Once Upon a Lifetime Ago

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

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

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

I was the young lady in this story.

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

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

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

It is a big deal.

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

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

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

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

I will talk about my wedding day.

I will show them photos.

I will let them ask questions.

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

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

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

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

Day One

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

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

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

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

So, we went, one cold winter night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm not who I was...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leaving the Haunted House

Call me a party pooper.

Halloween is not my favorite. I don't know the last time i really looked forward to Halloween. I know my children love it, so I pretend to. Actually, up until today when one of them heard me tell a friend I don't like Halloween, they all believed I thought it was as fun as they did.

When my due date for my oldest was announced to be November 2, I told my former husband that if the baby was born in Halloween instead, I would change the date on the certificate. I also told him that I would hold the baby in as hard as I could if I was in labor that day just to avoid it.

Fortunately, my oldest son was induced the morning of November 1, and born that evening.  Problem averted.

In 2011, my son was an elephant and his best baby friend a rhinoceros. In 2012, I had a Woody (from Toy Story) toddler, and a baby dragon/dinosaur, and the aforementioned friends was Buzz Light-year. In 2013, we brought Spider-Man and Superman to (the much overrated, in my opinion) Zoo Boo.

In 2014, I had an almost four-year-old, a two-year old, and a six month old.

And we celebrated Halloween by living out a nightmare.  Two weeks prior, on my birthday, we were served a short-notice eviction because my now former-husband had bailed on his wife and children, not paying any bills like he had promised, while he insisted it was okay for me to continue being a stay-at-home-mom.

I have never been angry at our former landlords.  Let me say that outright.  They did what they had to do for the good of their own family, and I've never had any ill thoughts toward them.

But, for me and my children, it was a nightmare.  It was brought on by my own naivety, trust in my husband, and mother-to-three-littles-in-survival-mode blindness, as well as all of the ways my childrens' father abandoned us, lied to us, and screwed us over.

For two weeks, I tried as best as I could to figure out what to do and where to go.  He wasn't worried at all, couldn't be bothered or concerned to help us.  It was awful.  For two weeks, I tried to keep the children's heads above water, the children fed and clothed and healthy, and start boxing up, and sorting out the pieces of our broken lives, dividing things between their dad and I, and trying to stay breathing while I felt like the world was closing in on us.

Halloween came, and it was our last day in the house.  The house that I thought we would spend years in, raising our family, happy, together.  But instead, it was dreary and cold, and while I was surrounded by a handful of caring friends and family who were helping us pack up, move into a storage shed that some friends gifted us, and into our other friend's small apartment so we had a roof over our heads while I found a job... I felt abandoned, alone, and haunted.  

I felt haunted in my own house.  Haunted by the promises, haunted by the joy, haunted by the love, haunted by the memories, haunted by the vision of the life I had for all of us... watching it silently play in my mind as I walked around the house like a zombie trying not to feel so that I wouldn't cry.  I was being assaulted by the betrayal, the lies, the letdown, the heartbreak, the manipulation, the confusion, the worry, the wonder, the... everything.  

And he was there, haunting me too.

He too was walking around, room to room, putting things in random places, barely making eye contact, not really saying a word, pretending I didn't exist.  We all walked on glass and eggshells as we moved along, trying to figure out what in the world was going on.

And then, just like that, we left.  I had all I needed and did all that I could before I couldn't do anything else anymore.

We walked out of that haunted house for the very last time.  My friend and I, wanting to let the children still celebrate and have some Halloween "fun" amidst all of their own confusion, went to the mall. That year, the boys wore those "skeleton" t-shirts as their costumes, because I just didn't care.  We didn't have the energy or the desire to really dress up, so that was that.  Norah wore a similar pajama.  Truth be told, then and to this day, I despise those shirts and dresses and pajamas that make it look like you're a walking x-ray.  I don't think I'll ever be on board and I still can't stand seeing them to this day, partially because of the trauma of the year my children walked around wearing on their clothing how I was feeling inside my soul.  

On Halloween 2014, we left that haunted house and headed for the mall

.  But the haunting remained.  For four years.

Since then, we've made new traditions for Halloween that have helped to veil the haunting.  Three years in a row, we went to our church trunk or treat (but unfortunately, it is not occurring this year) with our new, adopted and beloved church family, as well as the children's aunt and uncle here in town.  Then we go to their aunt and uncle's house, trick-or-treat the neighborhood a bit, before staying at their house a while to celebrate Spencer's birthday a few hours early.  This year, we will still be doing most of that, with a Storm Trooper, a Ninja Turtle, and a pretty purple butterfly.

Four years from this Wednesday will be the Halloween we left the graveyard of our life as we knew it behind.  I didn't even realize that it was still haunting me at all, until this evening, when talking with my sister-in-law about how fortunate we are that we have these new traditions that we all love and can look forward to.

That's when I realized how much I dislike Halloween, and what the deeper, hidden reasons behind that are.  It's not just that I personally don't like dressing up, going to strangers' homes, getting random candy (that my children rarely eat all of because I hide it and then throw it away around Easter), and all that. 

Yes, it's that.

But it's also that it's just another milestone, one that brings me back to walking out of that home, that house, the one I walked out of while being haunted by everything I thought my life had been, the confusion surrounding what was real and what was not real, feeling like I had lost my mind, and feeling my heavy heart smashed into the wooden floor while the air was being sucked out of my lungs.

It brings me back to being terrified, but having to remain calm.  Saying goodbye, and trying never to look back.

This year, I've leaving the haunted house.  Tonight, when I go to bed, I'm praying to break off the lingering trauma and the haunting that's still in my heart, surrounding that night four years ago.

This Halloween, I pray that when I lay my head down in my bed at night, I won't see the walls of the other house in my mind at all.

However, don't let me fool you.  More memories and thoughts of that house and our lives there are good.  They're joy-filled, beautiful memories of our family growing.  I can picture things like a movie in my mind, so many wonderful things, hilarious things, as well as the terrifying things toward the end.  The house itself isn't all bad, and certainly not an entirely negative memory.

But on Halloween, yes, yes it was a terrifying, haunted place.

But on Halloween, it will not be that way anymore.

When the summit is the valley

Hills.  Summits.   Peaks.  

Valleys.  Trenches.  Rock-Bottoms.

Opposites.

Usually.

Three years ago tomorrow, January 15, marks the day I hit rock bottom.

Three years ago tomorrow, January 15, marks the day I reached my summit.

Three days ago, exactly, is when I realized that they are the same.

Those of you who have been following my life story over for a while now know more than the basic details, but those who are reading for one of the first times, you might not.  In summary fashion, over the course of the last half of the year 2014, my former husband was fading in and out of the lives of me and our three children, who were then less than a year old, roughly two, and almost 4.  The day before our oldest son turned four, we left the home we had been living in for over two years, to stay with a friend in a small two-bedroom apartment.  She saved us at the time.  You see, when my former husband was leaving us, slowly, painfully, and dramatically, he stopped paying bills and had our only vehicle, which meant that as a stay-at-home-mom to three young children, I was barely contributing selling work from home.  I had been employed full-time prior to the birth of our youngest child, who was a "surprise" to us, and when she was born, he agreed staying home was best for our family financially.  Two weeks prior to moving out of our home, on my birthday, we were served an eviction notice, and the secrets and lies that I had been living amidst unknowingly started unfolding and rearing their ugly heads.

But, for the time being, my friend rescued us, giving us a warm place to live while I found a job and started saving up money.

But it was stressful to all of us, and unfair to her, to have so many young children in small spaces, with opposite work schedules.

January 15, 2015, started as most of the days at that time in my life did, with one exception, that my now former husband allowed me to have use of our only family vehicle, and I drove myself and the children to work on my own.  I worked throughout the day, feeling weighted down with the burden I was imposing upon my friend, knowing she was moving soon anyway and we needed a home when she left.  I had hardly any money saved up as I had been at my new job for 5 weeks, but the stress was mounting, and I was feeling the pressure causing cracks in my life.

At the end of the day, I made a huge decision.  I put down myself, and fell to the bottom.  I jumped into the valley.  I made a phone call to the then new homeless shelter to see if they had room for my children and I.  They did, and they said it wouldn't be available long, so if I wanted a room, I better act.

So, I fed the children, packed up some clothes, a few small toys, baby bottles and sippy cups and a few snacks, and I drove the four of us to the shelter. I sobbed on the way there, regretting my decision and then supporting myself in my decision, switching sides every couple of seconds.  As the recipient of a bachelor's degree in social work, and with experience in a community action agency straight of of college, running a food shelter and various other programs for low income individuals, the gravity and reality of the situation shook me to my core. We had become the people I had been trained to help, and I felt absolutely moronic for being so blind as to let our lives go down this route.

And, with the exception of less than a handful of people, I had made this move in absolute secret.  

I felt like a failure that night.  

It turns out, though, I was a success.

It turns out, though, that when I threw myself into the valley, I unknowingly reached my summit.  

Tomorrow is three years since that day, when the summit and the valley became the same thing.

But as I said, I didn't know that until three days ago.

I've been listening to worship music a lot more than usual lately, and nearly every morning, I wake up with a song stuck in my head.  It usually is not a song I heard recently, which is somewhat surprising to me, but that assures me God put it there and it's not just stuck in my mind because of the radio.  A week ago, I listened to the song "Hills and Valleys" by Tauren Wells, while driving, about six times in succession, belting it out at the top of my lungs as we made our way on the road.  That song has always hit home for me, and I love it just as much today as the first day that I heard it.  I hadn't listened to it once other than a week ago Friday when it looped on the radio for me.

But, three days ago, I woke with it stuck in my head.

I've walked among the shadows
You wiped my tears away
And I've felt the pain of heartbreak
And I've seen the brighter days
And I've prayed prayers to heaven from my lowest place
And I have held the blessings
God, you give and take away

No matter what I have, Your grace is enough
No matter where I am, I'm standing in Your love

On the mountains, I will bow my life
To the one who set me there
In the valley, I will lift my eyes to the one who sees me there
When I'm standing on the mountain aft, didn't get there on my own
When I'm walking through the valley end, no I am not alone!
You're God of the hills and valleys!
Hills and Valleys!
God of the hills and valleys
And I am not alone!

I've watched my dreams get broken
In you I hope again!
No matter what I know

I'm safe inside Your hand

Father, you give and take away
Every joy and every pain
Through it all you will remain
Over it all!

The lyrics are so powerful and perfect for my life.

The first night in the shelter, as I lay awake in the huge, empty room with ceilings that seemed to reach the sky, the noise of my children sleeping echoed, and I stifled my sobs into a pillow.  I knew that I was in my valley.  But, I knew there was only one way to go at that point, because living on the streets wasn't an option.  I knew I was making a choice to stand firm for my children.  I was no longer going to sit and wait on the man who promised to provide.  I was no longer putting my faith in the man I made vows with to help us through hard times.  I was going to do it without him, and in his place, God was going to help me.  I have believed in God for what I recall to be my entire life. I believed in him, but I never threw myself down at His feet like I did in my prayers that night, relying on Him to get us through.

Now, as I play the memories of those days in the shelter through my head, feeling so imprisoned by their rules, feeling so constricted some days I didn't know how to breathe normal or stand straight, hiding it from most everyone, I see that as I threw myself into my personal valley, I was in that exact moment on a summit.  I was at a peak in my faith, and in my life story.

Because that was the day I chose to give my children a better life.  That was a day I chose myself.  That was a day I chose my God.  I didn't see it then, but I see it now.

I stood up, on that mountain, all alone in my darkness, and I took ahold of our lives.

It's overwhelming when you can look back and see the dark valley in this new Light, realizing that even as the lowest point in your life in some ways, it was also the highest point in your life in other ways.  

Over the course of three years, I've accomplished so much, personally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.  I don't feel like I'm anything but an ordinary woman and a commonplace  mother at best, but I also know that most days, I don't give myself enough credit for where I've come.  

I have had the same job for over three years, and it's become so much more than a job.  My coworkers who know me well seem to love me and my children.  I let down my guard inside the room where I work and allowed the first new person (followed by others) to see me wholly broken, and allowed them to walk beside me as God healed me again.  We have lived in the same apartment for longer than any home we have ever lived in as a family since my first son was born.   I have taken charge.  I took charge in my failing marriage, and freed myself from the bondage I didn't even know was inside of it.   I found God in ways I have never known Him before.  I have begun to lead my children to God as well.  I have taken on challenges and struggles in parenting I never imagined my life would entail, and I've done it as a single mother.  I've developed my interests, passions, and creativity all over again, and found my way back to my true self.  I've found a church for our family to call our home, and a church family that loves us.  I truly can't wait to go back to church each Sunday morning, as worship has become my favorite and most fulfilling part of each week.

It's liberating.

I'm proud of myself.

There's no way I would be who I am today, my faith in God and my love for myself, my children, and others as strong as it is today, had I not thrown myself into the valley and landed safely on the summit instead.

My first summit.  I know there are higher ones.  I've reached a few since that first one.  Timidly, and with a bit of apprehension, knowing that the struggles are hard and the road is never truly easy, I wait to see which are yet ahead.

And it will all be okay, in the lows and in the highs.  

I know it.  God has been faithful.

God is SO good.

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

Dear Me,

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

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

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

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

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

So odd. So awkward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I've found many victories.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm a better woman because of it all.

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

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

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

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

So, Me,

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

You've got this. 

Happy Birth and Re-Birth Day Tomorrow.

Love, Me

Now 5, Little Big Ollie Bear

Dearest Ollie Bear,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you, Ollie Bear.

Happy Birthday, when you wake.
Momma Bear.

Super Powers

It's been an exhausting couple of days, for various reasons, both good and not as good.

Last night, we arrived home right at bedtime, and the kids willingly went into their room to prepare for rest.  They laid there quietly and happily for a few minutes while I got stuff ready before going in to do bedtime prayer and gratitude, give hugs and kisses, and wish them goodnight.

Then, as is common lately, one by one, they all had reasons to get up, or call for me in the other room.  I try diligently to always have a positive attitude or at very least a kind voice when I re-enter, but it's a struggle sometimes.  Especially on nights like last night where it was already nine o'clock and I had a list of various duties to tend to before excusing myself to bed.

Eventually, they coaxed me into laying among all three of them on their bedroom floor, one laying across my arm while both arms were splayed to my sides playing with the two youngest's hair.  The fish tank light was off, the van on for white noise, and I laid there struggling to stay awake myself, my to-do list playing repeatedly in my mind.  That's when the thoughts started rolling in as well.

"This is so hard."

"This is so exhausting."

"There aren't enough hours in the day."

"There's not enough of this Momma to go around."

"I don't know how I'm going to do keep doing this."

"Its going to take some sort of super human strength or some kind of super powers to keep this up forever."

Eventually, they all drifted off to sleep.  I did a half-baked job on my nightly duties and then flopped myself into my own bed.   Then, I realized I had a few more things to do, rolled on out, finished up, and returned.  Then I realized the door wasn't locked.  So, I got up again, locked the door, and then fed the cats, got some water, and went back to bed again.  I think I fell asleep around 11:20.

This morning, I woke, tired as usual, and forgot to make my coffee before we all marched out the door at 7:40.  The children were all in fairly good moods for their shortage of sleep last night, and we were on our way.

As I sat in the waiting area at one of their appointments, the thoughts of last night replayed in my mind.

But today, they were reframed with a feeling of empowerment.

Parenting is hard.  It's crazy hard.  It's hard when there's two parents.  It's harder when those parents are separated.  It's even harder when you're doing it alone.  At least, in my experience that's true, having done all three versions of parenting in the last 7 years.

Right now, I'm back to being a single parent.  I mean single parent, as in not sharing the children with their other parent. I know that to some, co-parenting or shared-parenting is considered or felt to be single parenting.  Again, in my experience, they're wildly different.  So, as I said, I'm flying solo.  I wish I wasn't, but I am, so I pull myself up by my bootstraps (oh wait, my boots are all strapless...) and I carry on day in and day out.

Even when it feels like it's too much.  Even when I'm too tired.  Even when my nerves are shot and my brain is fried, and I go to work with my pants on backwards (yes, that's happened, more than once actually, in the last couple weeks... maybe I should retire those pants).

I won't pretend to be a super woman.  I won't claim to be a super hero.  I won't boast to be a super mom.  Because, quite honestly, I'm not.  It may look spectators that I am when I calmly herd my three littles into a restaurant for supper, and they sit down quietly and excitedly tell the waitress their order.  But then as soon as she turns her back, two of them are sword fighting in the booth, shortly before one of them bites the other one in the bathroom fighting over who uses what toilet stall.  I hug the injured and break out my "mad voice" and my "mean Momma Bear glare" at the other while the wait staff smiles at me with a knowing look.

I don't have it all together.  I'm not a super-hero, super woman, or super mom.

I'm your run-of-the-mill, ordinary single mom just doing the best she can, usually.  Sometimes I'm not doing the best I can. Sometimes I'm doing what I can just to get through the moment... which I guess, in those moments, is actually probably the best I can.

I will be first to admit though, it does take some sort of super power to be a single mom, a co-parenting mom, or a happily married mom (or dad).  Like I said, parenting is crazy tough.

So, as I sat there, this morning, reminsicing about last night as I choked down the straight black coffee I was accidentally given instead of my regular order in the drive-through this morning, after having forgotten to make my own at home like I usually do, I thought about these super powers that are needed.

And, I realized...

I DO have super power.

It's the power of the Holy Spirit.  It's the power of Jesus. Its' the power of God.

As soon as I realized that, I had verses flooding in my mind, and I needed to share them here.

Because, if we want them, we can ALL have super powers.

Every single parent out there.  Every single person without children out there.  Every single child out there.

We're all equipped.  We just have to seek them.

Ask God, He'll give them to you, freely, lovingly, and happily.

That's how I do life right now, when I'm too tired, too overwhelmed, too frustrated, too sad, too everything.  I lay down on the floor with the lights out (or maybe as I drive in broad daylight in the van, or a hundred other places and ways) and I let God in.  It's not always a conscious effort, to be honest.    But, he reaches me, and he blesses me, and through every tear, every sleepless night, every pants-backward-at-work-Wednesday, every joyful-they-ordered-their-own-supper Friday, every big and little moment, I keep on keeping on.  He's the One pulling me up, so I don't even need straps on my boots.

Sometimes, of course, I don't feel this way. I don't see it this way.  Even as I write this today, knowing exactly how I make it through, I'm still exhausted and a bit overwhelmed (even knowing God's going to carry me through).

And you know what, those are my worst days.

I'm praying for less and less of those days, and more days where I'm fully aware of my super power, MY Super Hero.  (Even on those days when I don't think I'll get through it, I know somehow I will, even if I'm too stubborn to admit the real reason.  I'm imperfect.)

I'm praying the same for each of you.

Blessings!

The silence resumes.

I wish I wasn't writing this.  I contemplated not writing this.  But, I felt like not writing it was harder than writing it now.

I gave it a month, even though, I was pretty sure, one month ago today, almost exactly to the minute, I felt I knew what was coming.  I prayed against what felt like the inevitable at this point, but I prayed knowing that prayer does work, not always, but sometimes.  I know it worked once in this situation.  I guess, in my heart of hearts, I know God is a God of miracles, and prayer could bring radical change again.  Yet, at the same time, I'm being practical, and releasing my breath and realizing that for now, this is reality.

You see, for some reason that I fail to understand, one month ago tonight, my children's father disappeared from them, again.  He came back to them on December 26, 2017.  He walked out on them again, almost six months later, to the date.

I wasn't in town, but he had plans to see them with someone I trust dearly.  Up until a few hours beforehand, he was still planning on seeing them.  And then.. he just didn't show.  I reached out to him to find out if he was okay (the bitterness inside me, truthfully, swelled up and I asked him if he was dead), or what had happened.  A few days later, feeling it was the case, I asked if this meant he was done and walking on out again.  No reply to either.  I tried two more times, the most recently, last night.  I pointed out that today marks a month.  There is still dead silence.

I know he is out there.  I know he's active online, and while I can't be certain his phone works or he hasn't changed his number, I know he knows my name, and my phone number hasn't changed in years.

There's silence.

He's abandoned them again.

I find myself quite emotional this week.  I have known all along this was a distinct possibility, but I threw it all in and allowed him back in the children's lives, with the mentality that no matter what happened, whether he was here for good or gone again, we would get through it.  We already walked through hell in regard to this, and we made it through, because of God and his blessings of support.  I knew it would be "easier" this time, as "easy" as something like this could be for four hearts that aren't jaded and cold.   

But that doesn't seem to make it better.  

I'm currently at a point of both thankfulness and despair, pride and humiliation, hope and hopeless.  The part of me that has Christ dwelling inside has a positive spin on it, but my more practical, emotional, momma bear side is angry and negative.  It's a battle.  Yes, I'm going through a battle.  

But, I'm a warrior. I have to remind myself of that even though I feel like laying in my bed and throwing a toddler inspired tantrum.

As I said, I knew it could all fall apart.  But, truthfully, I thought it would be either right away, or years down the road.  

I didn't think he would get bored with his children this soon.

Is he bored with them?  I don't know.

I wish I could understand how someone I "knew" so well for so many years could be this way.  I wish I understood what, in a matter of hours, changed his entire plan.  I wish I could decide if he was incapable of making good decisions, or just chooses not to. I wish there wasn't silence.  The silence, again, makes it even worse.

People have started noticing and asking me about his involvement in their lives and our lack of discussion on the matter.  I am hoping that these questions continue to be directed solely to me, not in the presence of my children.

My children, heaven bless them, are starting to notice his absence.  I don't know if they noticed or felt it right away, because they've been very normal, happy, and truthfully haven't asked about him or mentioned him until this week.  Actually, so far, our three-year-old daughter is the only one who has.  But, I feel it's coming with the birthdays and milestones up ahead.  I am at a crux, wondering if I should confront the issue head on and prepare them, or wait and see when they're ready to talk about it.  I don't really want to assault them with the realization if they haven't come to it on their own yet.  

Also, this probably goes without saying, but... please do not speak ill or negatively of their father in their presence at any time.  Whatever their opinions are to be of him, those need to be formed by their own minds, through their own experiences.

I am so torn, right now, emotionally and faithfully. I want to find comfort, knowing that God will get us through, provide, restore and heal our hearts, minds, and souls.  But I'm a bit angry.  I'm not angry at God, because I know their father has free will, and is choosing his own path away from his children and away from God.  I know this.  I know in my heart that I did do the right thing letting him back into their lives, even though it hurts to be where we are now. I know God wanted me to forgive him.  I know God wanted my children to know their father again, for our daughter to create happy memories with him, because up until now, she had no recollection of her own and relied solely on her brothers or word of mouth from other people who knew her dad.  I know God wanted to show my oldest son that He does in fact listen and answer prayers.  I truly believe that his reappearance in our lives last year was God ordained, and for good and not harm.

I try not to blame myself for the fallout.  In the past, I've been so good at taking the blame, from their father, for things like this.  I KNOW I didn't cause the heartbreak that's to come by allowing them the opportunity to have their dad for a while.  I KNOW that is on their father.  But that's something I have to remind myself every time he crosses my mind, because I also know the enemy wants me to take it all back on myself.  I did open the door, but I did not cause him to walk back out.

I know that my children will know I tried.

But it doesn't mean this doesn't hurt.  It hurts my heart for my kids. 

It hurts so much. It feels like I'm being crushed again, admitting this all "aloud."

I pray that my children's minds and hearts will be protected from severe trauma if their dad really is gone for good this time.  I pray that they'll still believe in God, in his miracles, in the power of prayer and that this does not negatively affect their faith and relationship with Jesus.  I pray they'll still feel overwhelming love and know that they're surrounded by it even if their dad walked out on them again.  I pray that someday, God will truly, wholly restore their father.  I pray that I will be able to forgive him again.   

If you pray, please do.

I found myself, tonight, as I sifted through my thoughts, trying to find scripture to calm my heart.  This is the one that spoke to me the most.  I'm trying to just do what I am often (but not always) able to do, and find peace and solace in my Father's words and promises.

But, I'm not perfect, and it's hard.

I know we will be okay.  And I know I need to give it all to God.  But, I think I also know that my imperfect, human side may still need to cry about it, talk about it, and maybe need a hug or a shoulder at some point. Maybe.  Or maybe not.  Guess we will see.  But, I think that's okay, too.

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.)

I'm Anchored.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This anchor...

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

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

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

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

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

What is this hope?

God is this hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bible talks a lot about hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because I'm anchored.

Cautious Bravery

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

Screw you, Satan.

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

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

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

Cautious bravery.

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

For example:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stopped singing almost instantly, and tears started falling.

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

That's what I heard him say.

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

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

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

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

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

It made sense.

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