Sometimes I cry.

If you know me well, you know that I am not a stranger to tears. I used to try to fight them off every time I felt them welling up. As I have grown, oddly enough in my mind, my resolve has been less and they fall more easily.

There's something to be said about crying. Well, there's many things to be said, actually.

For starters, it can be quite therapeutic. It helps release all bottled up tension, sometimes to the point of such exhaustion you just pass out for hours.

It can lead to headaches. I've had one too many crying hangovers, as I call them.

It is both beautiful... and ugly. The brutal emotions being let go and your heart being so open is beautiful. The faces, the boogers, the swollen eye lids and nose... not so much.

Sometimes it's a few silent tears. Sometimes it's a heaving, boisterous sob.

Sometimes it is purely of joy. Sometimes it is of heart shattering sorrow. Sometimes the tears are from overwhelming exhaustion and crying is the only thing you have left.

Crying alone can be just what you need. Silence and privacy to be at your best, weakest point with nothing but your pillow and Jesus to listen...

But crying with someone can be even more powerful.

I understand why children want to be held when they cry. It's comforting. It's the physical reminder that there's someone right there who cares enough to drop all else in the moment and just be with you in your bare emotional state. There's security in someone's arms.

To be honest, I look back, and I cried a lot in my last years of marriage. I cried about my marriage and the many things going on within and outside of it that I felt needed attention but were deemed unimportant. I cried about crying about my marriage. I cried about not having someone to hold me while I cried because he hated that I cried. 

I still often miss having someone around to hold me while I cry. Just like a child, the comfort and security of having someone there is invaluable.

I know God collects your tears, feels your burdens, records your heartaches... But sometimes it doesn't feel like enough.

I know that's not how you're supposed to feel when it comes to God. I know it. I'm growing, and I try to let it be enough most of the time, visualizing myself curled up on Jesus lap leaving tear stains on his chest.

What I also know is that God provides for me, not every time I cry, but sometimes, especially when it seems I need it most. He knows how I feel about the tangible arms of someone who cares while my tears get the best of me and I feel like I may crumble. He has shown me this by providing a trusted friend or family member who, without reserve, will hold me tightly while I cry.

Sometimes, that's all I need to get through that overwhelming moment. I cannot adequately express the gratitude I feel in those embraces, both for the person with me, and for God providing them at the perfect time. 

God is great like that.

Thank you to those who have ever held me while I cried.

One Day

One day. One fine day. One fine day, someday.

Just one. Just one to start.

The past few days, I have been revisiting memories. This time a year ago, things were so rocky and unstable. I was still fighting the fight for my children to have a decent, loving father in their lives. I was still attempting to rebuild trust. 

I know that God calls us not to dwell on the past, but, as I am human as all of you, from time to time, it sneaks back up on me.  Knowing that we aren't supposed to be focusing our emotions and effort on the things we can't change, I make a conscious effort to stop and turn to God and pray when these times arise, but sometimes I don't even notice I'm doing it right away.

That said, the past few days have been emotionally taxing.  I have spent quite a few moments confiding in a few friends and praying, and reminding myself just how much better my life really is this year.  I keep telling myself that it is better to have stability in my children's lives than to have their father sneaking in and out, unreliable, inconsistent, and sneaking his boyfriend around them and sneaking the children around his boyfriend's family.  

But almost every year around this time, for many years anyway, I have had a break.  I have had a few hours to a couple days where I was child free, carefree, and spending time with a friend I see roughly once a year now that we are done with college.  

This year is different, because their dad isn't around.  While I am delighted and excited that our yearly visit is coming up, it brings the trauma back into my mind, remembering how it felt to find out what was happening while my children were away, and the repercussions that followed leading up to their dad being completely absent from their lives in pretty much every way nowadays.

But one day... hopefully... at least one day... someday...

He won't cross my mind at all.  Not once.  Not in a single memory.  Not in any shape or form.  Not a happy memory. Not a sad memory.  Nothing.  Just one day of peace.  

I pray that, anyway.

I know that I will always be bound to him in some regard, because together we created three wonderful children.  I see him in their appearances and their personalities and temperaments sometimes.  And I miss him.   Or I miss parts of him, the idea of the him I thought I knew, and what it was like to have someone around keeping me company in this crazy world of toddlers and preschoolers.

Even the happy memories make my heart ache just like the less happy memories.  They leave me aching for myself and for my children.

One day, I hope that ache doesn't arise even for a second.  

I don't want to forget him.  I don't want to really forget the trauma that lead us to where we are, because it's a part of our testimonies and God has done miraculous and glorious things.  

But, just one day, I would like a break.  

Just one day. 

Don't get me wrong...

 Hello, Saturday.  

It's been a short while since we've had quality time together. Truthfully, I haven't looked forward to your presence as much as most do, or as much as I once did, over the past couple of years.  I know, you probably think I'm some sort of traitor.  We used to have such a fun, carefree relationship.  I used to look forward to you for six days out of every week, anxious and anticipatory for each of your coming arrivals.  I used to spend days thinking about you, longing for you, planning for our time together.  I used to invite or seek out others to join us in our rendezvous.  We made so many wonderful memories together, you know.  So many big and exciting things would happen when we were reunited after our long, exhausting days apart.  Oh, Saturday, you were one of my greatest joys in the course of each tiring week.  Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy the idea of you, Saturday.  I still enjoy your existence.  You just don't hold as much meaning as you used to.

You see, there's three busy little people who occupy most of my minutes when you roll yourself around again.

Don't get me wrong, I love them dearly. But let's be honest, there are some things I miss.  I miss some of them on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays as well. 

I miss being able to sleep in, Saturday.  I miss the feeling of waking up after a deep sleep, well rested and refreshed.  I miss sleeping past seven in the morning, and then lying in bed until I felt it necessary to wake up.    

But, I do enjoy the look on three little faces as they ask me to wake up as I pretend to sleep.  Their blue, green, and brown eyes all smiling at me and cheering when my own eyes open to greet them.  Sure, I might not get to use the bathroom in a timely fashion, having to change a diaper or two and wait my turn for those who can't wait as long.  But, there's something to be said about the joy on their faces that helps me rise out of bed much earlier than I ever wish to.  And while my two-year-old still sleeps like a newborn and I'm constantly exhausted, I must remind myself the early years go way too quickly.

I miss having silence in the morning.  Don't get me wrong, the laughter radiating from the living room as the three of them reunite after a night's sleep.  Sure, the annoying voices and simple story lines of morning cartoons can be quite irritating when I would prefer nothing more than a quiet morning to read, but the excitement in my kids' voices is pretty adorable.

I miss having someone to talk to.  Don't' get me wrong, my children can all speak and carry on conversations now, but I miss in depth talks with someone more my own age.  Whether it be a husband, a roommate, a cousin, a sister, a brother, or a friend, for most of my life, I have had at least one person my own age living with me.  There was someone who understood my jokes, my fears, my dreams, who could carry on an in-depth conversation that didn't revolve around bathroom habits, toys, the desire for juice or poptarts, or tattling.   

I miss the effortless planning of a cup of coffee or a meal together with someone my own age.  Don't get me wrong, I still drink coffee, and I definitely have the company, but I do miss not having a tiny person commanding me to "take a drink" and "set it down" every twelve seconds just out of her own personal amusement out of being bossy.  I miss sitting down at the table and not having to worry about cleaning up the floor because my company can't figure out how to not smash their cereal or drop their grapes.  I miss not having to wipe off my lunch-mates face because they eat a peanut butter sandwich open-faced and from the middle.  Don't get me wrong, its pretty amusing to see the messy faces and all, but having to clean up so extensively after each meal gets to be a pain.  I also miss having people to cook great meals for.  Don't get me wrong, it's nice that sandwiches and nuggets, waffles and fruit are easy to prepare, but its a bit depressing to make a delicious casserole or soup and having 2/3 of your dinner guests tell you it looks gross or that it is made from leaves and is completely inedible, refusing to so much as try one bite.

I miss the ease at which running an errand once was accomplished.  Don't get me wrong, my children are well-behaved most of the time for any sort of errand we run, but when all I need is a gallon of mile from the gas station two minutes away, it's exhausting to spend ten minutes to get everyone ready, into their car seats, drive there, unload them, walk them in, bypass all the treats, get the milk, pay for it, take them to the van, get them back in, attempt to coax them back into the apartment, take off the outer wear, and put the milk away...  The same goes for needing toilet paper, when your youngest secretly tears up what you have and throws it square-by-square into the toilet before handing you the empty roll.  

Don't get me wrong. I love my life, and I love my children with every fiber of my being.  

But, from time to time, I do miss my old friend, Saturday, and the relationship we once had.