sharing a room, and a bed, with my former husband.

My daughter doesn't sleep very well. She never has slept more than a few hours at a time for me, and I have been so perpetually exhausted for years now that sometimes I think I'm crazy.  She sleeps okay for other people. It's been a combination, I assume, of recurrent ear infections, tonsils, adenoids, teething (she's still missing two of her two-year molars), and knowing I'm near. I'm a cruddy sleeper, quiet noises wake me, so listening to her cry at night is overwhelming. I have not been one to pick her up and coddle her when she cries at night, but I think part of it is that she would cry and I would even just voice from my bed "it's okay, babe, go back to sleep." Who knows.

Regardless of why, I thought it might be worth a shot to combine her room with her brothers room, and pray for the best.

It's been going well. She still wakes up sometimes, but not every 40 minutes to two hours. The boys stay in their beds quietly because she's in there, so the middle child hasn't been wandering out eight times before he falls asleep. I'm praying these things continue or improve. 

It's nice to be able to go to bed and turn on the light whatever time I want to, or turn it on first thing in the morning and not worry about waking anyone. It's nice to have my own closet and not have to share space. It's nice to not have toys to step on, or other people throwing clothes on my floor. I can decorate for just me. I could read in bed if I wanted, or not wake anyone if I cough.

I have still been sleeping like crud. I think it's partially because it's a new room, new light, new noise, new temperature, and because my body is so used to waking up multiple times a night. It will take some adjustment. I'm holding onto faith soon we will all be sleeping well, though.

Last night, I had a few nightmares. It's not really a big deal, but irritating. However, I was going to make my bed a bit ago and I remembered them.  Then, I remembered the 9 or so years where I had a roommate to share them with.

Suddenly, I realized, sitting on my bed, that my new room, while exciting and deserved, feels a bit lonely and sad at the same time.

It seems silly. But, I realized that in 2005, I was engaged and planning my forever, which included a roommate for life.

And now, the bed and the room contain just one person. Just me.

It's empowering on some levels, to know I stood up for myself and worked so hard to be in this room, alone. But it is also currently weighted reminder that my life dreams and plans were shattered and remade.

It will take some getting used to.

And my bed is still not made.

It would have been Tin.

Ten years. 

Tomorrow, ten years ago, I vowed my life, my love, my best and worst, my all... To the man I knew I would love until I died. I married the man who agreed that divorce was never an option. We discussed how we wished we would never have to live without the other and how it would be a blessing to live full lives together, seeing our grandchildren grow, and dying alongside one another in our 90s.

Tomorrow is our ten year wedding anniversary.

Not "would have been" our anniversary.

You see, even though our marriage died this year, that date- August 5 still lives on. The demise of our marital union doesn't negate that it existed and our wedded lives began on this date ten years ago.

I didn't understand that concept until this year.

Now, I cannot say we've been married for 10 years. We were only married for nine. So I'm not celebrating 10 years of marriage. But I am cherishing the fact that I was able to experience the love of fairytales (even if it may have been false, I still do not know and often wonder), that I was chosen as a wife, that I found someone to give my heart to and love fiercely, deeply, and unconditionally.

And I mourn the loss. I may cry over the devastation I feel over watching nine years of marriage crumble away and for the loss of what would have been another year.

August 5 was the day I dreamed and waited my whole young life for.

August 5 is now the day that could make my throat constrict, bile surge in my stomach, and tears burn tracks down my face.

I can honestly say that while I know I am better off now, not constricted and delusioned in an unhealthy marriage, the passing of this day for the first time as a divorced woman hurts the heart. 

He promised me forever. He severed the promise and crushed my heart, but in the process, he made me much stronger, more courageous, more grounded, and allowed me to deepen my faith and stance on my stronghold than I ever thought possible.  In a weird way, it's all been a heart-wrenching blessing.

I look back on the day with a heart full of joy, knowing that I was truly, deeply, full of love and overjoyed that he had chosen me to be his companion. I took time to look at our wedding photos, and I didn't cry. I smiled at the happiness beaming from my face, from his face, from the faces of our loved ones. I remembered the excitement that overcame me as I went to his ring on his finger and tried to force it on the wrong hand. I remember the anticipation of forever together, and the incomparable blessing I felt at becoming his wife.

I don't cry over that day. I may cry over the crushing loss of it all.

But then, my tears will subside as I look at myself today. I'm more level-headed than I think I ever have been. I'm part easy-going, but part stubborn, balancing when to let the punches roll and when to put up a fight. The heart that was shattered is mending, and somehow, instead of smaller, it's bigger and capable of even more love than ever before.  Even on my darkest days, there's always a glimmer of hope, and two years ago, I am not certain that was completely true. I know what it is to have the ground ripped from beneath me and my breath siphoned away, but I also know what it feels like to overcome, to really stand tall, firm, and strong.

The 9 years of marriage transitioned from bliss to a bit of a nightmare, but with each passing year, I was given so much. I was blessed with memories of love, and I was shown who I really am as a woman of God, in times of great strife. My former husband, even in his continued absence, has given me so much. 

As much as it hurts to see this day come and go, I'm so thankful it ever existed. In the pain, there's joy, and in the sadness, there's peace. It's a heartache and a blessing. The depth of meaning behind this ten year anniversary is so great, I am not sure I am able to fully discover and embrace it yet. I guess that's something to look forward to in the anniversaries to come.

I try not to wallow...

This evening, as I scroll through Facebook in my wind-down time, I see all sorts of posts about weddings and marriages and anniversaries. It is summer after all, which means wedding season is in full-swing.

Last summer, I don't remember noticing that as much. It's likely because I was stressed with trying to get my life in order and move out from the homeless shelter transitional housing and start our lives over.

This year, though... It's a different story.

Just last night, I saw something online about someone's anniversary, and it dawned on me that August 5th should have been a celebration of 10 years of marriage for me and my former husband.

Seeing all of these joyful summer wedding posts has me feeling a bit miserable tonight. Don't get me wrong, I am happy for others, but it doesn't negate my own heartache.

I had a summer wedding, once. I was engaged to the man of my dreams, as they say, who was promising me his whole life, everything and all things, no matter what, come what may. 

I was like most brides- anxious and expectant and excited beyond belief that it was my turn.

It's amazing how my simple little dream wedding lead to the nightmare ending that it did.

I sit here and wonder "why me? Why, out of all these summer weddings, was my story the one culminating with lies, control, manupulation, betrayal, abandonment, and divorce?"

I know I shouldn't wallow. I try not to. 

Storms

I'm As a young girl, thunderstorms absolutely terrified me. I would lay in my room with my pillows mothering my head trying to drown out the light and the sounds. I would run to my parents' room and lay on the floor by their bed trying not to cry.

I hated them.

Once, at my first summer job corn detasseling, probably as a pre-teen, the supervisor made us finish the field in the beginning of a storm. We were soaked and I was anxious as could be. When we were finally bussed back to town and dropped off, I ran to my grandma's house. It lightninged once while I bolted and I felt like my heart stopped and I was paralyzed as the air surrounding me flashed bright white.

As I went to high school and college, I grew much more fond of the storms and was interested in cloud formations, storms, and tornadoes. When I met my former husband, he too was keen on these things, and it became a shared interest.

There were many nights when we were dating when storms were on their way and we would grab our cameras, film DSLR at first and eventually digital, and head out of town or to the highest point we could find, and chase the clouds down with our shutters, attempting to catch beautiful photos of lightning.  We succeeded multiple times.  It was wonderful.

When we were married and shared our home, we would spend countless nights in the dark, watching the lightning dance across the sky as the thunder rumbled our walls.  We spent so many of those nights together.  They were some of our favorite times together.  There was something paradoxically exhilarating and serene in the storm.

Tonight, the sky flashes its magical show and the thunder rumbles.  My children are all soundly asleep, but I cannot seem to calm my mind.  With each flash, my mind also flashes back to the many storms we cherished, and the many storms we weathered.  

I've been through many storms without him in the last two years, figuratively and literally.  I shooed our children into the basement calmly during multiple tornado warnings one summer, and I fought my way through his betrayals, abandonment, and the repercussions that followed.  Storms and I are both old friends and old enemies.

Tonight, I lay awake.  I listen to the show outside as the room lights up every now and again.  I closed my curtains one moment to block out the flashing, and a few minutes later, I turned off the apartment lights and nature's strobe began to take full effect on my walls much like they used to.  I tried to fall asleep on the couch with the lights on and the lights off.  

But the storm of my memory continues on.  I see his smile.  I feel his arms.  I can hear his breath.  But, I am alone.  

It's amazing how I can still possess love for him even after it all.  It's the kind of romantic love that I had for him during our many joyful storms, of course, but the love that prays for his well-being, despite the popular consensus I shouldn't wish for that.  But, God loves him, and so should I. 

And that love that God allows me to hold for him and for his soul makes the storm tonight so much more lonely than I was prepared for.

Thank Heavens God calms the storms.  He has calmed each of the tempests that He helped me navigate or carried us through in the last two years, after all. I am not the strong one, and I am no sailor on the wicked seas. He is the strong one, and He is in me. He is the anchor and the guide. I'll cry out to Him.  I will beg Him to comfort me. These storms shall pass, too.

There are lyrics that resonate perfectly tonight in a song by Casting Crowns...

"As the thunder rolls

I barely hear Your whisper through the rain

"I'm with you"

And as Your mercy falls

I raise my hands and praise the God who gives

And takes away

[Chorus:]

And I'll praise You in this storm

And I will lift my hands

For You are who You are

No matter where I am

And every tear I've cried

You hold in Your hand

You never left my side

And though my heart is torn

I will praise You in this storm"

Real Life?

Years ago, back in high school, I had a phase where I loved reading mystery books, psychological thrillers, and books that really made you think and question what was going on. I read many, many books, and would get caught up in the stories and how fantastical they were, thankful that no matter how engrossed I became in the story, they were just fiction.

It's a completely different feeling when you're living out one of those stories. 

My love story started out like a proper romantic novel might. The dashing, tall, dark, and handsome man caught my eye with a gleaming smile, and we were swept up in love. Over the course of a few years we went from best friends to soul mates to married.

We fought long and hard to have our first child. We lost our second before we knew whether the baby was a boy or a girl. We bounced back, and welcomed a second son into the world.  We were content. We were at peace. We were thriving.

So I thought...

Together, we fought to provide a loving home for our two sons.  My husband worked hard, long hours, so that I could stay home with our boys.  He told me repeatedly he thought it was best, financially, and for the children.  So, we made due with less than many people, renting a cute old home, not having a ton of time together, but striving to make sure our children were raised by loving parents, and a mother who had all the time in the world for them.

I had no idea there was a secret life being lived outside this scenario.  I had no idea that dark things were happened outside our home in the name of our family, until months later.  I chose to believe my husband when these things came to light, and believe that inherently he was a great person trying to do what was right, believing he loved his family deeply and would do anything for them.  I believed he was a good person who had fallen into some mistakes and bad decisions.  I chose to work through these things with him, stand beside him, fight for our marriage, fight for our family, and believe that good would prevail.

I became pregnant with our daughter in the midst of great tribulation.  It was a complete and utter shock for many, many reasons, a large one being that I was told it was highly unlikely I would ever become pregnant without medical assistance.  My husband was paying for some of his poor decisions when I found out I was pregnant, and I was devastated.  I knew the timing was horrible, and I was not sure I could handle having another baby around while dealing with everything else my marriage was throwing at me.  I cried day in and day out, even though the few people I trusted to tell all told me that "everything happens for a reason" and "it's God's plan, not ours," and other such phrases.

Knowing things were in a bind financially, I had applied for jobs, and had just accepted a position the day prior to finding out our third little miracle was on the way.  I worked long hours most days of the week while allowing my sister to spend those hours with my children, raising them as she knew I would love them to be raised.

When I found out our third baby was a girl, he wasn't with.  I went to tell him in person, and the light in his eyes and the smile on his face was genuine, thrilled, and joy-filled.  He was finally getting that daughter he had hoped for, that I was sure would never happen, believing with my whole being we would have four sons someday.

I was exhausted.  I was strained.  I was working, raising children, pregnant, worried, fighting for our marriage to prevail.  But I had faith and hope and everything inside of me believed things could and would be okay in the end.

By the time our daughter arrived, things seemed to finally be getting back to where they were when our lives were good again.  I was finally thrilled at the prospect of a daughter being placed in my arms.

She arrived, and was beautiful.  We were smitten with her, as were her brothers.  Our family felt so whole and complete.  He told me many times it didn't make sense for me to go back to work with the late night hours and expense of daycare, so I should stay home and he would provide again.  He had gotten a raise and a promotion, and so it worked out okay.  Things were good and back to normal.  It was like a dream.

Only the dream wasn't what I thought it was.

Months passed by, and at the end of the summer, out of seemingly nowhere, as I had, over the course of the previous months, confronted my husband as to his distance, wanting to work on things that seemed strained again, and straight out demanded to know if he wanted out of our marriage and he swore up and down, inside and out that he wanted nothing more than his family and his wife, he told me he wanted a break.  I was shaken.  He told me he was not going to come live at home until we went to counseling together.  I was truly relieved at the idea of counseling because I had suggested it many times and he often told me we didn't need it.  So, we made an appointment and went.  I thought we were going to continue going. He paid for the session an arranged others.  Then he decided he didn't like the counselor and we weren't going anymore.

A few nights later, creepy, scary things were happening at our house when he wasn't home.  In the dark of the night, our garage was broken into, our freezer tipped over, someone running through the yard.  Someone broke our window with a rock.  Someone turned on our outside hose and ran it through our back door into our kitchen, opening the front door as they walked through while I did laundry below.  I called the cops multiple times in a week, and they gave me a few ideas of who, what, or why it could be happening.  Uncertain and terrified, at the urging and help of a few close friends, I took my three children and left town without a word.  Someone egged my van randomly while I was gone.  When he found out we weren't home anymore because he offered someone to stay at our house a night and I had to tell him I wasn't there, things stopped happening.  It was strange, but I refused to jump to any conclusions, and to this day, I have no real answers.

While away, I found many phone calls in his call logs to a random woman all hours of every day.  He swore it was for work. I didn't believe him, but there was nothing I thought I could do to prove otherwise.

He came and brought us back home after about a week.  He didn't stay at the house although I begged him to sleep in the basement because I was terrified for our safety.  It seemed so strange to me that he wouldn't and as always, he used work as an excuse.

It was weeks later that he refused to pay rent, saying he couldn't afford it (although I found out a bit later that he could, he was making much more than I ever knew about and I had no idea where any of it had gone), and his children and I were evicted in short notice.  A friend rescued us and we stayed with her a few months, while I found a job at a daycare that the children were able to attend. Then the children and I went to the homeless shelter a while before finding ourselves in a transitional housing apartment.

Despite the very strict rules, we stayed multiple months before I was able to find an apartment for us.

During this time, he had our family vehicle, and I had to trust him to come and get the children and I for work each day, and then to return us home.  There were many times I hadn't heard from him until minutes before he was supposed to be there, and there were many times he failed to show on time at all, leaving me in a panic and having to find other rides to work. He didn't seem to find urgency in high temperatures and illnesses with the kids and it would take all sorts of begging to get him to allow me to take them to the doctor or have him take them to the doctor.  He was always busy. Eventually, the children and I were blessed with a van so that I could be self sufficient.  He visited a bit, acted like he cared and wanted to be with us, but he was still a bit distant.  The children were seeing him daily, which was a nice change, but he wasn't really there half the time he was there.

It took many months before he let me know where he was staying. He would tell me with a friend or other such things, but never specific.  Eventually, he was renting a room in someone else's apartment and the kids and I were able to visit.

He came to me a bit over a year ago to confess and ask forgiveness for the many, many things he had been doing over the course of the year beforehand.  I forgave him.  He asked to reconcile.  I agreed to try under strict guidelines.  I was extremely leery and cautious, but allowed myself to believe in miracles and to have hope that our family would be together again and our marriage could be restored.

We spent a few days together after that, Easter was one, and our daughter's first birthday party and the evening of her first birthday.  He seemed to be trying.  He seemed to really want his family.

Then, the wind was knocked out of me and the world around me seemed to fall apart when the day after her birthday, I received a random message from a guy I had never heard of, asking how to reach him.  I told him he didn't have his phone at the time, and I asked who he was.

"He told me he told you.  We've been dating over a month now."

I couldn't breathe. I thought I was going to pass out from trembling and dizziness.  There was a photo of the two of them together in a bar.  They were hugging.  My husband had a secret boyfriend, while he was trying to get the family back together.  He had never once said anything about this friend, even in his confessions he only spoke of women.

I confronted him when I was able.  He said it was a goofy drunk picture.  I could honestly understand that because he's always been one to give hugs, and I knew he was battling a drinking problem.  I chose to give him the temporary benefit of the doubt while he was going to prove it was a lie and this guy was out to destroy our family.  He swore he wouldn't talk to him or anything of the nature.

Except he did.  And he wasn't very secretive, and I found out.  He still denied their relationship was romantic and they were just friends. I knew better. I confronted him so many times and it was always the same, but I knew better.

He saw the children a few times over the next few weeks. I even allowed them, for the sake of my own sanity because I was exhausted, to have them overnight without me.  I found out he was sneaking this guy friend around them, and the children around that friend's family.  I confronted him and was given many stories, lies, and discrepancies.

I told him that he wasn't going to have the children alone until I met this guy. I told him we were over and his relationship with the other man didn't really matter, but since he couldn't be trusted to be honest and I didn't know this guy or anything about him other than they went to bars together and I was being lied to, he couldn't have the children alone.

And then he disappeared.  Completely disappeared from our lives. It's been almost a year.

In the following months, I found so many more secrets that he hadn't confessed to.  More lies, cheating, and so forth.

He made it nearly impossible to find him.  He worked under the table so he couldn't be tracked for child support.  Anyone that I new he had contact with prior or during refused to help me or would lie to my face about him.  I was hitting wall after wall.  But I was persistent.  In December, he was finally found and served with divorce papers.  It devastated me to have to file for divorce myself.  I was the one, all along, fighting for our marriage, never wanting to be out.  I wanted to fight.  He clearly didn't want to be married to me, but he wouldn't divorce me. I had to.  It was a hard pill to swallow.  Come February, everything was finalized, and I felt some relief.

I thought the crazy plot twists were over, but every once in a while, something new and obscure still pops up and I live through the emotional storms all over again.  Thankfully, through it all, I've had some consistent support systems, and I've had God.  I have places to lean when I feel like my legs are going to fall out from under me all over again.

I've never felt the world crumble as many times in my life as I have in the last two and a half years.  It's been exhausting.

As I sit here this morning, writing, because writing is my therapy, I scrolled through photos to find one to add to the post.  I watched my crazy, psychological thriller of a story unfold before my eyes, although you cannot see that in any of the photos.  The photos so clearly depict the deep, dark story that I had kept hidden for so long to keep my pride in tact and my life guarded never really existed.  There's mostly smiles and hugs, baby chaos and other such things.  You don't get to see the terror, the exhaustion, the tears, and the agony that existed simultaneously.

The past years have been the most exhausting of my life.  It's been years since I've had consistent, quality sleep or relaxing days.  And for the most part, I'm okay with that, because I've fought to keep myself surrounded with happy thriving children and a job that I love.

I find often that I'm unsure who I can really trust, still.  I know that God has me, and I can lean on him, and I know there are some people walking beside me on this earth that I can truly trust.  But I find many times that some I start to trust I find I cannot.  It cracks the heart a little each time, but such is life.

I find myself putting down my guard to new friends more often now.  I spent the last year or so feeling like I shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't be loved by people.  I felt like if the one person who spent over ten years telling me I was the best friend in the world, the most loyal person they knew, the most compassionate, tender hearted, loving, hilarious, all around wonderful person could up and walk away from me without a word in any form, despite the promise to be friends no matter what happened... well, than anyone can or probably would leave me too.  I mean he knew me best, inside and out, and he couldn't stay, so no one else would want to.  He promised to and no one else ever made that promise in front of family and friends and to God.  Surely, I'm not worthy of love from anyone.  God is the only one who could love me, because he loves everyone.  No one else really could, and I expect them to disappear too.  I battle this still, knowing it's a lie, but often feeling it's the truth.

 I'm so thankful for the support I have that prays over and for me and reminds me to turn to God when I feel he's too far away.

I question my mothering often.  I put such pressure on myself to be a good mom, because I'm the only parent they have.  If they don't know I love and care about them, then they are completely devoid of good parents.  I know that I'm not a terrible mom, but this is another attack I deal with, especially over the course of the last three weeks where I've been so sick and in so much pain that I can hardly function by the end of the day.

That enemy, he's a sneaky, vile one.  He definitely knows where and when to attack and he latches on deeply, my friends.

I spent many months feeling like I must be crazy.  I was sure I must be mentally ill to have missed the first instances of my former husband's betrayal, let alone his cheating, wanting to take a break, alcoholism, and whatever else that has gone on that I either haven't spoken of or do not know about.  I must be crazy to believe he loved us and wanted us.  I must be completely insane and making all of this up, because it cannot be real life.  It's just a messed up movie, right?

Unfortunately, it's not.  It is real life.  It's a day by day challenge.  Sometimes it's a breath by breath marathon.  I'm living those novels I read, and it is not nearly as entertaining as reading them.

Yesterday was rough on multiple levels, and I poured my heart out to a friend. She prayed for me. Immediately after, the lyrics "Jesus is my strength, my shield, and He will never fail me." Came through the radio I hadn't realized was on. They've been my mantra since.

Fortunately, I know God has a great ending in store for my children and I. So, I'll make it through each plot twist and wait for boring and commonplace things to happen instead.

Littered Dates

The months of March and April are littered with dates that pack so much significance. Many, I often wish I could forget.

There are some wonderful dates of course, some family birthdates, including my daughter's. But even that brings a pain to my heart to reflect on. 

That date hurts, because her father was hardly present for much of my pregnancy, and even though he was there for her birth... I realize looking back, he wasn't really present.   In fact, he was halfway across the room just moments before she was born and almost missed it.  

Then he was there, for a while, sort of, off and on, for months.

And then he wasn't.  And I spent months and months wondering, fighting, trying all I could to figure it out, get it back, move on, etc.

A year ago today, I decided it must actually be over, and I knew deep down I should look into a divorce, because he was just stringing me along and he wasn't going to do it himself.  It took me quite a few days, until I finally met with my caseworker at the transitional housing/homeless shelter we were living at and told her my decision.   That was March 18.

On March 21, he showed up right outside our housing before the kids and I had to be inside for bed.  He seemed different, and told me he wanted to try and reconcile the family.  I was blown away.   The next day, I met with him, without the kids, and he confessed his many wrongs that he had done against me and our marriage.  There were dark secrets, huge mistakes, and shocking facts.  But he told me he hit rock bottom, explained when and how and the person he met and talked to that made him realize his huge mistakes and how badly he wanted and needed his family back.  He asked for my forgiveness, and I gave it to him. I told him my terms for trying to mend things and how it was going to be difficult, intense work.  He told me he was all in.

Easter happened on April 5 last year, Easter has always been one of my favorite holidays.  We were given the opportunity to spend it at a friend's house, together.  I didn't know it at the time, but it would be the last real holiday we spent together.

Our daughter's due date came, which was the date we set for her first birthday party.  He showed, but he was incredibly late, and it took near begging to get him to actually arrive.  He left quickly, secretively, and in a hurry, and did not return like he promised he would.

Her birthday was April 15.  We met up with him for what would be the last birthday the children spent with him.  He agreed to meet us at the mall for cake and play time.  He stayed possibly an hour and then had to hurry off.

The very next day, while I was at work, I was contacted by a man I had never heard of, nor met, asking how to reach him.  I asked this guy how he knew my husband. He said he was his boyfriend of a month.  I felt the earth shatter below me, my heart crumble, and my throat close off.  I trembled, lightheaded, thinking I may pass out.  When I was given a chance, I ran to the bathroom without a word, where I fell apart, sobbing in a stall.

I confronted him.  He told me he wasn't dating this man, and that they were friends, and the guy was obviously just trying to make a mess of our marriage now that we were trying to reconcile.  I met him on April 18th, my youngest sister's birthday,where he gave me a much more detailed explanation and his plan as to how he would prove that it wasn't true and he was wholeheartedly trying to stay married and get his kids back.  He swore to me he wouldn't talk to this guy again.

I decided to try to believe him, but I was incredibly reserved because his story and plan seemed suspicious.

It's a year later, and all of these "anniversary" dates are coming up.  I try not to think of them, but somehow they're embedded inside my heart. They're like a bad tattoo scar that's trying to heal.  I know that they may always be there, but I pray that they will fade, peacefully and quickly.

My heart and mind have always operated in this fashion.  I try not to dwell on dates, but dates are important in our society and when I see them on the date that big events happen, I remember them.  I always have.  And when each year passes, the memories flash back in movie fashion, and I try to fast forward through them so I can move onto what coming up next.  But it isn't always easy.

I don't write this to air our "laundry," but rather to process it myself, and to be able to hopefully prepare my heart and my mind for the days ahead.  Often, when I get things out through my blog, it is therapeutic in that way, and I am much less likely to be blindsided by potent emotions.

I guess we will see.

Each year will be easier, I know, from experiences in the past.  I will try to enjoy Easter this year without too many flashbacks, as well as our daughter's second birthday.  They're two of the greatest dates littered amongst the many.

As I know from experience, also, God is on my side, and when my legs give out and my tears cloud my eyes, He will pick me right up and carry me through.

Fighting Words

I just need to say it.

WHY WERE WE NOT WORTH FIGHTING FOR?!

Today, I learned that my future ex-husband, mostly not-surprisingly, had no response or contest to my proposed divorce and child support order. We are in the final stages of the legal dissolution of our marriage.

I know, and have for quite some time, that he wasn't going to stand up to me on it or fight to have me back. But, I had reserved some hope that he would at least fight for the sake of our children, or even to use them and fight for custody so he could escape being charged with child support.

But.. No. Nothing. Not one response.

Part of me is relieved but part of me feels completely insulted. He invested so many years in this family and then spent years feigning that he cared and wanted us. I guess he spent all he had left for us long ago.

Our worth is not determined by him. I need to remind myself of this when I think about this development and how we are less worthy than trash to him. It's not determined by the lack of fight he put forth.

Our worth is determined by God, who stepped in and cared for us when my husband stepped out. He already won.

I'm praying I can hold onto that latter truth in the days ahead as I process this.

Harnessed in

It would be amazing if I could just jump right off this emotional rollercoaster I seemed strapped into.

I am terrified of rollercoasters. I've never ridden one, not in a carnival ride sense anyway.

There's something that makes me want to curl into a ball on the ground seeing images of people hanging upside down hundreds of feet in the air... And enjoying it, nonetheless. I feel like I would be latched onto the person next to me with a Hercules grip as soon as the ride started.  Yes, indeed, I am that sort of ninny.

That said... I seem to be firmly seated on a never ending emotional rollercoaster. I try to believe it will end, the motor will stop at some point or some gears will fail... though ideally I would like it to end peacefully on even ground where I am not at the pinnacle of its height or at the edge of a drop off.

I do not remember buying a ticket. I don't remember any sign qualifying my seat by reaching a certain height requirement. I certainly don't remember willingly taking a front row seat and waving at my family and friends as I said "oh yeah, I got this!"

And somehow... In a dazed stupor or love-blinded moment of ecstasy, here I am.

This rollercoaster accelerates at top speeds, and then suddenly slows like a bogged down crawl through molasses. It's exhausting. 

I haven't figured out the control panel yet. I am not sure who is steering it. It seems like it must be me, because I feel like if I was letting God be the conductor, it would look more like a railroad track through southwestern Minnesota than a rickety, loopy amusement park ride.  

I sit here, going from a moment of joy to a moment of sadness, and I find myself in a struggle to regain control of the ride. Then, I realize the power struggle, and I call out to God to take over. Sometimes, I cry harder, other times, I relax in my seat finally. And then it's a nice, steady chug forward.

You know, until the music changes and a lullaby plays "God bless mommy and matchbox cars. God bless dad and thanks for the stars." and it reminds me that my children's dad chose to disappear completely, and I'm alone, and the whir starts and the wind howls through my hair as the tears start streaming again.

Then, I think about the joy in my boys' laughter as I tell them tomorrow, someone is going to take the two of them somewhere super special and exciting just because he loves them so very much, and how overwhelmed with gratitude and love I am knowing that there's someone out there who desires to do these things just because he wants to. Of course, because this track is as such, it leads to realizing how infuriating and depressing it is that their own father can't be bothered to have contact with them, let alone do something special with them.  I pray to God to ease that heartache for all of us, again, and I find the beauty in the extended family He has provided.

So, I go back to my new, self-proclaimed current athem, and it sings, 

Among other lyrics, and I realize I've been trying to masque my presence on this rollercoaster for the past few days, mainly because I didn't want to burden anyone by asking for company, and because this nagging liar in the background keeps telling me I am a ridiculous, crazy burden that people are tired of accompanying anyway.   But, my athem told me I should show what I am made of, and right now, I am harnessed in and distressed.  

But, I am hopeful. And I haven't given up. I guess I will ride it out.

Did I mention my distaste for rollercoaster yet?

The other night, I finally felt like I understood this:

The love, the all encompassing, intense, unconditional love that I had for my future ex-husband was real, even if the person I thought he was turned out to be unrealistic. 

On my end, it was real, and that's why it still hurts, and why instead of beating myself up over the lasting heartache, I should accept that the heartache is true and deep and correlates to the love I had for him for 14 years. That's almost half my lifetime.

I think that's possibly the moment I wandered onto this ride. I allowed myself to embrace both the love and the loss, fresh, unrestrained, for what it is. 

I hope this ride is done soon.

am then, was now

I feel this surge inside of me tonight. I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep for whatever reason, and out of thin air, I am compelled to write poetry. 

It takes me back to my little haven at home back in junior high and high school, when I would reach to my dresser in the dark, feeling for my notebook and my pen. And there, in the absence of light, I would write out my words. Poetry would flow from my fingertips until my mind was calm and my body was finally exhausted enough to sleep. 

In the morning, I would read my words. Surprisingly, more often than not they were legible and I would then venture downstairs to type them out and put them on my "secret" poetry website only a few knew about.

It was common. It was familiar. It was me.

And then, as tides change, so did my life. I went to college, made new friends, fell in love, and molded slowly into a young woman who resembled the former in many ways. But through the years, as is often the case with age, the resemblances faded.  Not necessarily the physical ones, though some, but the characteristics that make up the personality.

As I find to be the case in many areas lately, I didn't see it then.

I see it now.

Now, as I lay in bed, over a decade later, in my dark room. No longer a pen beside me, as I have now given life to three beautiful, albeit mischievous babies who like to write on things that aren't paper, but I find my phone.

I open my notepad.

And like an old familiar tune, my fingers fly and the poetry trickles forward.

This time, I see it form as I go, the screen illuminating my words as they never used to. And I create what I believe to be the second poem I have crafted in at least 8 years.

Immediately, because if the technology in front of me, I read it over. I critique it in my mind as "not great," but decide to throw caution to the wind and publish it anyway.

I turn off the screen.  

My mind still circles as a carrousel.

And here I am again- fingers flying.

In those few minutes between poetry and prose, my mind wanders through the years. I see myself now, a single mother of three, playing over conversations I've had with a few friends recently. They've told me the visions they have for my future. I recall a book I was loaned talking about hearing God's calling on our lives and accepting the call, knowing that after trials and tribulations we are purified in character so we can best be used by Him. For a few moments, I dare to imagine the visions they had as reality. I become anxious.

Then, I wonder... What are my visions for myself now?

I used to have visions for my future. My past lead into the future, which is now my present, and the present is nothing like I had envisioned.

I wonder, have I lost myself somewhere? Have I lost the ability to have a life goal? A long term plan?

Then, I realize all the things I used to do. I wrote poetry, I was a photographer, I did graphic design for fun, I hand-bound books and journals, I wrote stories, I cooked, I baked, I sang, I played guitar and clarinet, I sewed, I painted, I drew, I played games, I traveled, I went and had fun visits with friends.

There was a period where I nearly lost all of these things. My camera was gone, my guitar, my words, my supplies. I had lost so much and in losing so much, lost much of my release and my vision.

But, in the dark, I see now so clearly many of them are sneaking back into my life.

Do I still love them? Many I do.

Do I desire them? Many I do.

Not all. Many. 

I can see myself then, and I see myself now. I compare and contrast and I wonder who I am now. I know I am not just a mom, though many days it feels that way. I like to believe I am still a great friend. I still have my sense of humor and creativity. But I don't have my direction yet, and that produces a slight sense of confusion, apprehension, and makes it hard to find ambition.

I, frankly, do not quite know who I am now, what I am about now, and what I should plan for now.

I've been holding onto what I had envisioned for so long. I had been holding onto hope for what didn't happen for so long. I have been in mere survival mode for too long.

 I have found myself at this intersection, unsure of where to proceed. Perhaps, I should breathe, pray, and wait. I should see what unfolds instead of hastily jumping forward.