So Far

A year ago, I left work, and moved into the (then brand new) homeless shelter in town, followed by moving to another homeless shelter where I rented one of their transitional housing apartments.

It was petrifying.

A year ago, I was still hiding my marriage crumbling, my husband's abandonment and other things from the world.

It was exhausting.

A year ago, I was still weighing my decisions on how they would affect my husband and his feelings about the kids and I, and I was still soliciting his opinion even though he rarely was helpful.

It was frustrating.

A year ago, I was still being manipulated, controlled, lied to, and emotionally abused.

It was brain washing me.

A year ago, I was the only one of us fighting for our marriage and our family. 

It was overwhelming.

A year ago, I was still covering up for him, cleaning up his messes, and enabling his poor choices for fear that he would dessert us and in hope that he would finally change.

It was embarassing.

Now, I sit on the couch and I look how far I've come. The children and I have had our own home for over 5 months. I no longer rely on his unreliable assistance for paying rent or bills (or anything at the moment, but that's another story). We have our own address and can have visitors whenever we want (so please come visit). My marriage is publicly on the road to and end, and I no longer feel alone. The weight has been lightened after letting people in. I no longer wait around for input from someone who does not have his children's best interest in mind. I make the decisions, with the help of God or a few trusted friends.

I have asked God to break the chain from the abandonment, lies, control, and abuse. I am free. I can see clearly.

And now, I am fighting for my children and I. I have put us first. I have put my babies first. I still wish I could have had a restored marriage, but I cling to God and his plan for me through this. I pray for my (future) former husband in that he is personally restored. 

And now, I have let down the wall, and let the world see what really happened, for hope that he would be accountable, fearing that it would haunt me publicly, however, or that he would make me out to be crazy. Instead, I see his real character shine through, and I know I am not to blame or to be embarrassed. It is him, not me.

Look how far I've come. 

Thank you, Jesus.

Breathe. Overcome.

Overcome, overcame, overcomer... this is a trio of words that two friends consistently call me, or refer to as my words.  I hear them say this, I feel where they're coming from, but I don't always see it or feel it as truth.  

Here's a little story of the last 18 hours or so, and how I went from feeling defeated and overwhelmed to realizing that I really am an overcomer.  I apologize in advance if at the end it really was hard to follow or see the point.  But, I just need to type.

I never really chose these words as "mine" but they keep coming back again and again.  Now, yes, I have a relationship with God, but as many, I often have times hearing what he's trying to say to me.

I wrote recently about doorways, and how I'm closing one door from the manipulative marriage I was in, and moving forward to whatever is beyond the next door.   I have been through fires and trials, and somehow, I'm still able, most days, to laugh, smile, and relish in the many joys that God bestows upon me.  

Some days, though, I still falter.  I grapple with negative thoughts, fears, and worries.

This past week was a week filled with the grappling.  I've stayed up late mulling over the what-ifs and fearing what may or may not come in the future.  It's been EXHAUSTING.  I had a beautiful reprieve yesterday when I was able to spend a few hours with some long-time friends, allowing my children to play with theirs, and to voice some of these issues and talk through them without children in ear shot.

But for some reason, when I left their house last night and my children fell asleep in the van, they came flooding back, more intense than before.  Fears like... "if I were to die on a weekend, how long would it be before someone was wondering where I was, and how long would my children remain scared, hungry, tired, and alone."   

Now, this fear has plagued me since I first had a baby, and my husband worked overnights.  It would fall into the background from time to time, but it's always been there.  

When I finally returned home, the children were all still asleep, and I had a text from one of my friends who speaks "overcome" to me.  She was asking how I was, and my fingers flew across the keypad on my phone as I emptied my heart to her again.

I had been only half-clinging to God throughout the week, and more clinging to myself, my mind, my strength, my fears.  I knew it even if I couldn't say it.  But, then God reached out and grabbed me, and brought me back to Him.

She called, I didn't answer the first time, but she called again, and I laid down my pride and I answered.  She talked with me, let me cry, and prayed with me.  When she was done, a song I cling to that comes to me often at the perfect time, started on the van radio.  It was the first song I think I heard the entire drive home.  

"Lord, I need you.  Every hour I need you.  My one defense- my righteousness..."  It hit me, as it always does, like he was calling out to me to call out to Him.

She suggested I listen to one specific song when I got home.  I never got to it, unfortunately, because the three children all woke up very upset, and I went through and extensive bedtime routine before getting them to sleep.  At that point, I opened my Bible, which I have admittedly neglected this week, and began reading where I left off.

I laughed to myself as I realized God was showing me what just happened in the van, (as it has many times before) and how it's been His plan for me all along to have that sort of thing happen when I need it most.  As my friend says frequently, I'm not meant to go at it alone, after all.  It happens when I start feeling like I'm crumbling, I find a friend or two that build me up.   I sat there, amazed, though I shouldn't have been, I'm sure, by the verse.  I prayed then that I could be that person for someone else who may need it.  I still pray that.  I've always prayed that, actually.

I digress.  I then began apologizing to God for not trusting Him through the week and worrying so much about things I can't control, that He has under control, and things I can't begin to work on yet while I'm still before the next door in my journey.  I felt a sense of relief, and started sobbing. 

God often speaks to me through music, and right before my friend text me to check on me, I started humming a melody.  It took me only a few moments before I realized what song I was singing.  It's an old favorite called "Breathe on Me" by Jennifer Knapp.

The key lyrics that came to my mind were:

No temptation seize a man that he can't overcome.

Who am I to be fallen?

Crack your back on a slab of wood

come freedom, nail it down, I come crawling

I come crawling.

Come trickle down and save the world

two hands that I can't see

come breathe, come breathe, come breathe on me.

Split rib water, blood and bone,

come now, come Calvary.

Come breathe, come breathe on me.

Testimony come now quickly, whisper in my ear

Celebration

Peace at last not far away, 

empty sheet, a borrowed grave

Salvation

Come freedom come.

Exhausted, I fell asleep on the couch.

This morning, when I woke up to Norah in my bed, stealing my covers, I realized she had slept better last night, than she had in weeks.  She only woke up once (yes, she still sleeps like a newborn).   I went to church, excited as I am every Sunday for that last 8 or so months.

Two songs brought me to tears.  The first was the song that my friend suggested I listen to last night but never did, "Great Are you Lord," by All Sons and Daughters.

She even quoted it to me last night, "It's Your breath in my lungs."  Another breath related word.  Breathe is another message I find myself getting often because I really forget to breathe in the right air sometimes.  

The second song, talked was "No Longer Slaves" by Bethel Music.

You unravel me with a melody,

you surround me with a song

of deliverance from my enemies

til all my fears are gone.

I'm no longer a slave to fear,

I am a child of God.

As I mentioned, I have been dwelling on fears.  Last night, when we prayed, we prayed that be broken.  And here it was, again.  That, and the first line... that's totally me.  I already mentioned that also, God speaks to me through song quite often.  I find he speaks to me through song, through a few close friends especially, and through the Bible readings when I get over myself and my need to do other things with my time and sit down and read it.  I'm working on it.

Today, the message was about overcoming offenses.  I immediately flashed back to a book, "The Bait of Satan" that I had borrowed from my friend and read a few months ago. When I read that book, I felt such a release.  I forgave and moved on from offenses I had been holding onto at the time.  It was such a blessing.

I had said to my friend last night that I wasn't sure what else was burdening me, and we prayed I would see it so I could release it.

Well, there it was.  As soon as I saw the title of the sermon I knew.  I had latched on to new offenses since then, and I needed to overcome them.  A fresh freedom is what I needed.

So, I listened, reflected on the book and the message.  And when the pastor prayed, I released again.  I still need to work, I will admit, because some offenses run deeply. But, I truthfully don't want to hold onto them.  So, I'm working and praying on it in the days ahead.

He mentioned this verse:

This verse, for a few months, has been the screen lock on my phone.  "I have overcome the world."  I see it daily.  Today, I realized I have been seeing it, but I haven't been really reading it.

After church, my other friend said to me again, something along the lines of "how'd you like that?  It was your word again."

It was. 

I sit here, this afternoon, my children with their aunt and uncle a few hours so I can clear some of the clutter from our apartment, and I feel much lighter, not totally.  I still need to figure out what else is burdening my heart and work through it.  But, I'm sitting here with clearer mind, again, seeing my words.

Overcome.  Breathe.

I can do both.  I have done both.  God's done the overcoming for me and He's the air I breathe. 

And my weary heart is going to be okay.

Another Year

In a few hours, my birthday will arrive, again. 

Birthdays are a great time to reflect on your life, to give thanks for the opportunity to have lived another year, and to celebrate all of the things your life encompasses. I think birthdays are pretty great, in general.

My last couple birthdays were not so spectacular. Three years ago, I had a newborn, no sleep, a busy husband who barely made it home to see me before the birthday was over. The year after, I was hooked up to IVs trying to curb dehydration and severe knock-you-out vomiting.  Last year, my husband didn't live with us, but let me spend the night before with a couple friends, and it was looking to be a redeeming year celebration-wise, except the next morning I was sent an email from my landlord stating my husbands negligence was getting us evicted in two weeks.

Panic set in. My husband didn't seem phased in the least or show any interest in helping his children and his wife (that he suggested stay home with the kids to save on childcare) find a place to live. We were at risk of being homeless. It was the worst birthday ever, until a dear friend offered us the spare room at her apartment while I found a job.

So, here I am, the eve of the anniversary of the worst birthday of my almost 32 year-long life, and as you might expect, I am emotional. It's been an emotional week anyway trying to get affairs in order, being sleep deprived as usual, and other things. 

Some of the emotions are overwhelmingly saddening. But then, there's this up-side.

This past year has been intense. It's been more intense than I ever imagined, in more facets than I ever expected.

It's been a whirlwind and it's been a drag. I've felt rushed and pushed and also stuck trudging through knee-deep molasses.

I've made mistakes. I've fallen. I've felt like a failure. I've blamed myself for every thing that has gone wrong. 

And then, by Grace, I have started climbing uphill instead of down.

While there are some days, or some hours, minutes and fleeting seconds that I find myself being attacked by darkness, more often than I thought would be possible, I see things more clearly.

I see where I was, not all that long ago, and where I am now.

I am not homeless. I am not jobless. I am not jaded or bitter. I still believe in love, miracles, and redemption. I have three beautiful children who finally, after over a year, have stability, who are generally filled with smiles and laughter. Instead of endless days and nights of worry about the unknown, I see peace and an end in sight out there somewhere.

This is my first birthday in 14 years where I won't see my husband, my former best friend, for even a second. I won't hear his voice. I am not prepared for it, really, because I don't know how to prepare. 

I have no plans, really. I don't want to party. The kids and I will eat cupcakes for breakfast, and then they will visit some friends. I will nap or go to bed early. I know that sounds lame to most, but with the endless exhaustion of this past year and the child-rearing exhaustion of the past five years, I feel like it's a pretty great gift. I expect nothing, ask for nothing, need nothing.

This birthday is very different. I'm not celebrating my increase in age like I have for 31 years. This year, I'm celebrating my survival of my 31st year. I'm celebrating overcoming the year since my last birthday.  And if the time comes tomorrow where I break down and cry or struggle to breathe, I will come back here and read this and remind myself how great this birthday really is.

He's Happy After All

I have a confession.

Over the last year, with my husband's absense, my mind has been nearly constantly focused on the fear that his abandonment would "break" my kids and I.

I have always felt that children thrive the best with both parents in their lives.  For roughly 10 months, my children, though parents were separated, still had both parents in their lives.  Looking back at things, I know that their dad was around in person, but he wasn't really there, and he wasn't consistent and often let them down.  Actually, looking at the past few years, I see that he was not consistent even when we were all home as a family under one roof.

This past week, I was speaking with two very dear friends who stopped by to visit the kids and I.  Both of my friends at one point had made a comment about how happy my oldest, Spencer, who is nearly five, is nowadays.

I was kind of baffled by it, knowing that he struggles with daddy abandonment issues, and often I find him missing his dad.  But I listened to them talk about how he is happier, filled with smiles and laughter, and loves to play with his friends Spencer has become.  I reflected after they left about the comments of a few other good friends have made about Spencer and how he's grown so much recently, and really developed his personality, which is warm, loving, and compassionate.

Before I went to bed Sunday night, I laid awake, pondering these comments.  Eventually, I had to ask my two friends, "So, you think Spencer really is happy now?"  Well, maybe not those exact words, but the sentiment.

I have been told these sorts of things for a few weeks at least, if not a couple months, but for some reason, it's taken me this long to really hear them.  Maybe it's because the weekend before last was really tough on him with expressing the loss of his dad.  Maybe it's because I've been so focused on issues in my own mind.  Either way, I finally, truly heard the words and embraced them.

As my friend explained, Spencer, even a year ago, when things really started to fall apart in our world, was sullen when visitors would come over.  Yes, he liked to see them, but he didn't pay them much attention.  In fact, he would often withdraw when he realized that it was NOT his dad.  I didn't necessarily see it myself, because I was always with him, and always with all three of them, Norah just a tiny infant at the time yet.  My friend pointed out that he was always waiting for his dad to come home.  His dad lived with us.  It was OUR home.  He was supposed to be there.  But for months he just would not come home consistently.  Or he would be there for an hour or so here and there throughout the week, always with excuses of late hours or needing to help at the shop (which I now know is a lie, as he admitted this to me himself last spring).  But daily, my son was disappointed that his dad would not show up consistently.

I should have seen this.  I tried to incredibly hard to get him to come home.  "Just come for supper, and see the kids for a bit, please?" "Can you come help with bath?"  "The boys miss you."  So forth aned so on.  Daily.  I tried to bring him for the kids.  Sometimes he said he would be right there and hours later, was ignoring my phone calls, then providing stupid excuses to me why he couldn't come see his kids after all.   He would come home for parts of the weekend, usually, a year ago, and see them, but he had been disappearing slowly for months.
I was blinded.  I was fighting for our marriage and my kids and he was definitely not fighting for them at all.  He was fighting to get away, I guess.  But, I am ashamed to admit it.  I was blinded.

Likely, I was hampering my children's happiness and well-being fighting for this ideal "both parents" scenario.  I was getting their hopes up, allowing them to call him, asking him to come home, having him promise to come home, and letting them know daddy was on his way, only to crush their poor little hearts myself telling them he was no longer going to see them.  I carry quite a burden of guilt about it now.  I feel like I've spent the last year compounding their pain, especially Spencer's, by fighting for what I thought was right.

I sit here writing this as Spencer is at his first official play therapy session.  I hear him behind the closed doors laughing as he meets with his new "friend."

Reflecting on my friends' words, one of them commented on how now that we live in our own place, our new place, and Jacob has been absent since the end of June, the expectation that the kids will see him again has dimished significantly.  Yes, they still look for him, miss him, and long for him.  But, Spencer especially knows that I have tried with all my might to bring his daddy to him, to call him, email him, text him, facebook him, find him... what have you, and his daddy is just not cooperating.  He knows.  He knows I tried.  Sometimes he's angry with me that daddy is missing, but he knows I tried to find him for him.   He's mostly stopped asking for daddy.  It breaks my heart, but it's likely for the best.  Because, as my friends pointed out, he's happy now.  He no longer struggles not knowing if daddy is going to follow through and actually call or visit.  He no longer gets excited to see him only to be crushed when he doesn't arrive.  It sucks, but it's good too, in a way.

Spencer is adjusting.  I can see it now.  I can see the light in his eyes brighter this week than I could ever before I really embraced my friends' words.

I told my friends, as I stated above, that I was afraid the disappearance of their dad would break them, would break us.  It hasn't.  Somehow, beauty has come from it.

I have struggled for months not knowing if I was doing good enough.  I didn't know or feel like I was being a good enough mom.  I didn't think I was able to be all that they needed parent wise.  I didn't know if I could provide joy and happiness amidst sorrow.  I did not know if my parenting choices were okay.  I am often overwhelmed with exhaustion or emotion and I let negative talk seep into my mind and constrict my own heart.

But, I see today that I'm doing okay.  I'm an okay mom. Maybe even a good mom?  A great mom?

Something is going right with my parenting, somehow.  Maybe it's the drive to surround them not only with my love, but the love of others.   I let them see that they're not alone.  It's not just us.  Daddy may be missing, but there's a world out there that still is present.  Maybe it's okay that I cry in front of them sometimes, or empathize with their sadness in losing their dad.  I miss him too, the man I thought he was, or that he was for a time.  I love him still.  I get it, and they know I'm not just saying it.

I don't know what it is.  But, by the grace of God, my son smiles, lights up with joy when he sees people he cares about walk through our door.  He runs to give hugs like he never did a year ago.  He opens up his mind and heart and lets us know what he's feeling.  He is going to be okay.

This has not broken us.  It will not break us.

She's Got Skills

Ever have one of those days where you sleep too little, get up too early, and spend the first part of the day in a funk where it seems like you can't do anything right?

I mean, honestly, how did I drop soy sauce off the top of the refrigerator 5 minutes after I left the kitchen? That was a nice loud crash, resulting in a cracked soy sauce kid and a giant blackened puddle on the floor. 

That was my day today. Crikey. Almost as soon as I woke up I was ready for a restart or at least nap time. I had a negative view of myself and my abilities as a mom at 8:30am as I tried to convince Spencer, who usually wants to try to sneak out of the house to play outside, that we should go play outside. It was going to be sweltering in the afternoon and wanted him to hace somefresh  air. He fought me on it for 45 minutes. 

 

 It was mind boggling, and I swore that whatever the reason was stemmed from my sucktastical skills as a mom. I eventually, after tears on both our parts, realized he was mad about having to wear clothes, and we compromised for just shorts and sunscreen. (By the way, sunscreen in Spencer's opinion, is a torture mechanism...)

Whoofta.

Nap time approached, and despite a bit of resistance, SJ went down and Collin was out for the count, so I was thinking that I would get to nap. Not so much, because by the time I was relaxed, Collin woke inconsolable, and by the time he was asleep again, I was on my third wind. So, I decided to work on cutting some fabric for the quilt I'm working on for a customer. (I do that, and many other things, now. Check them on Spenk & Ollie Creations on Facebook if you'd like.)

As I was cutting (fabric). I was revisiting the morning and again, dwelling on the ways I feel incompetent and inadequate. 

Then, it hit me (thanks, God, for the whisper), that although I may not be good at everything, and at times I feel a failure, even as a mom, I am good at things. I have skills, strengths, talents, etc.

And in order to change my mood around, I decided I should focus on those instead.

I decided to list the first 10 things that I am good at on paper. 

Now, I know this probably will sound like bragging, but... I decided sometimes, so long as you aren't doing to be pompous or make others feel bad, it's okay to highlight what you're good at. While it took a bit to pin down 10, due to my mood, by the time I was done, I had more I could have listed on my mind. Things that I used to do, for example, that I know I am talented at and miss doing- writing poetry or creating hand-bound journals, for example. Or other random little things like for the most part, I'm pretty good at deciphering Spencer-Speak. 

The list in the picture goes as follows:

1- sewing (at least easier things, I can't make a parks, sorry)

2- making people laugh (Collin will laugh if I chant "Ice, Ice Baby," I'm that awesome)

3- photos (I can even take decent to good photos with my cell phone, which is great as its all I have currently)

4- cooking (I specialize in creating soups, and baked buffalo chicken macaroni and cheese)

5- snuggling (yup, I will consider that a skill)

6- writing (by hand, by blog, etc.)

7- listening (for the most part, sometimes I admittedly don't hear something Jake tells me... but I've been told by friends they appreciate my listening ear)

8- artsy stuff (like doodling, drawing, painting... all of which I rarely do anymore)

9- caring (even for people I've never met, read some of my blogs on marriage or slavery for example)

10- teaching my kids (a team effort between Jake and I, of course, but I think we have taught Spencer quite a bit already and he's only 2.5)

And I decided that its okay to feel like I am good at more than ten things. In fact, it's great! I think it's important to focus on that sometimes. Don't you?

I invite you, whether you're having a good or bad day, low-esteem or high-esteem, to list ten things you are good at. Big things like being able to fix a car, or little things like being able to organize the mail (Im not good at that) or painting your nails (I am becoming good at that, and I used to be a nail biter). Recognize your skills. Pat yourself on the back. You are awesome. I hope you realize it.

If you feel comfortable, feel free to share your 10 things below.

Back to sewing. Peace.

Made to Love

This morning, I went to MOPs for the second time. Now, I will say it was my favorite gathering so far, which doesn't mean a ton, other than I enjoyed it more than the first time.

And yet... it means a bit more. In my opinion anyway.

This morning spoke to me more personally than the first meeting. The guest speaker, Ginny, was fantastic. She spoke on friendships.

The way she presented the topic reminded me SO MUCH of a day from my childhood, where my best friend, Michelle, and I sat down in her garage, I believe, and were discussing the same topic. Friendships. Where we were in our relationship compared to other friends in town. In not so many words, we had a very similar idea that was presented this morning.

The most coincidental part was that we too diagramed friendship relationships, using circles. Where others were in relation to our closeness.

Just for fun.

I didn't even realize it while Ginny was speaking, but rather a short time ago, back at home, while reflecting.

It seems that we knew what we were talking about at the time.

This morning was a little different in that Ginny took it to a deeper level, binging God into it.

My summary: you are the center. You're the heart of your relationship circle. The ONLY perfect friend that you could have I the heart of your circle is God.

She kept saying that in order to develop deep and meaningful friendships, true, inner circle friends, you had to "power up on the power source."

Loved that.

Anyway, to combat your loneliness and fulfill your desire to be heard, valued, and loved, you need to power up. God comes first. He can do that. He is always there. And he will always love you.

And then, with his power-up, you can have these true and deep friendships. But be selective as to who you let in your inner circle. These people should build you up, not criticize or condemn. They should accept and encourage you. They should support you. They should be honest. Don't let "trash" into your heart (bring negativity).

Thoughts to null over.

I must say that I've had a fairly large (compared to some) group of best/inner-circle friends. Six that I can name immediately, and for that I am amazingly blessed. Of these six, some are closer now than others, in distance and relationship, but I think I could call on any of these six if I need. Two of them, I feel incredibly blessed by, as they share similar life circumstances with me and are very close in distance. I will be honest in saying that seeing them weekly (give or take) is definitely a saving grace.

Relationships, as I've known in the past, change and wane sometimes. It's true that these inner six and I have gone through changes, and maybe some have waned a bit.

I hope that my friends see me as a good friend, too. I try to be.

She also talked of marital relationships, and honestly, it was what I needed. Last night was rough. Things have been kind if stressful at home since the loss of Jake's former job, an antsy toddler with cabin fever, a teething baby (he's really not that bad as I probably portray in my frazzled texts to my husband as I listen to screaming boys...), and my out-of-wack-post-breastfeeding hormones throwing me for quite a loop.

The other night, Jake said he would do dishes. And he didn't.

And then yesterday was TOUGH. And last night, I had a meltdown.

Ginny used the illustration that when you ask your husband to do something, or he says he will, and doesn't, we often take that to as "he doesn't hear me, doesn't understand me, doesn't value me." (I think those were the three she said.) then, that leads to "he doesn't love me." Because love is shown by hearing, understanding, and valuing another (among other things). But that's not true.

I know it's not, but I tell you what, sometimes it really feels that way. Especially after you go through the situation time and time again for years on end.

People will fail you. People will disappoint. Not always, and hopefully not often, but it's inevitable. Because we aren't perfecto only Jesus is.

She challenged us to call on him and his perfect love for us in times of loneliness. Before calling a friend. Before your husband. Before Facebook.

I don't think it has to be a long call to God. I have always been of the "silent prayer/conversation with God" variety, not aloud, and I offer my thoughts often. Though its not always first.

So, I'll try. I don't think it will take away from my time for friendships at all. I think it will actually add to them.

We were created to love. We were created for community. The first was man and God. Then, with God, we love others.

I'm sorry for lack of cohesion in this post. It's another sort of "note to self" writing.