Tween

 

Hey, Girlfriend,

Here we are... at yet another transition.  I didn't google it or anything, but in my mind, this birthday marks the transition from big kid to tween.  Is that how it goes? Tonight, you go from ten to eleven.  It really isn't that much older, but it feels like a big transition somehow.

Norah, you are one of the greatest humans I've ever met. You are full of spice and spunk, laughter, and love. You radiate joy with your smiling eyes and your bounding laughter.  You are SO, SO loud, I like to think your joy carries far beyond who can see you in front of them.  I hear from so many people that they see your light in your smile, in your dance, in your eyes.  It makes me so proud to call you my own.  I try not to get too full of myself, but I like to think that my goal of raising good humans is coming to fruition with each year that passes.  

Sure, now that you're becoming a tween, you're also... a little... well, you know. Emotions happen.  We struggle some days, but our communication within our little family is pretty top-notch most of the time, so we get through even the biggest rollercoaster days. 

We are all learning a little more about empathy and grace these days, I think.  We all work as a team to try to remember to pause and not react, and when we do react, to react with kindness and understanding. It's a wild ride watching all of my littles go from three kids four and younger, to three kids entering their teenage years.  So many people talk about how teenage years are hard, and I know that's true, but so far, for the most part, I am enjoying this phase of life.  It's been so fun to see personalities change and emerge. You, my daughter, are also my friend, and the person I spend the most time with outside of work.  You still think I'm fun and hilarious, and you seek me out more than anyone else I know.  I know that we have had talks about how I'm still trying to navigate that, being a somewhat independent person, and that your need for me, your desire to be around me frequently, to have my eyes and ears on you, is a sign that we have a great relationship.  I tell myself it must mean I am a good mom.  I am truly blessed when you (and your brother) reaffirm that.  I promise that in this next year, I will try my best to slow down and be in those little moments with you, the ones you crave even though I don't necessarily understand it (within reason, of course).

But really, you're my daughter and my girlfriend. I love our coffee & smoothie dates, cruising in the car singing at the top of our lungs, laughing about ridiculous nonsense.  I love that our sense of humor is similar and our sarcasm is complimentary, so we can tell when we are being silly snarky with one another.  I love that we can (usually) read each other's expressions and know things without words being spoken.  I love sharing a room with you and I find it utterly fascinating you feel the same way.  I didn't expect it.  I love creating with you. I love watching TV with you. I love fighting over the affection of our cats with you.

And that's just me. You are so many things to so many people. Your brothers are blessed by you and your love for them even when you don't get along.  I know you would each stand up for the others when time gets hard.  I've seen you have each other's backs when it feels like others turn away. Your besties are blessed by you and your silly inside jokes, dances, and hand-shakes.  Your teachers are blessed by you and your sense of community, compassion, and inclusion.  Your cousins are blessed by your unconditional love that surpasses all geography and ages.  Your aunts, uncles, grandparents, and chosen family are blessed in the same way.  Animals all over the place are blessed by you and how your excessive energy can be calmed in an instant so that a furry friend will seek you out almost anywhere we go. You are full of empathy and compassion. You see the unseen.  You have a creative, unique, problem-solving mind that brings goodness to this world.

You're a treasure- a mutli-faceted gem.  

Having once been a pre-teen (I didn't know the word "tween" when I was younger, shocking, I know.. the [late] 1900s were really something...) I know that the next few years are going to be full of self-discovery, conflict, and resolution.  Your sense of self may be challenged in unexpected ways. You may cry a lot of tears over a lot of things, both inconsequential and significant, and it all really does matter.  Friendship lines may blur and change, but I pray you'll remember to always be a good friend to those around you.  I pray that you never harbor hatred in your heart. I pray that you embrace forgiveness, but also firm boundaries to protect your heart.  I pray you are able to tune out the lies you may be tempted to believe about yourself, and hold firm to the truth.  I hope that you are always able to know when to be serious and when to be silly, who to joke with and when, and that it is a rarity to hurt another person's feelings. 

You are brave. You are strong. You are fierce.  This world has thrown some really big stones your way, but you've knocked them down or climbed over each one, and not a single thing can break you if you hold onto who you really are inside. I know it. 

Girl, you're going to move mountains and change atmospheres.  I can't wait to see it.

Keep sprinkling kindess. Keep splashing sunshine.

I love you.

More.

Most.

(Your brothers too, even though you don't always like them, and I have to remind you they're also my favorite people. We'll keep working on it.)

You dazzle me.

YTBTTEHTMAISGYM.

Hahahaha.  I hope I got that right.

But yes, "it's possible."

Always,

Your Momma

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.

A Mother's Message

Part of my Mother's Day gift this year came a week ago.  I kept it to myself for six days,  and now it's time to share.

It was a message.

Last Sunday, I was in church, as I am almost every Sunday morning.  Worship is my favorite part of the week, but last week, I was struggling to be in the right space with my heart and my mind open and free.  I didn't realize it on my own until a gentle hand from beside me came, followed by loving guidance and prayer, commanding the enemy to flee.

And just like that, the tears began, as they often do, as I suddenly found myself in worship, really in worship.

And seconds later, I realized what was hindering me.  You see, the week before was tough in momma-land.  I struggled through it almost every day, having been sick for multiple days with a nasty stomach bug, the kids and I both feeling the strain of it mentally and emotionally.  Each day was fraught, on some level, with challenges between my children and I, my children and each other, or myself and myself.  And I had, on multiple occasions, doubted myself as a mother.  More than once, I was wondering if I was a good mother at all, if I was really able to do it all as the only parent involved in my childrens' lives right now.

Much of the time, I believe I'm a good mom, because I know that I've got God with me in it all.  I always know God is with me, even if I don't feel him, but I'm not impervious to the self-doubt that seems to plague most all mothers at some point.

But, in that moment, I was given a message.

"You wonder if you're a good mom, and you fear you are a bad mom.  You fear you are not cut out for the job.  But, you KNOW and you BELIEVE that I made you perfect in MY image.  You know that I called you to be mother of those children.  So, if you believe that you ARE perfect because I SAY you are perfect, then you must KNOW and BELIEVE that you ARE THE PERFECT MOTHER for your children.    You are perfect."

Oh goodness, did I cry.

There was the answer to my doubt and my struggle.

Am I always a great mom?

Of course not.  I struggle. I make mistakes.  But, I try to learn from them, and I try my best (almost always) to be a good mom.  I've prayed countless times, asking God if my purpose really is to "just" be a God-loving mother to my three children, raising them in the Spirit, and He seems to tell me that it is my job now, in this season, to focus on them.

So, I know that I'm called for them.  But, I've doubted anyway.  I'm human, after all.

But here I was, weeping, as I felt the Father telling me, so clearly, that I'm not good.. I am PERFECT.

Up until tonight, I hadn't shared this word with anyone.  I've been keeping it in my secret arsenal as I began the week leaving church, thrown into battles and fires as a momma always is.  But this week, it was different.  I didn't doubt myself. I didn't doubt my parenting.  I saw each battle as a lesson in growth, grace, mercy, persistence, and patience.  Yes, I am sure I was imperfect in parenting.  But, I AM the perfect parent for my children.

Tonight, in silent meditation on a two hour drive home, with the children sleeping in the back seats, I felt the pull to share my personal message.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.

And I realized, this message isn't for me alone.

No.

This message is for all women out there in mothering roles- biological mothers, adoptive mothers, foster mothers, aunts, grandparents, sisters, close friends, mentors, teachers... and anyone else I may be unintentionally forgetting.

YOU are PERFECT.  God made every single one of us, whether you accept Him yet or not.  And knowing He made you, the Bible says that we are each fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), and we were made perfect in God's image (Genesis 1:27- because God is perfect).

Each child you are given is a blessing from God, and if you accept your calling to be in the lives of child (young or grown, really), then you need to know that you are the perfect one for them.

Yes, you're going to make mistakes.  You're going to be imperfect as a person, but you ARE perfect for the job.

In being imperfect and simultaneously perfect, it is your duty to embrace the imperfection, to learn from it, grow because of it, and share it.  Because we are made stronger and we are formed more beautifully when we do.  And, it's a blessing to others when we do.

Each of us is going to struggle.  It's a given.  But, knowing you're made wonderfully and specifically for the purpose of being a mother of any kind to any child in your life, you can carry on when you do fall short.

But, you have to be willing to accept God in it all, to live up to your true perfection's potential.

With God, you are renewed each day (Isaiah 40:31, Lamentations 3:22-23).

With God, all things are possible (Matthew 19:26).

With God, you can do hard things... like what I believe to be one of the hardest things of all- being a good mother. With God, you can keep on when you feel like giving up.  You just have to ask Him to guide you, lead you.  You have to abandon your need to have everything in control, and let Him be the one to help you.  And it's easier said than done.

I have to do it, personally, every single day, and often more than once.

I believe in you, Mommas of all kinds.  God believes in you, too.  It's why He placed children of all kinds in your life.

----

I apologize if this read was a little difficult to understand or decipher as I am quite exhausted and about to fall asleep. I just couldn't go to bed without getting it out there.  I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense.

(This entire message also very much applies to every kind of father figure out there, too.)

Football with Momma

Tonight, I had the pleasure of escorting my soon-to-be kindergarten graduate to a football game- a privilege he earned for perfect attendance at school this year.

I'll be honest. I accepted the tickets out of pride on his behalf, but the closer to the game we got, the less excited I was getting. I didn't really know why, but I just wasn't really excited about it.

I wasn't going to let that stop me, however, and I surprised him with the knowledge that we were going to his "first" "real" football game. (He actually attended a game for this team as an infant but we decided it didn't count, as he doesn't remember it.)

As we drove to the game, it started to dawn on me why it was I wasn't looking forward to it as I thought I would. We drove by his dad's place of employment, where he was working at the time, and it hit me that somewhere, deep down, I imagined this would be an activity that the two of them would do together, not me. Because, stereotypically, it's a guy thing. His dad certainly enjoys the game more than I, not that I dislike football. I've just never felt a connection to a specific team outside of my high school and don't follow it as a hobby.

So, I think, part of me was sad for my son that he was "stuck" going with his mom.

Silly me.

It didn't take long after arriving for me to realize that was just in my head and my son didn't feel that way. He was thrilled to just be going to a football game, and he was overjoyed that I was with him. In fact, while he asked if he could sit next to some of his friends from daycare, and I said yes, knowing I could sit there alone, but it wasn't minutes later that he was back up in our row, by my side, chatting away about the game that was about to happen.

He had so many questions about the game.

And wouldn't you probably expect it, but I had answers.

Sure, I'm not a football expert by any means but it turns out- I know enough. 

And, since I know him best, I was able to answer his (countless) questions in ways he understood easily, or clarify if he didn't understand.

And a bonus- I was able to relate quite a bit of the football knowledge and rules to our lives.



Why is it so hard to score points? Because there are a lot of people coming after and trying to stop you, blocking you and trying to pull you down. Just like sometimes it is hard for us to accomplish what we want to, because there are blockages or troubles or things in our way or people trying to keep us from our goals. But, they keep on trying until the time is up, and they get multiples tries each turn, like we can.

Why is there a halftime? Because they need a little break to rest and refuel before continuing. Kind of like when we take naps, or quiet time at home.

Oh, that penalty flag for holding? Yeah, that's like when you and your brother were pulling on and  hit each other in the daycare vestibule, and just like you had the consequence of no tablet or Wii time that night, they had a yardage penalty. Maybe it was not planned or unintentional, but it happened.

Oh, the out of bounds? Yeah. They can't play there, just like when I say you can't play in the parking lot or the street.

Why do they wear helmets? To protect their heads, like your bike helmet. Remember, the head you have now is the only one you get so you have to treat it well, just like I tell your brother 32 times a week. 

Why are their uniforms red? Because it's a great color.

Momma win, right?

And, he thought it was super cool that his mom knew so much about football. 

I loved every minute of the night with him. He had the most intense expressions during the game (he doesn't get that from me, but I embraced it) and had the loudest, delighted squeals when our team did great plays.

And when the Kiss Cam came on? He kissed me, over and over every time someone on the screen kissed the person they were with.

Yup, momma scored kisses in public.

Guess he's not too cool for that, or maybe, I'm just too cool to not be kissed.

Either way. He didn't need football with a guy. He has me.

I'm so glad I realized that in time to enjoy the night, instead of how I felt driving to the game.

My second little Graduate

Dearest Collin,

Tonight, as your brother did a year ago, you celebrated your very first graduation.  You did it all in your own very unique style, with a lot of flair.  It's amazing how sometimes you can be so much like your big brother, and then other times, it's like you are complete opposites.

Because of your very special birthday being on the last possible day to go to kindergarten next year, you were not only the youngest in your class, but one of the shortest and spunkiest.   From the moment you walked into the sanctuary at church, you captured the attention.  My heart about exploded while you stood up in front proclaiming "I love you, Mama" in front of everyone, even if you were talking over the person who was trying to speak to the crowd.

Uncle Jesse, Auntie Sam, and Belinda all joined in the celebration tonight, and you were delighted to have them there to celebrate. You waved enthusiastically at both of your siblings, who were excited to watch you perform.  And... perform you did.  You were the loudest, busiest one in the group.  I wasn't surprised, and I was trying to hard not to stress out about the fact that you might have yelled at a couple people because you've definitely got a firecracker spirit and a mind of your own.

Your brother kept telling me how funny you were. Your sister kept telling me how awesome you were.  And everyone knew you were ours.

You knew all the words, and so long as your tassle and your sash were on properly, you sang your little heart out and did explosive actions.

You were thrilled when you received your diploma and went running to hug your teacher.

Thank you for the goofy, joy-filled memories.

We are so proud of you.  You've got big things ahead of you.  I know sometimes, I wonder if you're listening or paying attention, but you prove time and time again that you are.  You take after me in that you've got a vast expanse of trivia-type knowledge.  You love the sea, shapes, colors, automobiles.  You are stubborn though, so I never quite know what you know, because you only want to share on your own terms.  Remember when I asked if you could write a 'C' and you said yes?  I asked you to show me, you wrote an 'X' and I asked why.   You said "Because I wanted to write an X, not a C."

That's how you roll, Ollie Bear.

I'm a little nervous for you to become a big boy and join the realms of elementary school. I worry that your temper may get the best of you, and your teachers might be a little overwhelmed.  I hope they can give you hugs if you need, like your preschool teachers have learned to do.  It almost always diffuses the situation and brings you back down to earth.

I know you're excited to go to school like your brother, and I know you'll love learning there too.

You've grown up so fast.  I can hardly believe it.  You're a graduate.

I love you, Ollie Bear.  Thanks for all the joy you bring to my life, for teaching me unending patience and strength, and for not being ashamed to proclaim you love me, even when it's not perfect timing for the rest of the world.  I'll never grow tired of hearing it.

The silence was broken.

There was silence.

Seventeen-ish months of silence.  That day in July began it all, and a day in December ended it.

Seventeen months of absence.  Seventeen months of wondering. Seventeen months of trying to believe on my part.

Seventeen months where my oldest son believed, prayed, and hoped, even when I felt like giving up, and even had given up from time to time.

Before that day in December, when the silence was broken, I had begun to wonder if my children would see their dad again in this lifetime. My mind would wander and I would contemplate what I would do if I had heard through the grapevine that their dad had died.  Would I take them to his funeral? Would it be worth it? How would I help my daughter learn about her dad? What would I tell them about him later in life?

Yes, that's where I was at.

And every night, my six year-old would pray that God would protect his dad and help him to make good choices. He would hopefully ask that someday, they would see their dad again.

Honestly, I've been nervous to let this secret out of the bag, because I'm sure it could be a controversial topic, but I feel like it's time to swallow my nerves and just be honest.  I know God is telling me it shouldn't matter what others think, but my human nature gets me sometimes.

I've been keeping the secret for a couple reasons.  The first being that I wanted my children to have the privacy, and our family to have the freedom to see what unfolded without feeling the pressure of society or social media.  I didn't want or need the countless differing opinions on the matter, and needed to just pray it out, seek God's guidance, and go with what I believed he was leading me to do.

I was also a little scared. I didn't want to admit that I was being cautiously brave and believing life over death in this situation, and then have it all fall apart in a couple of weeks.

If people had come to me questioning how things were going, or flat out asked about the situation as it had been, I was honest, and I told them this secret, asking them to keep it to themselves.  I thank those of you who have upheld that promise and allowed my children the privacy and time to walk through these last few months.

And for others, I'm sorry if I have offended you by not telling you about this development.  But, I hope you can try to understand and respect my decision.

As I was saying, in December he broke the silence.  I had given up on trying to get ahold of him, and had tried to put on a positive face for my children when they continued to pray for a reunion and God to help their dad make better choices.  I had been through Cleansing Stream, and despite what I believed I could do, and what popular culture would tell me to do, I forgave the unforgivable.

It was perfect timing, in some ways, when he waited until December to break the silence.

I prayed long and hard afterward (I blogged about it weeks ago, without much detail), and believed that, although many would call me crazy, or stupid, or tell me he shouldn't be allowed to, that it was okay for him to see his children again.

I don't have to explain why I chose this, but I'm sure many will wonder.  Why on earth, after all that had happened, after all those months, did I let him see the kids?  I talked with him in depth for quite some time, met up with him without the kids, talked some more, and made my decision.

Because he is their dad.

People would say he has no right to see them after all that happened.  Legally, that's true. The children are 100% mine legally.

But he is their dad.

In my heart, I knew I couldn't look my children in the eye someday, after he had been gone so long, and admit to them that, had I chosen to not let them be reunited, I would have been the thing to keep them apart even longer.  I didn't need the blame for that.

It had already been so long. My daughter didn't really know him.  She would look at photos of him and not call him daddy, and the boys would get irritated.  She didn't remember him, really. But the boys, they still had that longing desire to have him in their lives.

And here he was.

Perfect? No.  Did it make everything that had happened okay?  Certainly not.  Did it erase the pain?  No.

Did it give the potential for greater healing?

Definitely.

After consulting with a few professionals on the matter, and praying of course, I knew that the only way to allow healing and restoration, was to give their dad a chance to try.  Yes, he could have been lying and just trying to fill a temporary void over the holidays.  But, I couldn't know that.  Just like I couldn't know if it was for real, and God was really leading him back to his kids unless I gave him the chance to be with the kids.  I couldn't give this a chance for success without giving it the chance to fail, but I couldn't live with myself knowing that there would be no chance at all.

I had to really, truly give it to God.

And I did.

It's still fresh and new.  There are still details we work out as we go along.  I am in control of the situation, the visits, everything.  It is all under my stipulations and schedule.  There are many details that I will not go into, but, after three months, I truly believe I've made the right choice, as vulnerable as it made me feel, as terrified as I was for my children.

I believe, as does my son, that God was answering months worth of prayers.

We are still praying for their dad as we maneuver this new road in our path.

It can and likely will get messy and confusing, and there will be countless questions from the children as time goes on. But, I have to believe that God will guide us through them as they come along.

Because, as our story has shown in so many ways, God has been here alongside us this entire time.  He's taken our pain and brought joy.  He's taken the mess and brought so much beauty.  He's taken the brokenness and restored our hearts.

He is so good.

And, I have to believe that He will continue to be good and perfect, no matter how these chapters pan out.

Because He's unchanging. He's sovereign. He's perfect.  He will never leave us, even if everything fell apart again.

I am sure there are many reading this who vehemently disagree with my choice. I've encountered that already.  I pray that there are those out there who understand, and that regardless of how you personally feel about it, you can trust that I am doing what I truly believe is best for my children.  I've always had their best interests in my mind, from the moment the world started crumbling.  They're my treasure, and I would do everything I could to protect them from pain, but I can't sacrifice their chance for healing and joy with their dad.

There may be heated and controversial opinions.  I know.  There are countless people out there who care so deeply for me and my children, and who are so angry over the pain we've been through.  I get it. I was there too.  We are so blessed that we are cared so deeply for that people have such strong emotional responses across the spectrum.  Regardless, I pray that anyone who hears my children speak about seeing their dad will be respectful of their excitement in the story, non-judgmental in their presence, ad just give them your love and support.

Thank you to everyone who has been there for us through any and all of the legs of this journey.  Thank you for the prayers you've prayed, the tears you've wiped away, the hugs you've given, the words of encouragement, consolation, humor, compassion, and everything else you've given us.

(There are MANY posts leading up to this one. If you're new to my blog, feel free to search through by topic, or start scrolling backward to 2014.)

Free in 2017

It's been a few years since I made any resolutions as many people do.  New Year's Day is a time to refresh, to start over, to move forward from the year past and look forward to what is to come.    Granted, this is something we should be doing daily anyway, but New Year's Day is a day that most everyone seems to set aside for big changes and resolutions.

Generally speaking, when I decide it's time for a change, my resolution starts that day.  Some things I've decided to work on are my excessive sarcasm, personal time and bible time with God, playing on the floor with my children, reading more, speaking words of life instead of words of death, and getting back in the grind with my health.  I'm hoping that soon, I'll have more energy and less fatigue because I'll be better about getting more iron on a regular basis, and I will get back to where I was with working out, because I love and miss it.

Those things were all decided upon in 2016, so they're not really New Year's things.

Today, though, I chose a word.

Free.

One of my best friends has chosen a word of the year for a few years now, and she's shared it publicly.  Each time, I have admired her for doing so, and thought it was inspirational. I've seen others join alongside her, choosing words, themes, mottos, and Bible verses that they plan to live their life in accordance to for the course of the new year.  

Up until today, I really haven't had the urge to join. It just hasn't felt right.  I've never been able to choose a word that seemed to make sense.

In church this morning, I was singing in worship, to the song "No Longer Slaves."  It is a song that has been powerful and resonated with me each time we have sang it, to the point where I've written it out for myself at home more than once, downloaded it on my phone, and sang it throughout the apartment multiple times.  But this morning, it hit me harder, and made even more sense to me.  Instead of the just relating and finding the opening verse beautiful and applicable for me personally and how God often talks to me through song, the chorus struck me.

"I'm no longer a slave to fear.  I am a child of God."  The bridge proclaims, "You split the sea so I could walk right through it.  My fears were drown in perfect love.  You rescued me so I could stand and sing 'I am a child of God.'"

Slavery.  Fear.  

Last year, as the years before, had it's share of rough patches and emotional rollercoasters, dark valleys, high peaks, and personal discovery.  My marriage was legally dissolved, and I wrestled for months with that realization.  In the fall, I took the Cleansing Stream course at church, and found bondages breaking left and right, freeing me mentally and emotionally from countless years of baggage, chains, and scars.  

I found myself evolving into the strongest woman that I have ever been, I think, emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually.  I've lived another year out in faith, anchored by hope, trying to trust, trying not to worry, trying not to fear.  

This morning, our pastor was talking about New Year's changes, much as I have already written about.   As he was talking, I heard the still, small voice saying, "Nicole, you're free. You're free. YOU ARE FREE."

I've known it.  I've known it for a long time, years, months, weeks, days.  I've known in theory, and I've felt it increasingly over the past couple months since walking through the Stream.   But this morning, I really felt it.  And I knew that this year, I had a word.

Free.

God has freed me from my bondages.  He has won every battle (for me, for my children, for my family, for my friends, for everyone, really).  He bought it by his blood. I've known it all along.  But today, I could see it.  I could see that I am not who I was last year in yet another way. As our pastor was talking about looking back and how we can't dwell in the past, but have to move forward, I realized that the past woman was worried and feared things that I had no control over quite frequently- more frequently than I realized at the time.

This year, I can see there are big things ahead.  I closed out the last year by opening up doors I never imagined would be in front of me already, if ever, and I took a leap of faith in doing so.  I prayed fervently, thought deeply, and trusted in God that no matter what decision I was making in that hallway, He would be alongside me and He had it all under control for me and my children, no matter what.  I chose to believe in life over death, and in doing so, I chose not to fear and not to worry.

I stood there in church this morning, seeing how, as many times in the past, I could be sitting here, worrying away the minutes, afraid that things could and would fall apart, placing my trust in and investing solely on the will of man instead of the sovereignty and protection of God.

Instead, I realized I'm free. I have finally accepted my freedom.

My word- free.

My word and my goal are perfectly stated in the verse I've chosen for my year.

"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery."  Galatians 5:1

My personal spiritual, mental, and emotional challenge for this year, summed up by the word "free" is to fall back on God, to stand firm in my salvation, firm in my faith, and to not let the enemy entice me back into my bondage.  I need to keep my eyes forward, walking in my freedom.

I am free.

The former's birthday

Today is his, the man I once shared my life with's, birthday.

Today, I miss the good things about him and the fun we shared.

Today, I miss his hugs and his voice.

Today, I miss his laughter.

Today, I miss surprising him.

Today, I miss showing him I love him.

His children don't know it's his birthday today.

I feel so conflicted about it.  I know that, for now anyway, it's best this way.  I know that the joy they find in birthdays, coupled with the lingering sting of his abandonment would confused and torment them in some way.

So we haven't talked about him.

We haven't celebrated him.

We haven't wished him a happy birthday.

I don't know where he is.  I don't know what he's doing.  I don't know if he's happy.

I hope he is, just because I'm a good person.

I know we are happy.

I am thankful that I can say that with honesty.

We are sad sometimes, the children more than I, of course, but overall, we are happy.

It doesn't mean we don't miss him, sometimes.

Somedays, we miss him more than others.

Today, the children haven't brought him up.

Today, though, I miss him.  I don't need him.  I don't want him.  I don't long for him.  But, I miss him.

It's amazing to me that it's been sixteen months since we've seen his face, heard his voice, or read any new words from him.  We live daily life completely void of his contact.  We live each day, in and out, without him.  But it still seems absolutely surreal that he has made the choice to live life this way, without us.  It sure wasn't a choice we made.  It was his.  I cannot understand it at all.

We didn't have contact with him on his birthday last year.  I didn't really miss him like this last year.  Last year, I was still so hurt and angry.  It's been two years since we saw him on his birthday.  Two years ago on his birthday, he was upset.  He was withdrawn and crabby that I not only had gotten a job, but I started it on his birthday, and he had to be a responsible person and get the children and I to and from work that day.  He had to pretend he was a loving, caring, doting father and husband, because we didn't want the world to know what was really going on between us, especially me in a brand new work environment with countless people I didn't know or know if I could trust.  It has been three years, really, since we had a birthday with him.  Our daughter wasn't even born that year.

It's amazing how slowly time moves by, but how quickly it does simultaneously.

There's so much that has happened in those three years, since our last happy his birthday together.

We've been through quite a harrowing storm.

We've made it through stronger.

I've accomplished so much without, despite, and because of him.

Today, I can see that.

Today, I can celebrate that.

Today- without him.

He took this photo of me the night after my high school graduation, in 2002.  It has such strong ties to our relationship.  I love it, though, because the emotion seems fitting for this juncture as well.

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.

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.

I am (not) Clara.

A little over a week ago, one of my very besties had her first published novel released to the world.

THE GIRL BEFORE, by Rena Olsen, is an amazing piece of literature for many reasons.

This post contains slight spoilers, so if you haven't read the book yet and are wanting to, I suggest you head to Amazon, Target (or Target.com), or Barnes & Noble (or bn.com) and get your own copy. I believe you can read it safely without it giving away too much of the book.

This book is poignant and it deals with a hard, but extremely important topic that affects nearly every country in the world today, millions of people, including those in the United States. Years back, I blogged about the topic because it's so striking and important.

From the first page, each time I read it, I was hooked into the story. 

But one thing, above all, really resonates with me, especially this most recent time I read it.

Clara.

Clara is the leading lady in the book. It's her story. While I read, I found myself drawn deeply to her, becoming attached, empathizing with her so strongly that I could feel it in my core.  

A few days past my most recent read through the book, a friend told me that I reminded her of Clara.  Something struck me there, and it's been on my mind since.

I am not Clara, but yet, I am.

As many know, I've been through the control, manipulation, mind games, deceit, betrayal, neglect, and abandonment of a former husband who disappeared over a year ago from mine and my childrens' lives.

As I trudged through the loss, the further down the road I traveled, the more lies I uncovered, the more crazy plot twists and details I unveiled, the more widespread effects of his choices I understood, and the more overwhelmed and confused I became.

But I never gave up hope. I never stopped believing in the good. I never stopped holding onto faith. I never gave up on love.

I saw how naive I was at times for believing in him so deeply, and for allowing myself to be convinced he was a good person making bad decisions "to benefit his family" as he claimed. I forgave him multiple times and took him back. I allowed myself to take a stand for him, beside him, helping him fight his battles and clean up his messes when he lead me to believe it was necessary because he couldn't do it himself. I allowed myself to believe in his web of lies so strongly that I would stand up for him and fight for others to believe, too.

I trusted. I believed it was okay. I believed I was doing the right thing.

But then my world shattered and he was gone and I began to see the truth, and see the world so much more clearly.

I began to understand that I loved him deeply, but I didn't love the things he did or who he became. I understood I could love and let him go. 

I began to see my own strength. I began to relax and worry less. I began to gain control.

And then, I did what I never thought I would do. I stood up against him, fighting for myself and my children. I fought for him to be held responsible, all on his own, for the things that he did.

Because it wasn't me.  I may have been there, but it wasn't me and they weren't my messes.

I stopped fighting so hard to hold him close and fought to let him go. 

So much of what I believed to be true and real wasn't. I could be cynical and jaded. I could be bitter and spiteful. I could have given up on hope and what's good.  

But I didn't.

Good things can come from the bad things of the past. 

Today, I'm a new woman. I'm the lone parent and provider of my household. God is the foundation of our home and I'm the pillar of our family. I walk with my head held high, with joy in my heart, hope in my soul, even on the saddest or loneliest days. 

Because I am Clara, even if I'm not.

When I briefly discussed this with my friend, the author, she said this.

"I hope a lot of women in those sorts of relationships (like mine) will find a way to relate to Clara."

I think that's largely the beauty of the book. She's taken a serious subject (that you should read the book to learn more about, as I am not telling you exactly what the subject is here), pulled at your heart and caused your mind to think about it. It should anger you and stir within you the desire for action, really.  It should make you uncomfortable and passionate.

But, she also introduces you to this beautiful brown haired, green eyed, hopeful, confused, strong, brave woman that I believe so many can relate to. While their stories are likely to be quite different, there's going to be countless women who see themselves in th pages. Perhaps they'll only be at the beginning of her story, or perhaps they'll be more toward the last chapters or somewhere in between. If they're only at the beginning, I hope at the end of the book they see hope and the promise of better tomorrows. And, if they're where I am, more toward the last chapter of the harrowing story, they'll be able to look back and see just how far they, and Clara, have come.

While my friend has no idea I wrote this (or at least doesn't know I am writing it but will soon), I urge you to check out her site: http://www.renaolsen.com for more info and links to be in touch with her.

Those Awesome Obnoxious Pants

It's time.  It's been time for quite some time, I know, but I had ignored it for way too long.

What's it time for? 

Those awesome, obnoxious (dare I say slightly derranged, possibly somewhat ugly) pants.

Yes.  I have invested in three pairs of cheap workout pants.  They are the kind of pants that many have worn for a long time, that I always would roll my eyes at (mentally) and wonder what on earth is wrong with people who wear them.

Now, I own them.  Now, I'm wearing them.  I'm wearing them at this very moment.  And, I'm rolling my eyes (mentally) at myself, wondering what on earth is wrong with me.  They're so boisterous.  I am not a boisterous individual by nature.  I prefer to not be noticed most of the time.  And here I am, in bright, loud, workout pants.    

Why this change?

I have been wondering that for a while now, which is why I haven't actually talked much about it.

I've been going through a lot over the past years when she has been transforming.  My transformations have been different.  I went through the betrayal, abandonment, homelessness, emotional manipulation (and so many more things) associating with the ending of my marriage.  I worked hard just to stay awake most of the days, to feed my kids, to work, to smile, to laugh, to cuddle, to hug, to pray, to hope, to cook, to clean, to breathe.  I struggled through countless emotional days and weepy nights.  I was on a rollercoaster like I had never known existed.  I transformed, I know.  I don't always see which ways I've transformed.  It's rare I can detail the changes to anyone.  

Some transformations have been by choice.  Some have been necessity and God's sifting in my life to purify, change me, and mold me into the woman he's called me to be for the plan He has for me, whatever it is.  

This change... this one is deliberate, an unexpected choice. 

On Mother's Day, I had the blessing of being able to spend a long stretch of kid-free hours with my Bean (for those new around here, that would be my cousin Tarah, who has been one of my best friends since college).  For the past couple of years, she's taken an active role in bettering herself on many levels, but one of them has been with physical health and fitness.  One she's shed pounds and inches and gained so much confidence, energy, and enthusiasm.   

I can't say that there was a single conversation we had, or a single activity we did, or any moment that I just hit this switch, but after that weekend, I decided it was my turn.

Mother's Day weekend, I decided it was time to tackle one of the most seemingly cumbersome transformations there are- physical.  I decided it was time to pay more attention to my body, my meals, my exercise, my sleep.  Instead of staying up two extra hours every night so that I could have quiet, alone time without my kids, I go to bed earlier.  I read food packages, though I occasionally still eat something not as good for you.  I have nearly all-together stopped drinking soda.  I've been trying to not push myself so hard, especially with the rib that still hurts.  

The most shocking thing though- the pants.  

It's not necessarily the pants themselves (well, okay it kind of is), but what they represent.  They were a treat to myself after I willingly joined a group of women on MommaStrong.com (for $2 a month, which wasn't a daunting investment so I couldn't think of any great excuses since I gave up soda after all, and NO this isn't a sponsored post) and completed 12 consecutive days of 12-18 minutes worth of workouts called Core Camp.  I sweat my face off and I even enjoyed it.  I wasn't daunted by the pain in my rib cage, because when it hurt too much, I modified.  She (Courtney, founder of MommaStrong) said I could and should modify things.  Instead of feeling guilty for doing that, I felt empowered. I felt smart.  

Somewhere along the 12 days, while I powered my way clumsily through workouts in front of my kids who questioned what in the world I was doing and why, I realized I was looking forward to the workouts.  I was looking forward to reclaiming this piece of myself. I was looking forward to taking control of yet another part of my life that felt overwhelming and cumbersome, daunting and embarrassing.

If you know me, I've never been one who talks about working out.  I love to go on walks, and back before I went to college and had a bicycle, I loved to ride bike.  That's about it.  I lift my babies and babies at work.  That's sort of a workout.  I clean.  That is slightly sort of a workout.  But otherwise... nope.  I had no desire to get sweaty and gross because I was too weak and fat and whatever else and it just seemed pointless.  There was so much  negative talk within myself and I didn't even realize it until I realized it was slowly being silenced.

I can think of fifty excuses (guesstimating) why I couldn't, shouldn't, didn't want to work out.  No space. No time. No energy. No money. No privacy.  No strength.  No, no, no, no, no.

Then I said yes.  I just gave in and said yes.

I'm proud of myself.  Sure, I'm still overweight, I'm still out of shape, I'm still weak. My rib still bothers me and some days it hurts to take deep breaths.  I'm still tired.  I'm still busy and I certainly don't have the privacy.   I still can't do a push up or a pull up, and my running distance is small.

But I'm doing it, or I'm trying to.  And in doing it, I'm silencing the lies that I've told myself, I'm silencing the enemy and I'm breaking off his strongholds.  I'm diligently working (sometimes minute by minute) to shut down the devil and keep him from bringing me down in this area of my life as I have had to in so many others.  I'm doing it. I'm trying to.

I'm working on it. I'm working out.

My oldest recently asked me why I work out and why I exercise. I told him something along the lines of "I do it because it's good for me. It makes me stronger, healthier, and a better mom and a better person.  And I'm the only mommy they have, so I better take good care of myself, for me, and for them.

With that let me tell you- if I can do it, you can do it.  I have so many things working against me, so many reasons why it would be easier not to, so many reasons to just be complacent.  They're legitimate, for the most part.  I know we all have them. 

But yeah... The pants.. they're super comfortable.  They're still kind of ugly.  But they're kind of awesome.

I think...

I think about that last day, a year go.  The sky was cloudy. The wind was blowing. You were in yellow.  The kids were anxiously excited. They hadn't seen you in many days. Their laughter rose over the rustling leaves as they squealed your name and ran to you, jumping into your arms.

You followed them around, playing occasionally on the park equipment.

 After 40 minutes or so, you asked briefly about your daughter's hospitalization the week before. After another twenty minutes, you declared you had stuff to do and had to leave. 

The laughter subsided and smiles faded. The kids all protested as we walked them to the van. You helped buckle them into their seat belts after giving them a hug. You told them you loved them, and you would see them soon. You promised to call your oldest son the next day, and planned to see them after the holiday weekend. 

I closed the van doors. They cried. They didn't want you to go. They missed you so deeply already. My heart ached for them as you drove away.

They never heard from you again.

I have been thinking about that day, the last times, frequently throughout this past week. I think of their joy and subsequent sadness. I think of your lies and broken promises. I wonder how much truth was in your salutations and hugs. 

I think about the days that followed. I think about how our son waited around for you to call. I think about how he asked me over and over to call you, and call you again, and you wouldn't answer. I think about the fury burning in my heart as you silenced the last calls and I told him daddy didn't want to talk today. I think about the next two days before you text me the last time. I think about how I asked you why you didn't call or answer and your response was an illegitimate non-answer, and when I pointed that out, you never corresponded with me again. 

I think about how I tried so very hard for the next few days, and weeks, and months to get answers. I tried to find meaning. I longed for even a stupid excuse. I tried to help your children find you and tried to foster a relationship between you and them.  

I think about all of the "I don't see daddy anywheres" I heard, or the "I miss my daddy" cries, or the "where'd daddy go" questions. I think about how I had to explain to our daughter who the man in the pictures was and how he had no idea what I was talking about, and decided to just call you Jake instead.

I think about all the cries at night. I think about all the prayers that we have said for you.  I think about the hours of therapy our sons have undergone trying to make sense of your absence.  I think about all the anger and sadness and frustration that they have and how they take it out on me, because I'm the constant in their lives, I'm their safe zone.

I think about how they used to say you were lost or missing, and how in the last week and a half, our oldest has realized that you're not just lost.  He has told me that his daddy ran away.  He knows it was a choice.

I think about how much I have struggled knowing you chose to leave.  I used to sit and doubt myself, my sanity, my mothering, my friendship, my love.  I used to think how much easier it would have been if your disappearance hadn't been a choice that you made, but just a circumstance of life or some other means, because a choice feels like abandonment, like being tossed into a dumpster, then crumpled and burned before buried in a landfill.  I think about how I am an adult and I can hardly wrap my mind or heart around it, and how our children are too young to comprehend as well as I do, knowing full well even I don't really comprehend.  It slays my heart to know they're going to question themselves and doubt and wonder why they weren't good enough for you to stay  or to even send a birthday card.  I pray that a miracle will prevent it, but mentally brace myself for what feels like the inevitable.

I think about how much I loved you, how I still house some love for you, and how badly I wish I could run you over with a piece of farm machinery, knowing full well that is completely an unGodly thought, and knowing it wouldn't really solve anything anyway.

I think about how I want to see your face.  I think about how I want to get answers.  I think about how your answers would probably be non-answers anyway, or lies that I would have to try to decode again, and how I know that maybe it's better that I can't ask you questions because the agony of trying to trust your answers would wring my heart dry.

I think about how I want to forgive you, and how often I feel like I have forgiven you, and other times I realize there's more I haven't dealt with that I need to deal with in order to forgive each piece.

I think about how people I know run into you, and tell me they run into you, and how you act like nothing is out of the ordinary and everything is normal.  I think about how not once in a year have we ran into you.   I think about how you were literally blocks away from our children last night and had absolutely no idea.  I think about what would have happened if you knew that or even cared about it enough to see them again.

I think about how much I wish you could see them now, but how much I do not want them to see you.

I think about all the lies you've spread about me. I think about your boyfriend and how he claims you tell him I'm a great woman, and our kids are amazing, and I think about how he was so excited to spend time with your children.  I think about people telling me you're both good guys, but how I know that can't be true if you can abandon and he can support it.  I think about the lies that have been told about me or are told about me, and the lies others believe about the situation.  I think about the webs you're still weaving and the messes you're still making.

I think about all the effort I spent trying to find you to divorce you, and all the effort I still have to spend in order to either find you again so that the state can force you to pay all the support you owe, or how I have to work my butt off to make ends meet all on my own indefinitely.

I think about all the ways, the words, the time you spent trying and often making me believe this all my fault, like I had this intense power I had no idea about while I felt crippled by weakness.

I think about how you walking away and shattering our lives and pulverizing my heart brought me closer to God, and how God brought such dear friends and supports into my life that I had never imagine I would find.  I think about all of these people who care so much for and love us all so much when for months I thought we must be completely unlovable.  I think about how your absense has given me freedom to gain mental clarity and personal strength and control.

I think about all that you've taken away, but I think about all that we have gained.

I think a lot.

I still think about you.